Hallvar startled awake, acting on instinct as they grabbed whatever was touching them.

The room was dim except for the glow of a fireplace, which they did not remember lighting. The flames cast an inconsistent light, a flickering redness that in Hallvar’s mind connected with scenes from horror movies in their old life.

Whatever lethargy clouded their thoughts had not informed their body that sleep and slow processing was the goal. Their heart pounded hard, as if Hallvar was dropped from their bed into a marathon, forced to run from… from what?

All they remembered last was the dungeon. Especially being roused from a meditative state to face Cyciphos, wondering which threat would wake them next. Was he here? Or were there more guards to hold Hallvar down for another sacrificed digit?

Hallvar flexed their remaining pinky, as if to check if it still remained. They were confused by the feeling. They were holding something, gripping it tightly.

This was the real world, not a dream.

“Hallvar.”

That was Stella’s voice.

Their gaze finally focused, shifting from images of a fading nightmare to this world, this reality. The one in which Hallvar dug their talons into Stella’s arm.

The hero looked from Stella’s face – concerned, wincing – to her arm, the skin indented under the pressure of their fingers, slightly dulled talons drawing blood.

Hallvar relaxed their grip and let go as soon as their panic-confused thoughts let them, a sharp pang of fear and gnawing worry taking its place among the other tumultuous feelings.

“I—” They didn’t have words to say, merely pulling their hand away, as if to keep Stella safe.

There it was. For the last week, Hallvar pushed all their emotions and feelings and stress into one heavy pile. They weren’t backed into a corner as much as trapped on a cliff’s edge, the looming mass of a mental breakdown becoming heavier and heavier by the hour.

Hallvar couldn’t take the metaphorical leap, not when they were expected to perform in front of the court, in front of the castle, the Queen.

But that was no longer their decision. Injuring Stella, the look of pain on her face, that was one final weight added to the pile. The cliff that was Hallvar’s composure began crumbling. They had no chance to reinforce their resolve or steel their nerves when woken up in a panic, their ability to rationalize hindered by echoes of nightmares.

Shit. Their thoughts spiraled, breath getting harder to find. I did that. I hurt her.

Out of everything that happened, Hallvar maintained some vague sense of innocence. They didn’t try to hurt the princess. They didn’t fight Leon. They were unsuccessful at even threatening Viktor. And Cyciphos was only injured badly because of his stupidity, not Hallvar’s effort.

They couldn’t run from this harm, however. That was Hallvar’s fault. In a moment of base instinct, of fear and reaction, they lashed out and hurt Stella.

“I don’t—” –know why I did that.

Hallvar struggled to back away and give her space, failing to finish their sentences as panic gripped them. Their talons were catching on the nice sheets, aggravating Hallvar more.

They were suddenly aware of how sweaty and nasty their hands felt, trapped inside their gloves.

“I just—I need these off.”

Hallvar didn’t know where their priorities lay, but the frustration and fear could be solved by completing a simple task, right? They fumbled with the gloves, scratching their palm and wrist as they struggled to get a grip.

They were hyper aware of Stella’s movements around the room, internally tracking her like a caged beast, feeling like they couldn’t leave the bed until something was resolved.

The gloves wouldn’t fucking come off. Hallvar felt tears well in the corners of their eyes, embarrassed and frustrated and angry that this one thing wouldn’t just work.

She did something with her staff. Hallvar didn’t know exactly. They could feel the shiver of magic in that direction, a new sensation, but it wasn’t the gloves so they didn’t care.

They tried to move away and give her space when she approached, but Stella grabbed their arm, gently but insistently. The panic didn’t pause, nor did the harsh pounding of their heart, but Hallvar stopped fiddling with the gloves to watch.

The yellow crystal sphere on her staff glowed softly from within; the scratches on Hallvar’s hands disappeared under the healing magic.

They couldn’t look at her. They were tense, their neck and shoulders locked into a defensive hunch even as she reached out.

Stella was so kind. Hallvar tried to turn their head away so the hot tears wouldn’t fall on her hands as she helped take off the stupid gloves.

The gloves looked cool with the talons, but Hallvar would not be fucking wearing them again unless… unless Stella was present.

They tried to focus on their breathing, raggedly inhaling and exhaling through their nose. This was all so embarrassing and shameful.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

She said something and stepped away again. Hallvar didn’t really hear her, but they stayed put, flexing their fingers. They were grateful to have their hands free; the webbing of their fingers was sore where the seams rubbed as they slept.

The nub of their finger still ached. It was healed and scarred over, but felt like it hurt. Maybe it was one of those phantom pains. Hallvar didn’t know how healing worked exactly in this world.

Stella returned. Hallvar tilted their head slightly away as if subconsciously keeping their distance.

She had a cool, wet cloth to wipe off their hands. Her arm looked uninjured. Stella had basic healing spells, right?

Hallvar didn’t know what to think or how to feel. They were flushed with shame and tears flowed stronger if they thought too hard about anything other than the exact sensations happening in their body right now.

The kind gesture was very intimate.

Cold cloth running from fingertip to palm. The delicate twitching of their fingers as they remained tense so their talons wouldn’t touch Stella again. The shudder in their breath. Every gross feeling from crying – a damp face, a runny nose, the works.

“Thank you,” they murmured once she finished with their hands.

They felt an arrow-strike of emotion in their heart as Stella took hold of their jaw and turned Hallvar to face her. She folded the cloth to wipe their face even as Hallvar’s eyes widened from the vulnerable eye contact.

Every internal impulse told them to turn away and run, or at least pull away, but Hallvar didn’t listen to the fear.

They melted under her touch, unable to hold on to the tension any longer. It meant more tears ran down their face, but they didn’t look away or shy from her care.

They didn’t understand why they were so comfortable with Stella already, why she felt the need to help them, to stay with them even though all signs pointed to trouble. A few months of no verbal communication shouldn’t have led to this kind of intimacy.

Or maybe it did? All of that body language and consideration without speaking fostered some mutual trust and care.

Hallvar didn’t understand, but Stella did.

She knelt on the bed and wrapped her arms around the hero’s neck, pulling them close in a hug. It was something Hallvar desperately needed, and it undid all of Stella’s progress cleaning their face.

They buried themselves into her shoulder, dirtying her nice uniform, and sobbed.

So much for testosterone making crying harder. The trick of it was to get tortured, it seemed.

It felt like ages before they were comfortable enough to return the hug, now constantly aware of their talons and how they could hurt Stella. It was hard to fight the urge to grab her tight, but Hallvar didn’t want to risk it.

“Sorry,” they eventually said, their voice rough with lingering emotion.

“For?” Stella asked, running her hand over their back.

“Everything?”

The woman laughed and squeezed them tight. “You’ll have to be more specific.”

Hallvar sighed. “For hurting you?”

“I’m not injured so there’s nothing to apologize for.”

“But you were.”

“And now I’m not.”

They chuckled, already feeling better with this stupid argument underway.

Hallvar was able to disentangle themselves from Stella, wiping off their face with the meat of their palm before she handed them the cloth to use.

It would take a while to go back to feeling normal again, but it helped to have such good company.

“What now,” they said, barely a question in its blank delivery.

Stella stood, helping Hallvar to their feet. “It’s dark outside, so you clean up and go back to sleep, if that’s what you want. They left food for us if you’re hungry. You slept through the delivery.”

They didn’t have the energy to question any of this, just nodding.

She continued as she guided Hallvar to the bathroom, seeing as they were moving slowly as if stunned by the emotional breakdown.

“I have books to read; I brought a few for you. I ran into Kiran, and she said you read a lot at her cabin.”

That was… how long did Hallvar sleep? The trial ended late in the afternoon, and judging by the sky this was well-into evening if not night itself.

They went about their business in the bathroom as Stella retreated to find a nice place to sit. Hallvar looked terrible in the mirror, skin patchy and pink from distress and crying.

Ah, well, if Stella didn’t reject them now, then she would probably stay forever. Things couldn’t get much worse.

Vulnerability emboldened the hero, so Hallvar voiced that sentiment in different words as they rifled through a wardrobe for pajamas or at least something they could wear to sit around with Stella.

“This is your chance to walk away,” they said dryly as they pulled a loose, long-sleeved tunic over their head. Man, what they wouldn’t give for cheap fleece pj pants.

“A crazed ex-royal will have it out for me. I’ve been tortured, there’s not much more tormented-and-edgy soul you can get past that. The talons are a whole thing – wiping my ass is difficult, let alone any intimacy between us.”

Speaking of, Hallvar struggled for a minute to pull up the loose fabric trousers, something they didn’t really sell in the market or else Hallvar would have snapped them up. Were they imported? Did one of the other countries have clothes like this?

“And that’s not even mentioning the shapeshifting. Did you know in the Qhai Republic, beast-people are like… heralds of death or something? Learned that the hard way.”

“Mhmm,” came the reply from Stella, a sound that indicated she was merely humoring Hallvar’s list of complaints.

They looked over at the woman in her chair, a book open in her lap, but she was watching Hallvar with such an amused expression.

It didn’t change as Hallvar approached, leaning over her to speak in her personal space, all 6’2” of wayward intimidation.

“The talons are from one form, and I have—” Hallvar checked their skill list. “—three more to change me. Who knows what will happen?”

“Mm, of course.” Stella looked up at the hero with her beautiful green eyes twinkling, undeterred by Hallvar’s attempt to convince her to go. “Whatever shall I do?”

The hero snorted.

She set her book aside, looking over the leaning man from top to bottom before meeting their gaze.

“You should get a tail. That way when you make these half-hearted statements about how terrible you are, I’ll be able to see your tail wagging because you like me and you like being close to me.”

“Am I that transparent?” Hallvar said, not trying to hide their glance toward her lips.

“You have been since the first week, yes. A tail would be funny for me to see, though. You would have to sew holes in your clothes.”

The hero gave in and leaned down to kiss her, carefully grasping the side of her face with one hand.

Once they were done with that lovely moment of intimacy, Hallvar grinned. “I can think of a tail I’d like to see.”

She didn’t scold them, instead sitting up to close the distance more. “Yeah? One good cry and you’re ready?”

They liked this stupid teasing and taunting. “I’m over the whole held captive and tortured thing. I’m very simple, don’t you know?”

Stella laughed, grabbing onto their shoulders. “You speak your mind. I like that.”

“I like you.”

Hallvar wrapped an arm around her back. With some effort from their meager strength, they picked the woman up. She readily wrapped her legs around their hips.

“And you don’t take yourself too seriously. You’re silly for a hero. I like that too.”

They collapsed onto the bed in a flurry of kisses and giggles. Nothing further happened, but it was fun and relieved a bit of anxiety from before.

Hallvar did keep one thing in mind, however, and made sure no marks strayed above the collar of Stella’s shirt.

The last thing they needed was the Queen calling them out for kissing too passionately in her castle.