Song vibe: Dimple – BTS

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  SAPHIRA

  Master Chamber, Firestone Castle

  Inside Nocturne’s chamber, Saphira let her fingers slip across the countless leather spines of books that lined the shelves. Her gaze drifted back to him; she watched as the near-constant tension in his frame eased as he set Shadowrend down.

  His quarters bore no woman’s touch. His armour stood in the corner, his sword-rack opposite, a tactium board, a modest wardrobe and scattered foreign sculptures. But she had not expected this: the sheer, staggering weight of books everywhere. Shelves brimming, piles stacked on the side table, towers of volumes, each bookmarked, waiting.

  He sauntered across the room, undoing another button of his shirt. “Is it to your taste?” he asked, leaning against the shelf.

  “The authors?” Saphira replied, eyes sweeping the spines. “Or the sheer, impossible amount of literature in one room?”

  She ran her fingers over titles—philosophy, military treatises, poetry. There were tomes on history, the arcane, and even folk tales worn thin from reading. “You’d put the Royal Archives to shame.”

  A flash of red leather caught her eye. With a gasp, she drew it free. “This is... On the Body and the Soul. I had this exact copy in my library.” The words faltered as she clutched the book to her chest. “Father would have sold every volume the moment I was gone.”

  “Then let this be the first in your new collection.” His gaze darkened with resolve. “Write down every title you left behind. I’ll find the copies—build you a new library.” His eyes shifted to the adjoining door to the Lady’s traditional chamber. “Make of those chambers what you please—an art studio, a tea room, a retreat of your own.”

  Above: “Then let this be the first in your new collection.”

  But when his fingers caught a loose strand of her hair, curling it slowly, his voice roughened. “But when it comes to the bed…tradition be damned. I want my wife beside me—not visiting like a duty.”

  He threaded his fingers through hers, guiding her gently to the floor-to-ceiling windows on the other side of the room.

  “Beyond here—the hot spring. Just for us.” He paused, watching her. “A place to purify, to rest.” From a cedar chest by the door, he lifted a neatly folded towel. “Go bathe.”

  Her fingers brushed his as she took it, a faint spark flickering at the contact. “And you?” she asked softly.

  “I’ll... pray,” he said, voice low, deliberate. “And then cold plunge.”

  “In the middle of winter? Why—” The words died on her tongue when she saw his expression—the deadly seriousness of a man fighting a losing battle. Heat gathered in her cheeks.

  “As you wish,” she conceded. “Before you do, I…might need your help,” she admitted softly, turning her back to him and indicating to the fastening on her gown. "Verity locked me in."

  He nodded once, his jaw set. His hands were steady, precise, as he worked the laces at her back, one pull after another, until the apricot silk loosened.

  “There.” His voice was rough with restraint. “Take all the time you need. You’ll have complete privacy.”

  He slid open the door, letting the drift of warm, mineral steam spill into the chamber, and stepped through into the moonlit glow of the springs.

  Alone, Saphira slid off the outer layer of her dress and slung it over a pile of books on an armchair. The crunch of gravel followed her steps into the courtyard. High stone walls enclosed the space, veiled in ivy and winter roses, while branches overhead poured silver moonlight into shifting pools across the ground.

  At its heart lay the springs—three basins carved deep into the earth, their waters steaming a luminous blue.

  I never thought Firestone could be so beautiful, Saphira thought. A place for just Nocturne and I.

  A soft mewl broke the silence. Dusty perched on the wall, then leapt down with a thump, landing at Saphira's feet.

  She crouched, scratching behind the hell leopard’s ears, brushing the dust and cobwebs from her fur. “Playing in the castle walls again?” she laughed.

  Dusty gagged and dropped a limp rat onto the gravel.

  Saphira shrieked.

  Above: Dusty brings an unexpected gift.

  A heartbeat later, Nocturne burst through the drifting steam—his shirt hanging open, chest heaving. His eyes swept the courtyard for danger. “What happened?!”

  The hell leopard sat proudly beside her kill, tail flicking as if awaiting praise.

  "Saphira!" Nocturne cursed under his breath, dragging a hand down his beard. “You screamed as if you were being murdered—” he muttered. “—for a rat.”

  He strode forward, barefoot on the gravel, and stooped. Without hesitation, he caught the limp tail of the creature and, with a flick of his wrist, the rat disappeared into the dark beyond.

  Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Dusty mewled in protest, but Nocturne silenced her with a glare. “You’re sleeping outside, menace.”

  Nocturne turned to Saphira, his expression shifted from reproach to relief. “Next time you cry out like that, make certain it’s life or death.”

  Without pause, he stormed away.

  “You found that in the walls, didn't you?” Saphira sighed as she removed her silk slip. She folded it by the poolside and slid into the water. “I can’t swim, Dusty, so keep an eye out for me, please!”

  Saphira stayed in the water only a few minutes longer, the steam wrapping her in uneasy silence. Her cheeks still burned from the way he had looked at her—sharp, weary, half-relieved—and the thought of him lingered more keenly than the warmth of the pool.

  Above: Saphira relaxes in the hot springs.

  Anxiety gnawed at her. Tonight, she would spend the night in his chambers—only for sleep—but still her heart quickened at the thought. She rose, dried quickly, and dressed.

  Will he see me as a wife prepared to share his bed? She thought, looking down at the thin silk slip clinging to her, Or a girl, still unsure of herself?

  The hell leopard tilted her head, deep yellow eyes soulful, as if she understood Saphira's thought.

  “You're right,” Saphira laughed, kissing the top of Dusty’s head. “Verity would tell me to wear even less.” Her fingers ran through her braid, letting her lavender hair fall in sweeping waves over her back. "I'll wear my hair down. Like a real Renatii wife should."

  She padded barefoot back into his chamber, stepping over a pile of books. The fire had sunk low, shadows long across the stone, but he had not yet returned.

  Her gaze fell to the great bed in the centre of the room. She hesitated, then slipped beneath the furs. Her eyes widened as her spine met the rock-hard surface of the bed. How does anyone sleep on this? It’s like lying on a slab of granite. She exhaled a shaky laugh into the dark. Of course. The Ashen Knight sleeps on stone.

  She pulled the blanket tighter around her, willing her anxious thoughts to still before he returned.

  The door creaked open.

  Nocturne filled the doorway—only a loose pair of black trousers clung to his hips, his chest and arms bare, still damp from his cold plunge. Droplets threaded through the dark hair, running down each muscle and scar.

  The sight stole her breath—not a hero from a tale, but the flesh-and-blood man who had chosen her.

  His umber eyes fixed on her immediately; he just stood there, unreadable, taking in the sight of her small form curled in his bed, hair spilling over his pillow.

  “You’re in my bed,” he said quietly.

  “It’s…” Saphira rapped a knuckle on the mattress, “…a slab of stone!”

  “You’ll grow accustomed." Nocturne shut the door behind him and crossed the room with slow, deliberate steps. "I’ve slept on worse.”

  “Of course you have,” Saphira teased. “You’d sleep in a snowdrift and call it comfortable.”

  “Snowdrifts don’t argue back.” He slid under the furs.

  “I do not argue!” she gasped, swatting his arm. She winced, shaking her hand. "Ow! Your arm is as hard as your bed!"

  His mouth twitched, a half-formed quip rising before he smothered it. “Almighty, save me,” he muttered under his breath, the words pained. Then, he chuckled as he said, “That was your best attempt?”

  She hit him again, harder.

  His hand shot out and caught her wrist mid-swing. He dragged her effortlessly until she was under him, her wrist pinned above her head against the pillow. His weight pressed just close enough to still her without crushing her, the faint scent of soap and pine clinging to his skin.

  Saphira’s laughter faltered, her breath catching at the sudden shift. “That’s cheating.”

  “What made you think I fight fair?” His voice was a growl in her ear, darkly amused.

  She froze beneath him, caught between protest and the dangerous thrill of his weight pinning her.

  Then, she shoved at him with her free hand. He released her instantly, rolling back to his side with a low chuckle.

  "You’re impossible!” Saphira laughed.

  "Zephyr taught me: never start a fight you can't finish.” Nocturne shifted to lie beside her, his warmth settling around her. His hand rested lightly on her hip, thumb absently stroking the curve.

  Saphira’s heart raced; all she could hear was his deep, rhythmic breathing and the crackle of the fire. She waited in the silence until it was almost unbearable.

  "Nocturne," she whispered. "Are you... asleep?"

  Nocturne shifted, propping himself up on one arm, his head turned toward her with that silent smirk she could feel.

  She bit her lip and whispered, "I’m.. too nervous to sleep."

  "I can hardly tell.”

  "Liar." She rolled onto her side to face him, meeting his eyes in the dim glow of the fire. “You’re just saying that to make me feel better."

  "Guilty—again," he teased, shifting closer. "Now we just… relax."

  “What are we supposed to do? Talk? Read a book?" She raised an eyebrow. "How do we know when it’s time to sleep?”

  He reached out, fingers catching a lock of her hair. He let it slide slowly through his hand before it fell over her collarbone. “You could read me tax ledgers, and I’d still stay awake for you." He guided her closer until she was tucked against his side.

  She slipped her hand under his fingers. With his body cradling hers, she could feel how much he wanted her, how much he held back. “Why are you doing all this, Nocturne?”

  He went still, so long she thought he had not heard.

  “Right now?” His arms tightened around her waist. “Because this—” he drew her against his chest, lips brushing her ear “—feels like I’ve finally come home.”

  She inhaled sharply.

  “You make me think of things I’ve never dared.” His voice dropped, rough, uneven. “A fief that thrives. Laughter in the halls. A bed that isn’t cold when I return from war.” He squeezed her hand, thumb rasping her skin. “Children who’ll never see the pits. A family. A home.”

  She tightened her grip on his hand, pressing it to her heart. “Do you really think we could have another child? I want to too... but—" Her voice cracked "—what if…it all happens again? I couldn’t bear it...”

  "You’re braver than you know." His hand rested on her belly. His palm pressed firm, feeling the softened stretch of skin, the places grief had left its mark. He held her there unflinchingly. “It won’t be the same. You'll be in Firestone, safe. No running, no bleeding. You’ll have me. I won't leave your side.”

  Her breath shuddered, then broke. The tears she had been holding back spilled hot down her cheeks. “I’m so glad I chose you, Nocturne,” she whispered. “Nobody has ever fought for me—cared for me—like you do.” She clutched his arms, desperate for a closeness that she was not ready for. “I want to give you what you’ve never had. Because you deserve it.”

  He rolled her gently to face him. He tipped her chin up, thumb trembling as it brushed the wet from her cheek. In the firelight, his eyes burned—unguarded, molten. “Just… stay, and I’ll make it real, my little vila.”

  Her breath caught. The same name he had whispered in my ear the first time we made love.

  Above: “Just… stay, and I’ll make it real, my little vila.”

  Then his lips found hers—slow and deliberate as his hands closed around her. She yielded, caught in the heat of him. The solid weight of his chest pressed her close, and lower still, his body stirred against her—yet he held back, like everything else he refused to take.

  He ended the kiss only when he had to, drawing back a fraction, grazing her lips one last time before trailing higher. His mouth found her brow, lingering there, softer than anything she had ever known.

  His eyes shut, his breath steadied, and he whispered, low enough to nearly vanish into the fire’s crackle: “Goodnight, my wife.”

  Outside, the cold mountain winds raged, but here, in their bed, she finally slept complete, as though nothing of her was missing.