After ensuring that all the tenants had retired for the night, Raiva changed into her nightgown and threw a sheer shawl over it, preparing for a cold night. Having almost forgotten about the blasted ribbon holding her hair up, she stopped at the mirror.

It really was well done, and she would have been very grateful for Victor’s kindness, had his actions not implied something further. It would not have been her first time since Tristan’s or even Giovanni’s passing, of course, but she despised the idea of someone being interested in her as a widow, rather than just Raiva. It felt disingenuous, and by extension the ribbon did too.

She untied it and threw it on the side table by the mirror, ruffling her hair into its usual position. There was no need to brush it until she went to bed, given that she would not run into anyone at this time of night.

Leaving her rooms, she felt a small chill from the cold springtime night. It was only just the third month after all, even if the day had felt pleasantly temperate.

Her eyes fell on the fireplace, somehow still imposing and clearly visible in the dim, barely lit sitting room.

Well then.

She went to the kitchen to retrieve some stove-kindling and a spare lighter. Remembering the biscuits Shelly had dug out from somewhere, she quickly went hunting for something similar in the pantry for a small snack. After looking at all the shelves in the dark, she decided Shelly had hidden them extraordinarily well, and instead went to a corner of preserved goods, where Frederick usually stashed a thing or two for her. There, she found a small tin of spiced jerky, a personal favorite of hers.

She tucked it under her arm, and carried it along with the kindling to the sitting room, and began lighting a small fire. After throwing a few pieces of firewood on it, she went to investigate the cabinets of crystal glassware and liquor bottles. Finding a half-size of excellent ruby port wine she felt would go fine with her jerky, and a beautiful tumbler with three little rounded feet on it

Finally sitting down on the sofa with her port and her snack, she removed her slippers and pulled her feet onto the sofa with her, staring at the flames as she sipped from her glass.

Strangely, the fire itself didn’t scare Raiva, despite everything. There were no panic attacks, like the doctors had warned, no hysteria. Not even anger or sadness after a while. It was still as hypnotizing as ever, even feeling comforting. It stirred memories of course, but if anything it helped her reminisce and recall the good ones too.

Like the time her and Tristan spent an entire week holed up in an inn, because they got caught in a snow storm just outside of the city. The roads couldn’t be cleared for three days, and even after that, the ice made it too dangerous to move about on anything but foot. Something Tristan would much rather wait out with blankets, a warm fireplace and plenty of diversions.

Or the time Giovanni and Jürgen took her to the autumn carnival and they spent all night watching fire artists and drinking a bit too much schnapps and palinka, resulting in Giovanni setting his coat on fire trying to learn a fire staff trick.

She giggled at the memory and let her mind wander as she sipped her port and nibbled on her jerky, staring into the fire with droopy eyes.

Then she heard someone descending the stairs.

Turning her head to see who would appear in the doorway, she caught the glimpse of an imposing stature turning the corner.

“You’re up late, captain.”

Griffin halted for a moment, gazing at her silhouette being lit up by the gentle fire in front of her. He thought her illuminated red hair made her look as though she herself was the source of light, enveloped by red and orange flames.

“As are you, madam,” he responded as though unfazed. “I was just making sure everything was alright when I noticed light coming in through my window.”

The no-curtains room. Of course.

She suppressed a chuckle.

“Very thoughtful, sir.”

“Well, then, I will leave you to it.”

He nodded stiffly and made to turn back around.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

“Do you want to join me?” she asked, two glasses of wine having made her set polite inhibitions aside.

Lords, he really is handsome, isn’t he?

She had to blink a few times before realizing that her invitation may have come off as overly familiar, and shake the thought that he looked like a warrior king bathed in the warm glow of the fire.

He looked at her in silence for a moment before responding, “Gladly.”

Though she was mildly surprised at his enthusiastic, for his usual way of speaking anyway, acceptance, she did not show it on her face. Instead she got up, leaving her shawl on the sofa and walked to the liquor cabinets.

“Any preferences?”

“Ale, normally,” he smiled at her, doing his best not to stare at her figure which was quite visible through her sheer, white nightgown, wondering of she was aware. He scratched his neck lightly. “Though I’ll be satisfied with some cognac or gin as well, if there is any.”

“Oh, you are in for a treat, captain,” she mused as she looked for a particular light green, ornate glass bottle.

It took her a moment but she eventually found what she was looking for, half hidden in the bottom left corner.

She really needs to stop trying to hide the expensive ones.

“There we are. A botanical gin, if you are alright with that?”

Not waiting for an answer, she grabbed the bottle along with two adjacent stemless glasses.

“That sounds a little unusual, but yes.”

He had sat on the chair closest to her seat, looking at the fire, which was about to turn into embers.

She sat the glassware down and went to add another piece of firewood, stoking the fire to get it going a bit again.

“Well, I am not an expert, to be honest. I do know that it is herbal, peppery, and delicious,” she smiled as she sat down and poured them both a glass.

He picked up his and began sipping contentedly.

Griffin had finished his glass by the time he spoke.

“I don’t mean to be rude, but I didn’t expect you to be sitting in front of a fire in your nightgown.”

She had to think about what his words implied for a moment.

“I’m guessing you mean because of the fire part?” she waited for him to nod before continuing. “Well, I can’t very well blame fire for their deaths, can I?"

She thought for a bit, head tilted to the side, spurned on by the several glasses of liquor in her blood.

“You know, maybe it is strange. After Tristan’s death, you know, my first husband, the doctors told me in no uncertain terms that I would be traumatized by it, prone to fits of hysteria if exposed to it. So everyone stopped lighting fires around me. Fireplaces, lanterns, candles, all of it. I only had as much day as the sun was out for, because I thought they were right. I didn’t light any either. For many, many weeks.

“Then one day I was walking past a window with a candle in it, and all I could think was that I missed light and warmth and yes, fire, I suppose. Because the doctors were wrong, the fire hadn’t traumatized me.

“I don’t know if anything really did, except Tristan dying, and him yelling at me to get out. ‘You have to live’. But I couldn’t, I kept trying to get him out from under that stupid pillar. So Frederick had to drag me out. I didn’t blame the fire.”

She emptied her glass and made a pained face.

“I blamed the man who set the fire two houses down, just to collect insurance money,” her voice shook a little, and she looked him in the eye with a hollow laugh as she went on.

“Did you know that? That it was all because of an insurance scam?”

She shook her head.

“Maybe it doesn’t make sense. His parents avoid fire at all costs now. They’re terrified. ‘Traumatized’. After their anger settled of course.”

Not sure how to continue, she poured herself the remainder of the wine and took a few sips, observing Griffin.

His face had barely moved, though his eyebrows had furrowed a little and his line of sight had moved from her, to the fire to the bottle.

He too poured himself another glass, though he stuck to the gin.

“And the nightgown?” he asked, not looking up from his glass.

She chuckled, “I didn’t think I would run into anyone.”

She paused, and tilted her head, still looking at him. Her heart had been beating hard before, when she recounted past events, but now it was changing into a nervous, excited one instead.

“And I forgot that someone might see the light through their windows, even if they don’t have curtains.”

“How do you know I don’t have curtains?” he asked, finally looking at her, willing his eyes once again, not to stare at her body in her sheer dress. One of the sleeves had slipped off a shoulder and from her sitting position, one of her knees lifted it just enough to see a bit of her pale thigh, unshielded by the thin veil. He touched his neck with his hand, embarrassed by his own discomposure, feeling his skin heating up underneath it.

“I had a quick glance at the rooms before you all arrived, making sure everything was in order, and noticed one room looked a little less furnished than the others. After meeting you I couldn’t help but think it might be yours.”

She giggled at how in-character a room like that was for a curt, stoic man like Griffin, or his first impression anyway.

“I’m not exactly used to having rooms to decorate,” he replied jokingly. “I don’t think my superiors think too fondly of using budget to pick out new curtains for our rooms at the academy and barracks.”

“I suppose not, though I worry Shelly might buy you some of her own money if you don’t procure some soon. She was quite shocked.”

He simply chuckled in response, clearly not taking her warning seriously.

She looked at his handsome, rugged face in the light of the embers. Too handsome. She could blame it on the alcohol.

“You should consider two layers of curtains,” she advised him, putting her cheek to her hand on the armrest facing him.

“Two? What for?”

“One for the light, one for privacy.”

“Privacy?”

“Hmn-hm,” she hummed back at him, moving her pinky finger against her lower lip. “It’s easy to see through the sheer kind when it’s dark outside, but the dark one blocks out the morning sun too much.”

He fixed his stare to her lips.

“And you have two layers?”

She smiled, biting her finger lightly, then lowered her arm to lean in further.

“For privacy.”

“We could probably use that,” he replied.

He set his glass down, went to throw ashes on the embers and turned around to look at her as the light went out. She looked back at him smiling.