The morning light spilled across the bed, warm and unwelcome against the dull ache in my hips. I blinked awake, disoriented for only a second before I felt the heat of Kael's body behind me, his chest rising and falling in the steady rhythm of sleep. He hadn't let go. His arm was still wrapped around my waist, holding me like I might vanish if he loosened his grip. I tried to shift, to ease the pressure where his hand had landed just above the worst of the bruising, but even that slight movement made me wince.
I hadn't seen them yet, but I felt them—dull aches blooming into sharp reminders with every brush of the sheet. My hips, my breasts, my neck—everywhere he'd touched with too much fervor, with hands that had clutched and claimed. It didn't feel like a violation. It felt like proof. Evidence of the night between us etched into my skin like a secret I hadn't decided whether to hide or wear like armor. Last night had left its mark everywhere. My skin ached, my muscles heavy and sore in ways I wasn't used to, and yet something was grounding about the pain like it tethered me to this bed, this room, to him.
I turned slowly in his arms. Kael was still asleep, his dark hair tousled, lips slightly parted. The shadows under his eyes had softened. He looked younger like this. Human. I let myself study him momentarily, my fingers hovering over his chest but not touching. It would be so easy to stay like this. To pretend we weren't two strangers trying to play the roles of husband and wife. To forget Lyra, the court, the eyes that would watch us today and try to measure the truth between us. But I couldn't afford to ignore it. Not yet.
A sudden knock startled me. Kael stirred behind me, groaning softly. "What time is it?" Another knock. "Kael?" Lyra's voice came muffled through the thick wood. Sugary, expectant. I sat bolt upright, the sheets pulled tightly around me. Kael blinked awake, confusion vanishing as everything from last night—and now—registered. Still naked, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and reached for the trousers on the floor. "Stay there," he murmured, already pulling them on.
I nodded, my pulse skipping. My fingers clutched the sheet tighter, my heart thundering as I listened to the approaching footsteps. Kael opened the door halfway, standing shirtless in the soft morning light. Lyra blinked. Her eyes swept down him—bare chest, tousled hair, the low hang of his trousers barely clinging to his hips—before catching on to something behind him. Her gaze stalled and widened. It landed on me, wrapped in nothing but sheets, half-sitting against the pillows, the early sunlight spilling across my bare shoulders. Her smile faltered.
Her gaze flicked from me back to Kael, clinging to some thread of hope, but it was slipping fast. I could see it in the twitch of her jaw, the way her fingers tightened on her skirt. "I didn't realize..." she began, but there was no falter this time. Her voice was smooth and composed like she thought she could still salvage control. She believed Kael would step out into the hallway and shut the door behind him, with me still in the bed. Kael didn't give her the chance. "You assumed wrong," he said coldly, each word clipped with precision.
Lyra smiled then—a slow, calculating tilt of her lips. "I thought perhaps we could talk," she said, head tilting slightly, her eyes gleaming with the confidence of someone who thought she still had a hold. "In private."
"I'm busy," Kael replied, voice like ice. She stepped forward, not inside but close enough to invade the space. "I didn't mean to interrupt. I just assumed you wouldn't be occupied yet." Her eyes flicked past him again—to me. I sat taller, clutching the sheets tighter around my chest. My throat burned from last night's cries, but I didn't care. "Clearly," I rasped, my voice hoarse. "You assume too much." That was when her confidence cracked. Just slightly. Kael didn't look back at me. He didn't need to. "We're done here," he said, sharp and final.
Lyra opened her mouth again, but Kael shut the door before a word could leave it. Not slammed. Just slow. Purposeful. Final. The click of the latch echoed like a gavel between us. He turned back toward me, eyes unreadable at first. Then they shifted, concern tightening his brow as they dropped to how I held the sheet, the strain in my posture, the raw edge still lingering in my voice. "Your throat," he said, already stepping closer. "Do you need water?"
I blinked at him, startled. The heat from earlier still clung to my skin, but his question cooled the sting in my chest. I gave a slight nod. "Yeah. That might help." Kael crossed the room, his expression dark with leftover tension as he moved toward the washbasin, where a pitcher and goblet sat untouched. He didn't speak, but there was a quiet urgency in how he poured the water, his movements sharper than usual, controlled, but barely. Even now, with his muscles still tensed from sleep and irritation, he poured the water carefully. Thoughtfully. Then brought it to me without a word. And I took it, grateful in more ways than one. The goblet was cool in my hands, the water soothing against my raw throat. I took small sips, trying not to wince as the ache deepened before it eased. Kael didn't sit, but he hovered nearby, arms crossed loosely over his chest, jaw tense. His eyes flicked between the empty cup in my hand and the tight way I held the sheet to my body. He looked like he wanted to ask something—maybe if I was alright, perhaps if he should say more—but didn't know how to bridge the space between us now that the heat had cooled and morning had crept in. I could still feel him everywhere. On my skin. In my throat. Beneath my ribs. I looked down into the empty cup. "I appreciate that you didn't let her walk in here like she belonged."
"She never did," he said quietly. "But I think she finally believes it now." I nodded just once and set the cup aside. The silence between us was different now—no longer heavy, just full. Unspoken things still hung in the air, but for now, they could wait. Kael moved toward the wardrobe, retrieving a fresh tunic as the faint sound of activity began to stir beyond the walls. The morning had arrived, and with it, all the expectations that waited beyond our door.
I stood slowly, still wrapped in the sheet, and crossed to the dressing screen. My body ached, marked, and strangely steadied by it. The bruises would bloom in full by midday. So would the questions. But for now, I would dress like a princess. Walk like a wife. And carry me like I belonged—because I did. Even if no one else believed it yet. Let them wonder. Let them see.