*

Lily recalled little of their walk back to the inn after the wedding celebration had concluded and dispersed. In the heat of the revelry, they had lost track of time. But it hadn’t mattered a lick to her. She didn’t feel fatigue or soreness, not even the blisters on her feet. All of those things had fallen by the wayside the moment the music had struck up, like she had a shield against every scrap of pain and tiredness. It had remained that way, even as she and Vetch took a rambling and circuitous route back through Pasanhal town to their inn. They had held hands the entire time, and Lily had been surprised at how natural it felt, how the nerves she normally would have had bothered her not at all. It simply was. The night air had been cool and breezy, but Vetch’s hand was warm, as was the brush of his shoulder when the path compelled them to walk closer together. The woolen kiss of inebriation on her senses was only an overture to the euphoria she felt at being so close to the object of her affection. She walked on clouds.

Before she knew it, they were back in their room and she was laughing as he attempted to get his boots off. When he overbalanced and fell, he feigned annoyance from the floor, which only made her laugh all the more. He finally kicked his boots off and away from him, as if they were the ones at fault. Only then did he relent and join in with her laughter. He shook his hair out of his eyes and she turned a pitying look upon him, offering her hands to help him back to his feet.

“Shall I have the innkeeper prepare hot bathwater?” he asked, as she pulled him upright. His cheeks were ruddy, as she was used to seeing them, only tonight it was not from his days patrolling in the sun as a soldier, but from drink and revelry and ... something else. The same thing that made her own cheeks flush. It was that they were together, that something that had only bubbled beneath the surface for them for years had suddenly and openly been expressed in a single day and night they had taken for themselves.

“I will wait down in the common room so you can use it first,” he added, when she hesitated in answering.

“No,” she decided, shaking her head. She tapped her finger to her lips. “No. Could you please just heat some water in the tea kettle over the fire? And then sit right here.” She went and drew one of the chairs from the table over closer to the fire. Vetch studied her face with a look of confusion, but then did as bidden.

While the water heated, Lily went into her things. She found her belt knife, along with some soap and a comb she had purchased earlier in the markets.

“Tea?” Vetch asked, while steam began rising from the kettle. “I think I have some in my bag.”

“No,” Lily said. “Sit. Please,” she bade him, when he turned the same look of puzzlement on her again.

Wordlessly, he sat in the chair, looking up at her through his hair. He fidgeted like a little boy, curious about what was truly being asked of him. Lily simply poured the steaming water from the kettle into a clean bowl. She wetted the soap and leaned close to him to begin spreading a layer of lather over his whiskers.

“That’s all?” he chuckled. “I could do this mys—”

“Shh,” she silenced him, keeping her eyes on her task. She spread the warm lather evenly as she spoke. “Would you rather do it by yourself? Or me?”

He thought for a moment, then smiled. “You,” he whispered.

“I thought so,” she replied, eliciting another small chuckle from him. After that, he was still. She held his face and went about methodically scraping it smooth. “I used to do this for my father,” she explained, “when he hurt his hand and couldn’t do it himself while it was healing.”

“I remember that time,” Vetch said, his voice soft. “And you had to help him with a lot of extra things around the dairy. I didn’t see you much those days.”

Lily smiled, nodding her head at the memory. She surprised herself at how she could smile at a memory of her father, rather than it make her eyes brim with tears. For a time, she and Vetch were both silent and the only sounds were of the fire burning low, the scrape of her blade across his whiskers, and their breathing. The exotic and energizing sensation of dancing with him in a crowd of merrymakers was replaced by one of soothing calm. When his face was all smooth, she paused to admire the effect. Some men looked fairer bearded, but Vetch she liked clean-shaven. It displayed the pleasing masculinity of his jaw, the subtle cleft in his chin. Even the new scar he had sustained in the battle back home could not diminish his beauty. He went to stand, but she pushed down on his shoulder.

“Not finished yet. Take your shirt off.”

This time, he didn’t fidget or try to discern her aim. He only raised his eyebrows slightly, then complied.

Truly, he was a well-built man. Lily was not naive to how occupations like farming and soldiering sculpted the bodies of men. She saw them in summer stripped to the waist and had admired how their work shaped them. Vetch had a reputation for being ever-diligent in his sword drilling and it showed. He had the honest musculature of a man who took no shortcuts in his very physical occupation. Beautiful. Always, Lily had heard the word used to describe women, but in looking at Vetch, she knew that men could be beautiful, too. With Vetch, it was not only in his appearance, but also in his strength and composure, in his unhesitating selflessness.

She smiled at the way his torso was still paler compared to his face and forearms, and suddenly she desired nothing more than to trace her fingers over his chest and the sparse nest of auburn hair there.

Then, her eyes fell to the gruesome stab wound and she was reminded harshly of the reality of why he trained as he did. He had removed the bandaging earlier that day. Seeing the injury again now, she put her hand to her mouth at how red and and angry the skin around it still was.

Vetch looked down at the wound, answering her unspoken questions. “I’m okay,” he said. “It still aches, but ...”

“It looks infected. Vetch, she ... that woman was not truly a healing mage at all ...”

“I know. And I’m fine, Lily. Really. Yes, she fooled me into thinking I was healing faster than I was. It will take time. But I’m okay. I promise you. If the blade had not passed clean through me, I would have been dead days ago. It looks worse than it is.” He touched her arm, and she looked at his face again as he said, “Tomorrow, when we are out seeking leads about the castle, we’ll make time to find a real healer. Would that make you feel better?” She nodded and he favored her with a cheeky grin. “Now, why was it you wanted my shirt off?”

Lily flourished her knife. “So we don’t get hair on it, of course.” To his questioning look, she added, “You look as shaggy as Fae. I’m going to cut your hair, silly. Now, hold still again.”

He did. The man sat patiently while she cleaned off the blade and then scrutinized him in the dim light. Now, she took up the comb and ran it through his lightly curled hair until it all hung evenly. This was something she had never attempted before on anyone. The difficult part was not in recalling how he liked his hair, but having to concentrate while his eyes were on her. It felt almost like a gift how he put his trust in her when she finally chose a lock of hair, trapped it with her fingers, and neatly sliced it shorter. The auburn curls fell to the floor. Others soon followed it, with Lily stepping back to gauge her work after every few cuts. When at last there was a neat ring of trimmed hair on the floor around him, she stepped back once more, looked at him, and smiled.

“There,” she said. “I can finally see your eyes again.”

That was the least of it. He looked like himself again. It would take practice until she could do it as well as whomever had cut his hair in the barracks, but here again was the face she always looked forward to seeing around town, the handsome soldier with the dark eyes full of light. Those eyes stayed on her as she set the blade down and distractedly brushed some loose locks from his bare shoulder to the floor.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

At the same time, he suddenly brushed the backs of his fingers tenderly along her cheek. She caught her breath and met his eyes, heart pounding.

It only took him making the slightest tilt of his chin upward, an invitation subtle as an avalanche. She lowered her mouth to his, at the same time laying her hands on his solid shoulders. The press of his lips to hers was firm and soft and warm. He tasted of the strong barley wine they had drunk together. And he smelled of soap, and his new clothes, and of that distinctive scent of a man that was both universal and yet uniquely his. Heat suffused her body with her rushing heartbeat, until her innards tingled, so that she barely knew what to do with her hands, or any of the rest of her.

But she needn’t have worried. Her body found its own way. Without hesitation, without thought, she lowered herself to sit atop his legs, facing him in the chair. She was caught up in his embracing arms and happily plunged herself deeper into the shared kiss. It was as if she were tumbling down a mountainside, or falling into deep water until it closed in around her and stole her breath from her lungs. Only this wasn’t unpleasant. She desired more of the feeling, of tumbling breathlessly into new and deeper fathoms, more than anything else she had ever desired. When they allowed their lips to part, so that they might each take a breath, Lily was left gasping. The room felt so warm now. So, why did she shiver? Vetch’s breath caressed her mouth. She cast aside all thought and lowered her lips to his again. His mouth was hungry yet gentle. His hands held her waist and kept her to him, and she pressed needfully back. She ran her fingers over his upper back and shoulders, exploring the lines of his shoulder blades. Inanely, she wondered if her fingers were cold across his warm skin. If they were, he didn’t show it.

The second time they mutually parted to catch their breath, they sat gazing into one another’s eyes. The first thought that flitted through Lily’s mind was that she could not believe this was at last happening with Vetch. And how very good it was. She realized she could feel him through his trousers and she could not help but utter a surprised gasp upon understanding what she felt. Of course, she had learned about men and lovemaking, from her mother, from friends—Marigold could be particularly blunt about the mechanics of it when she was in her cups. What was she supposed to do now? What would Vetch do? They were both caught up in one another, understanding what was next, but staying still. Everything was perfect. How did she initiate? ...

Then her thoughts pushed an icy cold knife between her ribs. Why did it have to be here? With everything that awaited them come morning? Why not in her bedroom back home, a home that no longer existed? And why must she suddenly remember the sight of him with that woman in the forest cottage?

“Vetch?” she spoke, and he looked up at her with love-drunk eyes. But when they came into focus on her face, his expression changed to one of concern. No. Not concern. Fear. He feared he’d done something wrong. She felt his hands inch back up to her waist, which only caused her to feel guilty. She was going to ruin this, wasn’t she? He was looking at her, wondering what was the matter, waiting for her to say something. Just play it off, she thought. Let it go and let this keep going. Her mouth betrayed her. “Vetch, would you ... was there anything there with that woman that you would want to go back to?” The man’s brow knit and she felt horrible, but now that she had begun, she had to press on. She couldn’t accept something so good as this was with questions still hanging over her unanswered. It wouldn’t feel right. Not perfect. Not like she had always imagined it would be.

“I know how unlikely it is that we’ll ever find Marigold,” she admitted, turning her eyes down as she spoke. “Even if we do, there’s probably nothing we can do to help her. Not against the army that destroyed our town. They’ll probably just kill us. So, if you’d rather end this wild quest here, forget all this ... and go back to her ...”

He was already shaking his head. Confusion seemed to war with defiance when he said, “Never. Lily, never.”

“I keep remembering you in her arms, how happy you both looked ...”

“I was ensorcelled by Hayleigh. You know that. It only felt real at the time because of that. But it wasn’t real. Since we escaped that place and her magic, I have felt nothing for her. I have not even a shred of desire to return there.” When she remained silent, he brought his fingers to her chin and gently guided her eyes back up to his. “Lily, I am sorry.”

“There is nothing—”

“Still. I am.”

She took in a shallow breath and let it out. How could she be so childish about this? Had she not confirmed the wicked magic done to the both of them herself? Why did she still feel so stung that she must dredge up the past and ruin this wonderful night they had been having together? Because, even though it had been false desire forced upon him by a spell, Lily had still gone through the experience of feeling how it was to lose Vetch to another woman. It forced her to concede that it could have happened at any time, even without magic causing it. All those years while he was training with the garrison, and she was learning to be a mage, she had not said anything or made any move. She had been shy and aloof, never telling him how she felt, always assuming they would end up together, somehow, regardless.

“I was so stupid,” she said, and sniffled. Despite herself, tears started to brim in her eyes. It didn’t matter that it was over now. The fear she had felt during those days, that she had lost him, came tumbling back. “So stupid,” she spat more bitterly, feeling the first tear slide down her cheek to her trembling chin. “I could have spoken up. Years ago. I wanted you even then, and I never had the courage to just say so. Because of that I could’ve lost you. Forever,” she ended in a trembling whisper.

She felt his fingers tighten on her waist. Then, to her surprise, he started chuckling. Then the chuckling turned into laughter.

Hurt at first, her sadness quickly turned to irritation. “Stop laughing! I mean it. I’m admitting how stupid I have been and you laugh? I ... I love you. I’ve been in love with you all this time, ever since I was a little girl, and I never said it when I should have.” How could he laugh at her when she was only speaking the truth? Yet, at her words, his merriment only grew.

“I love you, too, Lily,” he said through tears of laughter. Despite his words sending a jolt of elation through her, him laughing only confused her and made her more cross.

She cuffed him on the shoulder. “Then stop laughing, you idiot! Say it like you’re supposed to say it, all romantic and such.”

To this, he only roared louder, until his entire body shook, and hers as well atop him. He tried speaking, but he couldn’t get the words out, such was his mirth.

This was enough for Lily. Putting her palm to his chest, she pushed herself up and out of his lap. She stormed a few steps across the room, before turning back to him with her arms crossed. He remained in the chair, finally getting his laughter under control, and then he sat there looking upon her with a dreamy smile, like a little boy with a crush. How could men be so maddening?

“We’ve both been stupid,” he said at last. “You take the blame on yourself, but it belongs to me as well. All this time, I could’ve said something, too. Oh, look at your face. You are beautiful even when you’re angry! Oh, Lily, I love you!”

Something about the way he was looking at her, and his stupid words ... she couldn’t maintain the anger on her face. Her chin trembled, but this time it was not with sadness. The absurdity of the entire moment dawned on her and suddenly she, too, was trying to hold back laughter. And she succeeded, up until the point he noticed what was happening and gave her the subtlest raise of his eyebrows. Then, she broke and doubled over laughing, and his triumphant grin only made her laugh more. He stood and approached her, arms wide for a hug. She shoved him back.

“No. Say it for real, you dunce!” she demanded through her laughing.

“You first!” he rejoined.

This only caused them both to redouble their fits of giggling, until they were leaning against one another clutching their stomachs and wiping tears from their eyes. If she had not been so swept up in the moment, Lily may have examined it and discovered how the outpouring of emotions and declarations of love were a balm for the both of them, that the tears and laughter both were born from the emotional dam between them finally bursting. But in her state of relief, there was no need to understand it, only to let it envelop her, just as his arms enveloped her once their hysterics had at last given over to tenderness. Vetch held her and he kissed away the tears on her cheeks.

As if in a haze, they helped one another undress while retreating to the bed and the warmth of its blankets and each other. The apprehension Lily had felt melted away. They lay underneath the blankets in complete dark and she delighted in the heat of his skin, the press of his lips to hers, the gentle touch of his hands across her tingling body. It was natural, easy. She drifted her fingers over him wherever they might go. Every touch, given and received, was more tantalizing than the last, more significant than ever she could have imagined a touch could be. His were exploratory—halting at first, then adventurous. They awoke in her a kernel of need somewhere deep inside, one she had discovered before in her own explorations, but had never yet found a clear path to.

She allowed him to take the lead and then followed gamely in after him. His desire was obvious by the murmurs he emitted and the lunge he gave against her, showing no sign of dissatisfaction at her lack of practice. Together they built pleasure upon pleasure, heat and wetness. She felt him stiffen all over and then the fruits of her efforts surprised her. The sound of contentment he voiced after flattered her and she delighted in it.

And they were content. A natural interlude presented itself, soon stretching into lassitude. They surrendered to it and reposed. Lily sensed the unlocking of possibilities. There was more. So much more. And it would be. But now, the hurriedness of before waned. The immediacy of Vetch had turned to still waters that she was enjoying drifting upon. Here was good ground upon which to camp.

Tender kisses gave way to drowsy cuddling and yawns. They acceded to the need for rest, holding the unspoken assertion that this was theirs now. Lily closed her eyes with her forehead against his chest, more content than ever she had been in her life there in his arms. She held the man she loved, and he held her. They both slipped into a slumber as easy as dreaming.