The silence that followed should have been comforting.
It wasn't.
Myra's chest pressed lightly against his, her arms still loosely wrapped around his neck. His warmth was too real. Too close. Her heart, still hammering against her ribs, was betraying every emotion she tried to hide.
And then—she realized.
Her breath hitched.
Her eyes widened just slightly.
Her gaze shifted—and landed on the bare skin beneath her fingers, on the firm lines of his chest, rising and falling slowly. His shoulder was still freshly bandaged, his scars barely hidden, and near the left side of his chest—
Her name.
Etched in ink.
As though the flesh itself had claimed her before she ever dared to claim him.
Her hands shot back.
She stumbled away from him like his touch burned—but it wasn't fire. It was the unbearable flood of emotions crashing down all at once.
Ranvijay's brows lifted slightly, watching her flustered retreat with a mix of amusement and something far deeper. Something soft—dangerously soft.
She stood there awkwardly, her cheeks red, eyes darting anywhere but him. "I—I didn't mean… I wasn't—"
"You were holding me like you'd never let go," he said gently.
Myra's mouth parted. No words came.
"I liked it," he added.
Her ears turned red. "You… you're not even wearing a shirt," she mumbled, folding her arms across her chest, more to shield herself than to accuse.
He tilted his head slightly, resting his weight back on the pillow, unbothered. "Should I be sorry for getting shot before I could dress properly for you?"
Her lips twitched. She refused to smile. "You're impossible."
He leaned a little closer, even lying down. The way his gaze locked onto her, it was all-consuming. "You're the only one who makes me this way."
She turned away quickly, pressing her fingers to her cheeks, trying to will away the heat rising there.
Ranvijay didn't say anything more.
But his smile—barely there, laced with pain and longing—stayed.
And though she wouldn't admit it, the spot on her palm where she had held him still tingled like a secret only the night knew
Myra stepped back again, nearly stumbling over the edge of the carpet in her haste.
"I—I need some air," she whispered, not meeting his eyes.
She didn't wait for him to reply.
Her feet moved on their own, driven more by instinct than reason, pushing past the bedroom door and into the dimly lit corridor outside. The palace was quiet at this hour—most of the staff still asleep, the world outside barely brushing the edge of dawn.
She walked fast, her anklet chiming softly against the marble floors as if trying to catch her attention. But she didn't stop. Not until she reached the far end of the corridor where the small private balcony stood. She pushed the door open and stepped outside.
The wind was cool against her skin. A little sharp. A little too honest.
She gripped the railing, chest rising and falling, the early morning fog wrapping around her like a secret. Her fingers were still trembling.
"What did I just do…?" she murmured to herself.
She had touched him. Hugged him. Buried herself in his arms like she belonged there.
Like she wanted to belong.
Myra's heartbeat thudded in her ears. She had been so careful. So cautious. Always keeping him at a distance, always pushing back every time her traitorous heart leaned forward.
But today, the dam had cracked.
His wounded shoulder. The pain in his eyes. The way he whispered her name like a vow made to the stars—she hadn't been able to stop herself.
And when she saw her name inked across his chest… like she was a part of him already.
Her throat tightened.
Why do you always undo me, Ranvijay… even when you say nothing at all?
The horizon was softening with the first light of day.
She closed her eyes, resting her forehead against her hands.
She had so many feelings inside her, they didn't even have names yet. They were just colors—crimson, blush, gold, storm—wild and jumbled, too much to sort, too heavy to carry, and too sacred to say aloud.
A soft creak behind her made her spine stiffen.
But she didn't turn.
She didn't need to.
She already knew who it was.
His presence was a shadow that could melt into hers. A fire that no cold wind could put out.
The soft creak of the door closed behind him. Silence stretched between them—like a string pulled tight, humming with the weight of everything unspoken.
He didn't walk up to her immediately. He just stood there, watching the slight tremble in her shoulders, the way her fingers clutched the balcony railing as if it were the only thing grounding her to this world.
Then—
In that deep, roughened morning voice of his, low and dangerous in how gently it cracked through the still air:
"Was it that unbearable…?"
Her breath hitched. She didn't turn around.
His steps were slow. Measured. The sound of bare feet on marble. No threat in them—just gravity.
He stopped right behind her.
"To touch me…" his voice dropped, "…or to feel something?"
Myra's knuckles turned white on the railing. Her heart pounded. She didn't answer.
A second passed. Then another.
His hand didn't touch her skin. But it hovered—close enough for her to feel the heat—just near her waist.
"You've always run, Myra. Even when your eyes stay."
She finally turned to look at him. Slowly. Her lips parted, eyes wide—but it wasn't fear anymore. It was confusion. Battle. Emotion.
"You confuse me," she whispered. "You… ruin every line I drew for myself."
He smiled. The kind that was all pain and softness, dipped in reverence.
"Good," he said. "Because I was never meant to fit inside the lines."
He moved closer—not with dominance this time, but with a quiet hunger that longed to be let in, not just win.
"You don't have to run from what you feel, Myra," he murmured. "Not from me. Not anymore."
She shook her head, eyes shimmering. "I don't know what I feel."
Ranvijay leaned down just a little, his forehead nearly brushing hers.
"Then let me stand beside you while you figure it out."
She blinked—once. Then again.
But her body relaxed. Just a little.
He didn't kiss her. He didn't touch her.
But he didn't move away either.
And in that delicate balance—between distance and longing, silence and promise—Ranvijay and Myra stood together as the sky began to lighten.