Song vibe: Your Eyes Tell – BTS

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  SAPHIRA

  Verity's Chamber, Firestone Castle

  Marigold’s old dress clung more closely than Saphira liked, the bodice cut lower than any gown she had worn. Not scandalous—but enough to warm her cheeks as she faced Verity’s mirror. The apricot silk, faded at the seams, still caught the light with a soft glow, pale yellow underskirt spilling beneath.

  Not my best colours, Saphira thought. And not my style either—too bold, too loud.

  “It’s…just not me,” she murmured, tugging at the neckline as if she could coax it higher. “I should try on Marigold's other dresses.”

  “It fits well enough,” Verity stated, standing on her toes to poke the last of the mountain flowers into Saphira’s braid. “Before Felix, Marigold was the belle of the Sowing Festival—and my word, this certainly got his attention.”

  Saphira’s reflection gazed back at her: apricot silk dress with matching slippers, daring neckline, her lavender hair bound neatly. I look like a stranger—save for my mother’s earrings.

  A sad smile captured her lips. Almost two weeks since Asher. I can go hours without the weight of grief—until it strikes again, sudden and sharp. She closed her eyes. Nocturne is right. It’ll be a while until I feel whole again. But I’ll get there.

  “Here.” Verity spread rose petal balm over Saphira's lips, staining them a delicate pink. Then, with both hands, she pinched Saphira’s cheeks, drawing blood to them. “This certainly wasn’t in my job description.”

  “I’ll vouch for your wage increase.” Saphira’s laughter faded as she looked at herself again. “I should change back into the other dress, Nocturne will think—”

  “Lord Nocturne will be here any moment,” Verity reminded, eyeing the low neckline with a smug little smirk. “And I know exactly what he’ll think. He can thank me later.” With a push to her shoulder, she shooed Saphira out of her chambers. “Enjoy yourself.”

  In the silence of the apothecary, Saphira exhaled. She saw the fireplace, where the maids had long swept away the ashes of her father’s letter. A pang of guilt struck her. I should have told Nocturne…

  Saphira froze as footsteps echoed in the hall. Panic fluttered in her chest; she stood in the middle of the room like a dazed rabbit in the middle of a field. Her gaze darted about until she snatched the pestle from Verity’s desk, fumbling for an herb to crush—anything to look occupied when he stepped inside.

  Nocturne filled the doorway, tall and broad, torchlight from the corridor glinting in his eyes. He stopped dead, gaze catching on the daring line of her neckline. His eyes lingered, dark and intent, and he dragged them back to her face as if by sheer will.

  “My Lady,” he murmured, nodding his head.

  Her fingers tightened around the pestle.

  He stepped closer, savouring the details: the silk gathered at her hips, the flowers threaded through her braid. Gently, he took the pestle from her hand and murmured, “You’re holding it upside down.”

  She glanced up at him, her cheeks hot.

  He gave a quiet, kind laugh and set the pestle aside. He offered his arm with deliberate calm. “Shall we?”

  She set her hand on his arm. The silk rustled as she moved, the gown too tight—but his strength steadied her, the solid muscle beneath her fingers making her breath catch. Oh my…

  “Not your Solar?” she asked, as they walked past the turn off to the Lord’s Wing.

  “Later,” Nocturne assured. “There’s someplace I want to show you first.”

  The stairwell narrowed as they entered the tower, stone winding upward in a tight spiral. Saphira went first, her skirts brushing the dusty steps. Nocturne’s boots echoed softly after hers, close enough that she could feel him there, watching her every movement.

  "Your speech... in the mountain language—it's improving," he commented.

  "It helps hearing it every day," Saphira said back, trying to keep her breath. "But I... I miss my mother tongue."

  "Then tonight, we shall speak only that," Nocturne replied in gruff Renatii.

  "I'd like that," Saphira breathed.

  The climb stretched on, step after step, the air growing colder as the tower narrowed. At first, she kept her pace, refusing to slow, but then her breath came shorter with each step. Still, she pressed on, determined not to falter under his gaze.

  Only near the summit did her hand falter on the stone wall. She stopped, shoulders rising and falling with the effort, and drew in a sharp breath.

  “I’m sorry,” she breathed, “I’m still not…back to normal.”

  “You’ve nothing to apologise for.” He stepped closer. “I can… carry you the rest of the way.”

  “I was about to offer you the same thing,” she teased, “You look like you’re struggling.”

  “Well, I am struggling—” his eyes slipped from her face for the briefest moment before snapping back, “—but not with the stairs.”

  She continued climbing, cheeks burning red.

  Above: The view from Firestone.

  At last, the narrow spiral broke open into air and sky. Saphira stepped out onto the tower’s crown, the sudden sweep of the landscape making her catch her breath.

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  Before them stretched the continent in every direction: Firestone’s jagged walls falling away below, the valley rolling into endless folds of green and gold, and beyond, the Yule and Sunfire Mountains blazing in the sinking sun. The sunset streaked over the sky—amber, rose, and violet—clouds painted in molten light, in a perfectly still afternoon.

  Saphira pressed a hand to the stone parapet, steadying herself. “It’s… so peaceful.”

  Nocturne came to stand beside her, his arm brushing close but not quite touching. The golden sunset light softened the lines of his face, erasing the shadows beneath his eyes.

  “It’s the highest point in Firestone,” he murmured. “It’s where I go to be alone.”

  She stood there for a moment with him, side by side, watching the sun set over his fief.

  “There’s something I need to tell you, Nocturne,” Saphira breathed, her heart pounding. “Earlier…I read a letter from my father. It said…horrible things about you. I burnt it. I just wanted it all gone. But I can’t get his words out of my mind. I keep on—”

  “Saphira.” He placed a hand on the stone behind her and leaned in. “I already knew. But you’ve chosen to tell me. That means…a lot.”

  Saphira's eyes widened. She had expected anger, betrayal—not calm. Her gaze fell to the floor. “Are you… staying with Lady Beaumont in Lux?” She paused, listening to his breath. “Is it true you and her—?”

  He looked at her, gaze as precise and unyielding as the edge of a blade.

  “Yes. Once—before she was Lady Beaumont, before she was married. It meant nothing.” His jaw tightened, and he added with quiet finality, “That part of my life finished long before I met you.”

  “And so…” her head spun, a strange tightness in her chest, “…there were others?”

  “Yes.” He drew in a breath, eyes fixed on the horizon.

  She closed her eyes. I always knew he’d had other women. But hearing it from him—plain, unsoftened—it cuts deeper than I thought it would.

  “But I don’t waste thought on them. Neither should you.” His tone held no apology, only truth. He hesitated, then added, quieter, “I meant what I vowed to you. I can't promise to be the perfect husband.” A shadow crossed his face, fleeting but unmistakable—the weight of some old regret. “But I’d never dishonour you with another woman.”

  Her fingers curled in the folds of her skirt. He’s told me the truth, at least. Even if it stings, it’s better than a comforting lie.

  “I won’t pry further.” She slipped her hand into his, the lightest of touches, but enough to make him flinch. “I trust you.”

  For a moment, he could only stare at her—disbelief flashing, shame dragging hard behind it. He lifted her hand as though to kiss it, but stopped. Instead, he turned her toward the sunset and placed her hand gently at her side. After a pause, his hands settled at her waist as he fastened a leather belt around her—complete with a scabbard, knife, and pouch. His fingers brushed her hips in one lingering touch before he let go.

  “For you,” he said.

  She touched the hilt of the knife, then drew it out, the blade gleaming red in the sunset. She liked how it felt in her hand—light, useful…deadly.

  “Hey…careful where you point that,” he cautioned, wrapping his hand over hers. "Sharpened it myself."

  Above: "Careful where you point that."

  “It’s so pretty,” she whispered.

  “Pretty?” He gave a low, humourless laugh. “Then don’t forget—between the ribs, left lung. Clean, quiet.”

  She shivered.

  Still holding his hand over hers, Nocturne guided the knife back into the scabbard. “If I could decide it, you’d never use this for death. Only for work that builds, not breaks.”

  Her fingers lingered on the hilt, the weight of the blade unsettling. Not a festival ornament, not some kitchen knife—but a final defence, entrusted into my keeping. She exhaled, thumb grazing the soft leather. “You make it sound inevitable…this danger.”

  He assessed her again—that same sharp, unyielding gaze—torn between protection and truth. He said, “If your father won’t back down from this alliance with Hyland, then it will be war—he intends to restore Renatus to the throne. Without your hand, Vlad won’t commit Hyland’s troops—and not even Edwin knows why. And that unknown…” His jaw clenched. “It eats at me.”

  “I met Duke Valdislav once. I was about fourteen,” Saphira said with a shiver. “He came to Renatus. He rarely spoke—even to my father.” She wrapped her hands around her waist, her hand clutching the hilt of her belt knife. “I’m… afraid, Nocturne. I’ve seen it all before. Father’s underhanded tactics will only grow worse. He’ll use your past against me. He’ll try to make me doubt you, to isolate me.”

  “Then know this—” His hands came up to her shoulders, steady and firm, his umber gaze locking with the violet of her eyes. “You are the one thing I’ll never surrender.”

  Saphira’s breath caught. For a moment, she could only stare at him, wide-eyed—then she folded into him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt, her cheek pressed hard to his chest. Over the past weeks, she had wept against him more times than she could count, but this time there were no tears—only the wild, hammering beat of her heart.

  I want to be closer to him; I want him to know how much I respect him—admire him.

  She rose onto her toes, tilting her face up. His arm closed around her waist, the other sliding into her braid to tip her head back.

  Then he leaned down and pressed his lips to her forehead, lingering. His hands tightened, as if torn between restraint and the urge to draw her closer.

  At last, slowly, deliberately, he eased back—just far enough to let her breathe, though his gaze held hers, unyielding. “Whatever comes,” he murmured, voice low and rough, “we’ll face it together.”

  She shivered—from the intensity, from his touch, from what might yet become.

  He unclasped his cloak and settled it over her shoulders, the heavy wool falling around her, still warm from his body. “I should’ve done this earlier,” he murmured, a wry note in his voice. “But I wanted to enjoy the view.”

  “Hopefully this dress gives you a memory to keep,” she said lightly, smoothing the silk at her hip. “You’ll need it, with so many nights alone.”

  His brows shot up. Silence stretched for a heartbeat before he let out a low laugh, rough around the edges. “I… don’t think you realise what that implies.”

  She blinked at him, brow furrowed. “What? That you should carry happy memories of me instead of something else?”

  Nocturne stilled. For a long breath, he only looked at her—until she shifted under the weight of it. His lips curved, not quite a smile, more a grim line of restraint.

  “Oh.” She bit her lip. “I see.”

  Her fingers tightened over the hem of his cloak, drawing it closer to her body. He’s risking everything for me. I want to give him something…

  “I can… share your bed. Before you leave.”

  Her words hung between them, her body trembling in the cool of the evening.

  “No.” His hands closed over hers. He kissed her fingers, lingering there, his breath warm against the cold. His eyes filled with longing and loneliness.

  “Nocturne…” The wind tugged at her braid, at the heavy cloak on her shoulders. “I don’t want to deny you… if it’s what you need, then I can—”

  “Stop—” His voice cut through hers, rough. “Refusing you once is hard enough. The only reason I’m still standing is that I know I’m walking away tomorrow. And I won’t do that to you—not again.”

  She stared up at him. He… truly cares about me. I’ve never heard of a husband who treats his wife like this. Her hand caught the hem of his sleeve, fingers curling tight in the fabric. “Thank you. For waiting for me.” She looked to the floor. “I…still don’t feel like myself yet after—” she closed her eyes, allowing the sharp pang of grief to rush over her. “—after everything. But I’m afraid of you resenting me.”

  “I don’t resent you for things beyond your control.” He paused. “In the same way… you’ve chosen to trust me despite the things I’ve done. When it comes to everything else, you don’t owe me an explanation.” Then he turned her gently toward the battlements, his body shielding hers. “Look—the stars are coming out.”

  Above: The stars come out.

  For the first time, she saw their pale brilliance without the sting of loneliness. Not from behind a tower window, counting the hours of boredom, but here in the open air—free, steady, safe under Nocturne’s cloak, his warmth pressing into her, his arms wrapped around her waist.

  “They’re beautiful,” she breathed.

  “Yes,” he murmured—though his eyes never left her.