Elisa’s shoulders bunched, a tight knot beneath worn leather. Dust motes danced in the single shaft of light slicing through the high, barred window. Years had scraped against her, leaving a residue of mistrust.
“Release it.” Forian’s fingers, calloused and scarred, pressed a slow rhythm against the back of her hand. The touch wasn’t demanding, more a coaxing. A whisper against the granite of her resolve. “It won’t trouble anyone much more.”
“How daring you, the prince, ask your hostage thus?” The words scraped from her throat, brittle as winter branches. She didn’t meet his gaze, focused instead on the chipping stone of the floor.
He shifted, the metal of his armor a low murmur in the silence. “Fate had a curious spin for us, didn’t it? Bitter iron forged into something… softer.”
Her chin trembled, a barely perceptible movement. She hadn’t permitted herself the luxury of softness in decades. Not since the massacre. Not since her lineage fractured into splinters.
“Silencio from old burdens.” She finally lifted her gaze, dark eyes locking with his. The blue within them held a patience she hadn’t expected, a mirror reflecting the exhaustion she carried. “Your love alone… I trusted.”
He offered a ghost of a smile, lines crinkling around his eyes. “A tender beginning, finally. Our ending.”
Elías nodded, accepting the weight of the moment. Years of war, of mutual animosity, had worn down to this: a quiet chamber, a shared vulnerability. He’d expected defiance, rage even. Not… this fragile surrender.
Forian’s fingers softened, tracing the lines of the scar bisecting her palm. A reminder of battles fought, losses endured. “Finally.”
Through the wounds, blossoms. She leaned forward, the scent of woodsmoke and steel clinging to his tunic. Dawn painted the stone walls in shades of rose and gold. A warmth she hadn’t felt since childhood spread through her limbs.
Their journey had blossomed within this chamber. A sweet breath hitched in her throat, and she rested her head into the hollow of his shoulder.
