FIA

I woke to sunlight streaming through gaps in the heavy curtains. My body felt different. Lighter somehow, though everything ached in that deep-bone way that came after a heat finally burned itself out. The ’fever’ had broken sometime during the night, and now I existed in that strange floaty aftermath where the world felt too bright and too quiet all at once.

Cian’s arm lay draped across my waist. His breathing came slow and even against the back of my neck, each exhale warm enough to make me shiver. I didn’t move. Some part of me wanted to preserve this moment, this fragile pocket of peace we’d carved out together in Moonhaven’s opulent suite.

The sheets tangled around us smelled like sex, sweat and something distinctly us.

His fingers twitched against my stomach. Then his whole body tensed behind me, muscles going rigid in that way they did when he first woke and remembered where he was.

"Fia." My name came out rough, scraped raw from all the things he’d growled and moaned during the heat.

"Morning." I kept my voice soft. My throat hurt too, though I couldn’t tell if that was from screaming or crying or begging. Probably all three.

He shifted, propping himself up on one elbow so he could look down at me. I rolled onto my back and met his gaze. Dark circles shadowed the skin beneath his eyes, and his hair stuck up in about fifteen different directions. He looked wrecked. Beautiful and completely wrecked.

"How do you feel?" He reached up to brush a strand of hair from my face, his touch so careful it made my chest tight.

"Like I got hit by a truck." I managed a small smile. "You?"

"The same." His thumb traced the curve of my cheekbone. "Maybe two trucks."

I laughed, then winced when the movement pulled at muscles I’d forgotten I had. Cian’s expression shifted immediately into concern, that furrow appearing between his brows that I’d learned meant he was cataloging every possible way I might be hurt.

"I’m fine," I said before he could start fussing. "Just sore."

"I wasn’t gentle." He said it like a confession, his gaze dropping to where bruises probably decorated my hips and thighs.

"I didn’t want gentle." The truth of it sat between us, undeniable. "I wanted you."

His eyes snapped back to mine. Something raw flickered across his face, there and gone so fast I might have imagined it. Then he lowered his head and pressed his forehead to mine, breathing me in like he needed to confirm I was real.

We stayed like that for a while. Just existing together in the quiet morning light, learning the shape of each other all over again now that the fever wasn’t burning through us. This felt different from the heat. More intentional somehow. We weren’t being driven by biology, bond magic, or even my pheremones. We chose to be close because we wanted to.

The realization settled over me slowly, warm and terrifying in equal measure.

A knock at the door made us both jump. Cian pulled away, already halfway to defensive mode before I caught his wrist.

"It’s probably just staff," I murmured.

He looked unconvinced but didn’t move to answer. The knock came again, firmer this time.

"Emmm, Alpha Cian? Luna Fia?" A woman’s voice filtered through the heavy wood. "I’m here to collect the dinner trays and bring breakfast. May I enter?"

I glanced at Cian. He looked at me like I should make the decision, because all he had in his eyes was me, and he did not seem to care for breakfast.

"Come in," I called, which I then immediately regretted when I remembered we were both very naked under these sheets.

The door opened to reveal a middle-aged woman in Moonhaven livery, her dark hair pulled into a neat bun. She kept her gaze professionally averted while she maneuvered a cart into the room. The dinner trays from last night still sat untouched on the side table, the food long since gone cold and congealed.

"I’ll just take these," she said, efficiently stacking the dishes. "And leave your breakfast here by the sitting area. Is there anything else you need?"

"We’re fine, thank you." Cian’s voice had taken on that formal tone he used with people he didn’t know well.

The woman nodded, placed a second cart laden with covered dishes near the windows, and slipped back out without another word. The door clicked shut behind her with a soft finality.

I waited until her footsteps faded down the hallway before I let out the breath I’d been holding. Cian made a low sound that might have been amusement.

"We probably should have eaten dinner," he said.

"We were a little busy." The heat crept up my neck even though there was no one here to see it but him.

He grinned, quick and boyish in a way that made him look years younger. Then he threw back the covers and stood, completely unselfconscious in his nakedness. I watched him cross to the bathroom, appreciating the play of muscles under his toned flesh, and the way he moved with that predatory grace even when he was limping slightly from exhaustion.

The shower turned on and steam began to drift through the open doorway.

"Coming?" he called.

I should have felt shy. I should have wanted to hide under the blankets and preserve whatever modesty I had left. Instead, I found myself sliding out of bed and padding across the plush carpet to join him.

The water ran hot enough to sting. Cian stood under the spray with his eyes closed, letting it sluice over his shoulders and down his back. I stepped in behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist and pressing my cheek between his shoulder blades.

He covered my hands with his. We stood there while the steam built around us. We did not speak. We just stayed there. The shower washed away hours of sweat and sex, but it couldn’t touch what had grown between us during that time. The bond thrummed in my chest, no longer frantic with need but steady and sure.

When we finally emerged, clean and pink from the heat, the breakfast cart was waiting. Cian found a robe for each of us hanging in the closet, and we settled into the chairs by the windows with all the grace of newborn foals.

I lifted one of the silver domes to reveal eggs and bacon, fresh bread and jam, sliced fruit arranged in careful patterns. My stomach growled loud enough that Cian heard it across the table. His mouth twitched.

"Eat," he said.

I picked up a piece of bacon, then stopped. Something about the domesticity of this moment struck me sideways. We’d rarely done this.

We had never had a leisurely breakfast together, in matching robes while morning light in a top tier getaway suite turned everything golden.

"What?" Cian asked when he noticed me staring.

"Nothing." I bit into the bacon, the salt and fat exploding across my tongue. "This is just nice."

"Nice." He repeated the word like he was testing out a new language. Then he reached for his own plate, piling eggs onto toast with the focused intensity he brought to everything.

We ate in comfortable silence for a while. I found myself sneaking glances at him between bites, cataloging the small changes in his expression. The way his shoulders had lost some of their rigid tension. The softness around his eyes when he looked at me. The fact that he’d let himself relax enough to slouch slightly in his chair.

"What are you thinking about?" I asked eventually.

He paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. "How different this is. How different everything is now."

"Different how?"

"From before." He set the fork down, his gaze holding mine. "From when I first brought you to Skollrend. When you hated me and I practically felt the same way."

"I didn’t hate you." The protest came automatically, but we both knew it was a lie.

"You did." He said it without accusation, just stating fact. "You had every right to."

I looked down at my plate, suddenly finding it hard to swallow around the lump forming in my throat. He was right. I’d hated him for not believing me, for ripping me away from everything I’d known, for deciding my fate without giving me a choice.

But somewhere along the way, that hatred had transformed into something else entirely.

It had good reason to do so too. You could not fight fate after all.

"I don’t hate you now," I said quietly.

"I know." The weight of those two words settled over me like a blanket. "I know, Fia."

He stood and came around the table, kneeling beside my chair so we were at eye level. His hand found mine, fingers lacing together with the easy familiarity of lovers who’d mapped every inch of each other’s bodies.

"I deserve that now," he said. "I deserve you now."

"Cian." My voice cracked on his name. "Is this post nut clarity?"

He paused, then let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "That’s what you’re going with?"

"I’m serious," I said, even as my lips twitched. "Because you don’t just... say things like that. You barely even say nice things without a sarcastic disclaimer."

"I say nice things," he protested.

"You once told me I was ’tolerable on a good day.’"

"That was high praise," he said, completely unashamed. "You were having a great day."

I huffed out a laugh despite myself, but my grip on his hand tightened. "Exactly my point. And now you’re here, kneeling, saying you deserve me like you’re in the final scene of a romance film. It’s suspicious."

He shook his head, smiling, but there was something steadier underneath it. "I didn’t realize I needed to schedule vulnerability in advance for it to be taken seriously."

"You do, actually," I said. "A notice period would help. Maybe a warning email. ’Hi Fia, I will be expressing genuine emotion at 6 p.m., please prepare accordingly.’"

"I’ll draft one next time," he said lightly. Then, softer, "But this isn’t a performance. I’m not trying to be anything. I just... didn’t want to keep that in anymore."

That quieted me.

"Alright," I said, voice softer now. "I’m still suspicious. But I’m listening."

"Good," he murmured, leaning closer. "Because I’m not taking it back."

"Bold," I whispered. "Very bold."

"Reckless, even."

"Extremely. I might hold you to it."

"I’m counting on that."

He pulled me down into a kiss that tasted like coffee. It was soft and slow and achingly tender. When we broke apart, he rested his forehead against mine the way he had earlier, like he couldn’t bear to put distance between us just yet.

We stayed like that while our breakfast grew cold. I played with the ends of his damp hair, and he traced idle patterns on my knee through the robe, and neither of us seemed particularly concerned with the passing time.

"We should probably eat," I murmured eventually.

"Probably." But he didn’t move.

I laughed and pushed at his shoulder until he stood, then watched him settle back into his chair with obvious reluctance. We resumed eating, but now we kept finding reasons to touch. His foot hooking around my ankle under the table. My hand reaching for the jam at the same time as his so our fingers collided. Small, deliberate points of contact that felt more intimate than anything we’d done during the heat.

"What happens now?" I asked when we’d reduced breakfast to crumbs and empty plates.

Cian went still. "What do you mean?"

"After we leave here. After we go back to Skollrend." I forced myself to hold his gaze. "Do you think my mother’s foresight would have come through and we would finally have a true semblance of peace, or will it still be one problem after another?"

He was quiet for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he reached across the table and captured my hand again, his thumb brushing over my knuckles in a gesture that had become achingly familiar.

"If her foresight is anything like yours," he said slowly, like he meant to choose each word, "then I’m sure we’ll hear something when we get back." 𝐟𝕣𝕖𝐞𝐰𝕖𝚋𝐧𝗼𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝗰𝐨𝐦

I held his gaze, searching for doubt. There wasn’t any.

"And I assure you," he continued, his voice firmer now, "our problems will be over."

A small breath left me, one I hadn’t realized I’d been holding.

"Our child," he added, softer this time, his thumb still moving against my skin, "will never come into that kind of world. Or that kind of dilemma." His jaw tightened just slightly, enough that I noticed. "I won’t allow it."

The weight of that settled somewhere deep in my chest.

"I hope this Lysander takes care of it," he went on, quieter now, almost like he was thinking out loud. "But even if he doesn’t..." His grip on my hand tightened, grounding, certain. "I will protect my family."

There was no hesitation in it. No room for negotiation. Just a promise, steady and unyielding.

Something in me eased at that.

"Very heroic," I murmured, though my voice had softened again, lost some of its edge.

He huffed lightly. "I know. That is why I said it."