Elena

I wake slowly, warm and comfortable in a way that feels almost foreign. The quiet hum of the inn and the soft light filtering through the curtains are a far cry from the damp chill and restless nights on the road. It’s cozy here, tucked under blankets and surrounded by warmth, and for a moment, I can’t bring myself to open my eyes.

Then I become aware of Rafe, his steady breathing against the back of my neck, his arm draped around my waist, anchoring me to him. I’m not startled by it, not anymore. Somehow, waking up tangled together has become… natural. But there’s a difference this morning—no layers of cloaks and tunics between us, nothing to keep his warmth from seeping into every inch of me.

It’s then I remember: our clothes had been sent off for washing last night. I’m left in a thin linen shirt and trousers, and Rafe, judging by the solid warmth pressed against my back, is dressed just as lightly. His bare chest rises and falls in a slow rhythm against me, his arm heavy and steady, pulling me close. His thigh is slotted between mine, and I can feel the heat of him everywhere.

I lie there for a moment, perfectly still, acutely aware of every place we’re touching. My pulse kicks up, and I tell myself I should pull away, break this unspoken intimacy before he wakes up and things get more complicated. But I don’t move. I let myself relax into him, just for a few heartbeats, letting his warmth ease away the chill from my skin.

I’m still debating how to extricate myself when his voice, low and rough with sleep, cuts through the quiet.

“Awake?”

I tense slightly, but then I let out a quiet breath. “Yeah.”

His arm stays around me, neither of us moving, the weight of it grounding me in a way that feels both comforting and unnerving. I can feel him fully aware of our position, of how close we’re lying, but he doesn’t pull back.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

I glance down at his hand, still resting on my waist, and murmur, “Didn’t feel like moving?”

There’s a pause, just long enough to make me wonder if I’ve overstepped. Then he replies, his voice dry but with a hint of something deeper, “Didn’t want you to be cold.”

It’s a poor excuse, and we both know it. There’s an unspoken tension beneath the words, a quiet understanding that this isn’t just about warmth. But he doesn’t explain further, and I don’t press him. Instead, I let myself linger in the silence, feeling the weight of everything unsaid between us.

“We should probably get up,” I say, though my voice is softer than I intended, lacking any real conviction.

Rafe doesn’t move, his arm still loose around my waist, his breath a warm whisper against the back of my neck. “Yeah,” he murmurs, but there’s a reluctance there, a hesitation I can feel as clearly as my own.

After another beat, I finally slip out from under his arm, the cool air brushing against my skin as I sit up. The sudden absence of his warmth is jarring, and I shiver slightly as I push my hair back, trying to steady myself.

Rafe follows, sitting up beside me, his movements unhurried, like he’s still savoring the remnants of sleep. I catch a glimpse of him as he stretches, the thin linen of his trousers hanging low on his hips, his bare chest still faintly warm from where we’d been pressed together. My cheeks heat, and I quickly look away, feeling unexpectedly vulnerable under his gaze.

“Breakfast?” I ask, forcing a casual tone as I stand and reach for my things. “We should probably head downstairs before the morning crowd.”

He nods, but there’s a quiet in him that wasn’t there before, an almost watchful look that makes my pulse skip. Every now and then, I feel his eyes on me as we get dressed, but he doesn’t say anything, and I can’t bring myself to break the silence either.

As we step out into the hallway, the inn bustling with the sounds of early morning, I feel the weight of what just happened—and what didn’t. There’s a tension between us now, a fragile, unspoken awareness that lingers like a secret. And for the first time, I’m not sure how to navigate it.

As we step out into the hallway, the inn bustling with the sounds of early morning, I can’t help but wonder what exactly we’ve stepped into. And how long we can keep pretending it’s not there.