22. Roan
Roan
Aria’s hand is soft in mine. She moves tentatively at first, each step hesitant as if she’s afraid to get it wrong.
But she catches on quickly—quicker than she realizes. Her weight shifts into mine without thinking, her body responding to the rhythm we create out of nothing but the whisper of wind and the distant clink of metal from the town below.
I tell myself it’s just a bit of fun. A distraction. But the way she looks up at me beneath those dark lashes—curiosity and uncertainty mingling with something I don’t dare name—makes my heart stumble.
She smells of soap and firewood. Clean and wild all at once.
Get a grip, Roan.
“You’re a natural,” I say, trying for levity.
Aria snorts softly. “I feel like an idiot.”
“You don’t look like one.” I let go of her waist for a moment to twirl her under my arm. Her laughter, surprised and bright, cuts through the cool night like a spark.
When she settles against me again, the tension’s shifted. The stiffness is gone, replaced by an ease I don’t think I’ve ever seen from her.
Her head tilts slightly. “You’re good at this,” she says, voice soft. “Dancing, I mean.”
I shrug, though the comment lands harder than it should. “Picked it up a long time ago. One of my first of many odd jobs involved guarding a noble’s estate during some grand festival. Lots of music. Lots of dancing.”
“And you... joined in?” Her lips curve in faint disbelief.
“More like got dragged in,” I admit with a grimace. “One of the noble’s daughters thought it would be funny to haul me onto the floor.” I roll my eyes. “I was all stiff armor and too many weapons. Looked like an idiot.”
Aria laughs again, and the sound digs into me, warm and unguarded. “What happened after that?”
“Her father nearly skewered me with his cane for stepping on her toes. Since then, it’s rare to find the time to dance.”
She goes quiet at that. Her fingers flex in mine. “Why now?”
I open my mouth to toss out something flippant. But the truth slips free instead. “Because I wanted to see you smile like this.”
Aria’s breath catches, and her eyes soften in that way that always makes my chest ache. Like I’ve been struck without warning—right in the ribs.
The urge to kiss her hits me hard. Sudden. Sharp.
I wonder what it would be like—if she’d tense or melt beneath me. If her lips would be cool like her skin, or if she’d burn just as fiercely as she looks when she lets her guard down. I imagine the way her hand might curl in my shirt, the way she might exhale my name like a secret she didn’t mean to spill.
My heart hammers once, hard.
Then—
Crack.
The sharp shatter of glass below jerks us both back. We freeze, listening. A voice rises in slurred protest from the street, followed by the clatter of a barrel tipping over.
Tavern chaos. Nothing unusual.
But the moment is gone, fractured like the bottle on the cobblestones.
I release her hand and step toward the balcony rail, squinting into the shadows. The town square below is half-shrouded in mist, lanterns casting flickering halos against the cobblestones. The tavern’s stable boy scurries across the street to right the barrel while two men stagger away from the disturbance.
Nothing more. Still, the unease remains, curling low in my gut.
“Just some drunks,” I mutter, though I don’t entirely believe it. “We should get inside.”
Aria hesitates before following me back into the room. I secure the balcony’s wooden latch and double-check the lock on the main door.
When I turn back, she’s sitting on the bed, fiddling with a loose thread on the blanket. The candle on the nightstand casts flickering shadows across her face, highlighting the faint bruise of exhaustion beneath her eyes.
“Take the bed,” I say.
Aria looks up. “We can share.”
I almost choke. “We’re not sharing.”
“Why not?”
Because if we do, I won’t sleep. Because I’ll spend every second pretending not to notice the way her hair spills across the pillow or the warmth of her beside me. Because it’s already hard enough to remember where the lines are.
“You need real rest,” I say instead, leaning my weight against the doorframe. “I’ll keep watch.”
Aria frowns, crossing her arms. “You always keep watch.”
“And you always argue with me about it.” I smirk, trying to keep the mood light. “Some traditions shouldn’t be broken. I’ll take the chair.”
Aria sighs but doesn’t press further. She stands to pull back the blanket, and her eyes flick toward the window one last time. “You think they’re close?” she asks softly.
The enforcers. Her clan. The ones that won’t stop until they drag her back.
“They’ll find us if we stay here too long,” I admit. “But we’ve got a day, maybe two. Long enough to get some supplies and figure out where we go next.”
Aria nods, though her jaw tightens. “I wish we didn’t have to run.”
“Me too,” I say. “But we’ll figure it out.”
She gives me a small, grateful nod and slips beneath the blankets. I settle into the chair by the door, sword within reach.
It’s quiet, save for the faint hum of the town outside.
And still, I sit there, heart restless, the memory of her laugh lingering long after the warmth of her hand has faded from mine.