Song vibe: Let go – BTS

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  NOCTURNE

  Master Chamber, Firestone Castle

  The fire was dying, its glow a faint ember-red hush across the stone. Dawn seeped pale through the windows, the winter outside grey and cold, the room warm from the thermal pipes running through the walls. Nocturne woke—deeply rested—for the first time in years, and the strangeness of it unsettled him.

  Saphira lay against him, hair spilling like lavender silk over his chest, her breath soft and even. He dared not move. One shift, one wrong breath, and the moment might vanish.

  Almighty. She’s soft. Too soft for a man like me. His arm tightened around her. I’d almost forgotten the shape of a woman held like this.

  He leaned in, his lips brushing against the back of her head, inhaling her scent. He remembered the suffocating silence of Krug’s spawnpit; the life-like face stealers lurking Ammon’s shadowlands; the scent of magic thick in Mara’s spawnchamber. I fought those Spawnlords without fear. This… this is what makes me hesitate.

  He had not realised how fiercely he held her until she stirred. Her eyes fluttered open; after a breath, she smiled.

  “You’re here,” she whispered.

  “No climbing out of towers at dawn,” he murmured. “A nice change.”

  “I can’t wait for the day when you don’t have to leave.” She ran her fingers over his arms and settled on his wrist. “I… can make another Lover’s Bind. To protect you while you’re away.”

  “No, little vila.” He kissed the pale scar, lips pressing firm against her wrist. “What August did left you drained. And I’m not charging into a spawnpit this time.” He almost laughed. “Just Lux.”

  “I’m worried,” she confessed. “Do you promise to be careful? To come home?”

  Home. He pressed her tighter to him. It took every shred of discipline not to roll her beneath him, to reassure her the way he knew best. He kissed her on her bare neck. Fye. Greedy, as ever. He pulled away, looking up at the ceiling, his hand still holding hers. Cold plunge. Now.

  “We should go get ready. Your things have been moved to the Lady’s Chambers.” He felt her tense underneath his touch. “Is that not…to your liking?”

  “No, I’m glad to be out of Verity’s way. It’s only…” Her gaze dropped. “The last time I stepped into those rooms, they were set as a nursery, not as a Lady’s chamber. Quintus said it was Edwin’s child.”

  I’d forgotten about Edwin’s child. Nocturne felt the rage surge in him; he let go of her hand to stop himself from squeezing it too tightly. Quintus should have known better than to let her walk into that.

  He spoke the gentling words she needed, though they rang hollow on his own tongue. His eyes kept drifting toward the door, measuring the steps it would take to reach Quintus. Instead, he sprang from his bed and checked the Lady’s Chambers—bare, save for her dresses folded on a table, a small dresser, and a chair. Good. It’s ready for her to make her own. Because if it wasn’t…

  His anger cooled as he watched Saphira settle by the dresser. She ran a comb through her sleep-tangled locks, humming softly to herself.

  Leaving her, he pushed the outside doors open, feeling the bitter chill of Firestone’s winter. He paced over to the cold pool, removed his clothes. He plunged into the freezing mountain water, breaking the thin layer of ice over the pool as he did. Instantly, his body constricted, the breath punched out of his lungs—but his thoughts sharpened.

  Quintus. Ever the loyal servant of the mountains. One day, a harmless slip. The next, a planned test. His lungs burned as he held his breath under the water. One more, and I’ll strip not just his post, but his kin’s protection. Selwyn won’t shield him from what comes next.

  He broke the surface of the water, pulling the hair from his face, then pushing the sheets of ice away from him. He won’t destroy Firestone. He loves this castle—his position—more than anything else.

  He held his breath slowly, the cold shock now replaced with clarity. I’ll have Lysander keep close. Rell won’t leave Saphira’s side. He won’t dare defy me again.

  Above: Nocturne clears his thoughts.

  Drying himself, he set his jaw. Today’s send-off ceremony will be critical—Saphira must be seen as my Countess. A smile flickered, hard and thin. I might dare a kiss before the crowd—enough to claim her place.

  He dressed himself with care. Laid his armour out, Shadowrend sharpened, spare weapons packed. Aurelian would ready Gin in the stables. Everything is in order—everything but Saphira.

  Breakfast waited in his solar. For him: bread, hard cheese, dried meat, ale. For her: berries, yoghurt, soft bread with honey, and herbal tea.

  He stood by the tall windows, arms crossed, watching the pale mist creep across the mountains. She’s taking her time. A wry smile tugged at his mouth. I should be vexed, not charmed.

  He heard her before he saw her—light steps, hesitant, her heart quickening. He turned.

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  She crossed the chamber in a pale-yellow gown, the colour of sunlight breaking frost. The fabric clung when she moved, tight over the line of her hips, swaying at her legs. Her lavender hair, braided with a floral wreath crowning her head, spilled down her back.

  His teeth ground together. Always the same before he left—his instinct to claim, to bind, to take before parting. Now, a soldier’s lust knotted with a husband’s devotion.

  She stopped, blushing under his stare.

  “Is this…all right?” she asked, smoothing the gown. Her hands lingered on her belt, where her knife and Firestone’s keys hung. “Verity says there will be a send-off. She prepared flowers that I’m to give you.”

  He caught her hand, his gaze raking her slowly. “You make it hard to leave,” he said.

  He drew her to the table and pulled out her chair. He watched her eat—savouring the sweets, saving her tea for last. His own food sat heavy in his belly, consumed only out of necessity. But the thought of her, in a silk slip, waiting for him in his bed—

  I’ve never had such an anchor to a place. A reason to rush home.

  “Saphira.” His voice snapped her out of the blissful trance of eating strawberries. “Don’t forget—you are the Countess here.”

  “I almost forgot myself..." A bemused smirk fell on her lips, "...if not for the handsome Count in front of me.”

  He let his mirth show, for a single moment. He leaned forward, his voice low. “When I’m gone, don’t let anyone push you around—your word should be to them, as my word is.”

  “In Renatus, the Lady of a castle is just a decoration.” Her smile faded. “For entertaining guests. For balls and charity. Nothing real.”

  “Here, you’re entrusted with everything. Not everyone will welcome you. Quintus has had his way here too long. His brother Selwyn leads the Sunfires—he won’t stomach such a young woman above him. Then there's Selwyn's daughter, Lady Gorda. Mostly harmless, but she's long had her eye on becoming Countess here. Not that I ever considered her as an option.” His eyes flicked to hers. “The Yules won’t mind your sex; they’ve had women Wardens before. But they’re prickly, isolationist. You’ll have to show strength. And for when you need it, the Mountain Knights are yours to command.”

  She traced the keys, then met his gaze. “I understand. And I won’t fail you.”

  “I’ll write to you,” Nocturne murmured. “As much as I can. Our Silvarks know the way to the Beaumont Estate. If you need anything, they’ll fly faster than a rider.”

  “I know.” She slipped a hand into her belt pouch and drew out three sealed letters. Her fingers lingered on the first. “This one is for King Edwin and the Conclave—detailing everything that happened between us. Father will call them forgeries—or claim I wrote them under duress.” Her voice steadied as she went on, sharper now, more deliberate. “But if they doubt our union, if they argue it wasn’t sealed…they’ll have grounds to dissolve it. This gives no room for doubt.”

  Nocturne took the letter carefully, as if it were a blade.

  Her hand tightened on the second letter, holding it against her chest. “This one is for my sister. If you find her.” Her eyes burned. “She must hear it all from me—not through gossip or lies. She’ll know to burn it.”

  He nodded once, solemn. “And the third?”

  Colour bloomed across her cheeks. “For you. So you don’t forget me while you’re gone.”

  He slid the letter into his cloak, but not before his thumb traced the curve of her hand, lingering. I’ll be thinking of you—in all the ways I should, and all the ways I shouldn’t.

  Then, from beneath his cloak, he drew a small wooden box. He crossed to her, dropped to one knee, and lifted the lid without looking away from her face.

  Above: Nocturne presents Saphira with her earrings.

  Inside waited two pairs of earrings. Plain silver loops, forged in the mountains. Two black pearls, their dark sheen catching the light of dawn.

  Saphira’s fingers hovered, brushing the cool metal. “Nocturne…what is this?”

  “In the mountains,” he said quietly, “we wear our marriage in the right ear. The silver ones are ours.”

  “Matching,” she whispered.

  “And pearls mean children.” His voice thickened, breaking. He touched the black ones but did not finish the thought. “You can choose where it goes.”

  Her hands moved to his face, steadying his jaw as she leaned in. Her lips brushed his—soft, tentative, almost shy. For a moment, she lingered, her breath warm against his, waiting.

  Nocturne held still, every muscle taut, knowing the smallest of movements would shatter his restraint.

  When she drew back, her eyes searched his face as she breathed, “Thank you, Nocturne.” She inhaled. “Will you pierce them for me now?”

  He ran his thumb over her lips. “I’d have no other hand hold a blade to you.”

  From the hidden scabbard at his side, he drew his stiletto knife. Her eyes widened at the gleam, but she kept the box in her lap as he heated the blade in the fire. She touched the crystalith studs already in her lobes. “My mother gave me these. Do I have to remove them? Felix said the left side is for warriors only.”

  “I’d never ask you to erase your past,” Nocturne said. “Only that you join in mine.” He met her gaze, unflinching. “I’ll go first. Have the rings ready to pass to me.”

  Nocturne turned the faintly glowing steel on himself, reopening the scar in his right ear—a mark from vows long past, vows since betrayed. I don’t think she’s ever noticed, and if she did see, did she understand the significance? The metal hissed as it slid through. It’s gone. She’s what I wear every day now. His jaw locked; blood trickled hot down his neck. Without hesitation, he pressed again, making space for the pearl beside it.

  Saphira’s fingers clutched the box in her lap. She said nothing, but her eyes never left him—half fear, half awe—as she watched him bind himself to her.

  He wiped the blade clean, set it back in the coals, and looked to her. “Did you decide where you want the pearl?”

  Her hand lifted, trembling as it touched the upper rim of her right ear. “Here,” she whispered. “Will it hurt?”

  “Yes.” He held her shoulders, steadying her. “Only for a breath. Close your eyes. When you open them, it will be done.”

  She nodded, drew a shaky breath, and obeyed, lashes lowering.

  The dagger glowed when he lifted it free from the flames. With one hand, he held her ear firm; with the other, he pierced, fast and clean. A sharp sting, a breath of heat—then the pearl was in place. Before she could flinch, he pierced the second hole below, sliding the silver loop through.

  She gasped, hand flying to her ear. “You’re…remarkably talented at stabbing things.”

  A faint huff escaped him, almost laughter. He bent close, brushed the blood away with his thumb, and murmured, gritty with restraint, “There.”

  Her gaze met his—eyes shining, lips parted, caught between pain and something deeper.

  He bent in and kissed her. Slow, steady, nothing more than the press of his lips against hers. He lingered a breath, then drew back just enough to brush her mouth once more, lighter than a whisper.

  “Leaving you the first time was hard,” he murmured, voice rough. “Now…it’s impossible.”

  Tears gathered in her eyes, but she forced a smile. “Then come back. Or I’ll find you myself.”

  His body went taut, urging him to drag her down into the furs, armour and duty be damned. His fists clenched hard at his sides. Instead, he lowered his forehead to hers, eyes shut, memorising the feel of her against him.

  At last, with a rough exhale, he pulled back. “Stay by my side at the ceremony. I want the last thing I see of Firestone to be you, standing in that gate.” His gaze locked with hers. “And when I return, you’ll be the first.”

  She swallowed hard, one hand brushing the new earrings as though to steady herself. “Then I’ll be waiting.”

  He kissed her once more, but when he drew back, his eyes were already distant, hard with the knowledge of Lux. “I’ll pray the mountains keep you safe—because if I return to find you harmed, I’ll burn them to ash.”

  He turned then and left the room without looking back.