Chapter 34 #2
“I swear this wasn’t supposed to be like this.
” He was fully spiralling now, words tumbling over each other in a desperate rush.
“We had rules, boundaries, we were going to keep it professional, but then—gods, I love his stupid face and the way he gets this crease between his eyebrows when he’s thinking too hard, and his hands, have you seen his hands?
They’re ridiculous, they could probably snap me in half but they’re so tender when he—”
“Fenric.”
This time the name carried enough steel to cut through. He stopped mid-sentence, steel-blue eyes wide and wild as they fixed on me.
I stepped closer, keeping my expression calm. “Breathe.”
His chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid bursts.
“You don’t owe me anything,” I said, quieter now. “What you have with each other? That’s yours. I’m not going to tell anyone.”
Lincatheron’s jaw tightened, suspicion radiated from every line of his body. “You’re close with Varyth.”
I blinked, processing the implication, then gestured vaguely toward the general direction of the courtyard below. “Varyth would have a problem with this? But Shaelith and Brynelle are—I mean, they’re—”
“It’s complicated.” Fenric let out a shaky breath, his shoulders sagging slightly, but his voice was tight, threaded with something that sounded like dread.
“Varyth wouldn’t care, not personally. He’s not like that.
But we—” He glanced at Lincatheron, his expression softening for a fleeting second before hardening again.
“The positions we hold… it’s not the same. ”
I didn’t interrupt. Just waited, letting him decide what to share, what truths he was ready to bleed onto the floor between us.
Lincatheron stepped closer to Fenric, close enough that their shoulders almost brushed.
“Relationships like ours,” he said, low and rough.
“They’re newer. In terms of their acceptance by the fae.
At least, the public side of it. Up until a few centuries ago, fae were more rigid about.
.. traditional pairings. Still are, in some ways. ”
“It could affect us,” Fenric said, gaze fixed on the floor. “Especially Lincatheron. He’s the commander of Varyth’s entire armed force. And the military is... traditional. Deeply. In all the worst ways. It could undermine his reputation, affect his leadership. Perhaps even cost him his rank.”
I felt something fierce flare in my chest, watching Fenric shake apart like this.
“That’s bullshit.” My eyes darted between the two of them. The fear in the air between them. “Complete bullshit that loving someone could affect your ability to lead.”
But Fenric’s expression broke.
“You don’t understand,” he said, and his tone was thin, strained, like the words were being dragged from somewhere deep and bleeding.
“This isn’t—gods, Isara, this isn’t some casual fuck, some stolen moments in dark hallways—” His hands were shaking now, fingers curling into fists before releasing, over and over.
“I know—I know—that being with me is going to cost him everything he’s worked for.
His rank, his reputation, the respect of every warrior under his command—”
Lincatheron moved without hesitation.
His massive frame was gentle as he stepped closer, one hand finding Fenric’s wrist to still the anxious motion. “Fen,” he murmured. “Hey. Look at me.”
Fenric’s eyes snapped to his, but Lincatheron didn’t flinch from whatever he saw there. Instead, his other hand came up to cup Fenric’s face, thumb brushing across his cheekbone with infinite care.
“There you are,” Lincatheron said, barely above a whisper. “Just breathe with me. Nothing else matters right now.”
And gods, Fenric melted into that touch like he’d been carved hollow and Lincatheron was the only thing that could fill the space. The way Lincatheron’s whole body curved around him, protective and tender, like Fenric was something precious he’d die before letting anyone harm.
Fenric’s breathing began to slow, matching the steady rhythm of Lincatheron’s chest against his. His eyes fluttered shut, leaning into those careful hands like a man finding sanctuary.
“That’s it,” Lincatheron murmured, and there was a reverence in his expression. As though calming Fenric’s panic was the most important thing in any realm. “I’ve got you.”
I stood there, forgotten for a moment, watching them exist in their own small universe where nothing mattered except the space between their bodies, the rhythm of shared breath.
“I won’t say anything,” I said quietly, not wanting to break whatever spell they’d woven but needing them to know. “To anyone. Ever.”
Lincatheron’s gaze found mine over Fenric’s head, gratitude and something fierce flickering there before his attention returned completely to the man in his arms.
Fenric’s eyes opened. And the expression on his face—
Gods.
It was devastating.
He looked at Lincatheron like he’d hung every fucking star in the sky. Like Lincatheron was the sun and the moon and every celestial body that mattered, all condensed into one ridiculously massive warrior with careful hands.
“Better?” Lincatheron asked, voice smooth as silk.
Fenric nodded, a small smile ghosting across his lips. “Better.”
Lincatheron’s hands framed Fenric’s face, thumbs brushing across his cheekbones with infinite tenderness.
“For what it’s worth,” Lincatheron murmured, “I love your stupid face too.”
A startled laugh broke from Fenric’s throat, bright and unexpected in the heavy air. “My stupid face?”
“Absolutely ridiculous,” Lincatheron confirmed, but his words were molten with affection. “All perfect angles and pretty eyes and that mouth that says the most devastating things without even trying.”
Fenric was grinning now, the panic finally bleeding out of him. “You’re an idiot.”
“Your idiot.”
And then Lincatheron was kissing him again, Fenric melted into it completely, hands fisting in Lincatheron’s shirt to pull him closer.
Three swift knocks echoed through the chamber.
All of us jumped like we’d been struck by lightning. Fenric went rigid against Lincatheron, eyes going wide with fresh terror.
“Driss?” Fenric called out.
“Yeah.” Cindrissian’s voice came through the door.
Fenric sagged against Lincatheron with visible relief. “Come in.”
The door opened to reveal Cindrissian in all his glory, ink-black hair catching the moonlight as those crimson eyes swept the room. He took in the scene—Lincatheron and Fenric pressed close together, me standing awkwardly to the side—without so much as a flicker of surprise.
His gaze flicked between the three of us, settling on me with something that might have been amusement.
“Well,” he said dryly, “at least if you fools got caught, it was by someone who knows how to keep a secret.”
I frowned. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”
But Cindrissian just smiled that knife-blade smile, offering no explanation.
Lincatheron pressed one more kiss to Fenric’s lips. “I’ll find you later,” he murmured against his skin. “Have your meeting.”
He and Cindrissian nodded to each other, some wordless understanding passing between them, before Lincatheron moved toward the door.
He paused at the threshold. “Isara. I’m visiting some female warriors at a war camp in a couple of days. Would you like to join me? You might have valuable insight to offer.”
I stared at him, stunned. After everything that had just happened, he was... inviting me to go with him?
Was he planning to murder me in the forest?
“I—yes,” I heard myself say before my brain could catch up. “Yes, I’d like that.”
Lincatheron’s smile was small but genuine. “Good. I’ll let you know the details.”
And then he was gone, leaving me alone with Fenric and his cryptic brother.
Fenric ran both hands through his hair, trying to smooth away the evidence of what had just happened. His breathing was uneven, colour high in his cheeks, but he was fighting to pull that perfect diplomatic mask back into place.
“Right,” he said, rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, tried again. “Right. We were—we had a meeting. About Nyxaria.”
Cindrissian settled into a chair with fluid grace, eyes glittering. “How romantic. Nothing says passionate encounter quite like discussing the politics of my former court.”
“Driss.” Fenric’s voice carried a warning, but there was no real heat behind it. Just exhaustion and the lingering tremor of someone trying to rebuild their composure from the ground up.
“What? I’m being helpful.” Cindrissian’s smile was all sharp edges. “You wanted my insights into Nyxarian culture. Well, here’s your first lesson, Isara. In my homeland, we don’t blush quite so prettily when caught in compromising positions.”
Fenric’s face went even redder, and I watched him struggle between mortification and the need to focus on why we were here. The diplomat in him was clawing its way back to the surface, but the man who’d just been kissed senseless was still too close to the skin.
“The meeting,” he said firmly, more to himself than to us. “We need to prepare you for the delegation from Nyxaria. That’s what matters right now.”
I settled into one of the chairs, the velvet cushions softer than they appeared. Cindrissian moved to the side-table, poured three glasses of amber liquid, pressing one into my hands, then Fenric’s and took the seat opposite.
“So,” I said, leaning forward, my palms flat against my knees. “What should I expect when we meet Nyxaria’s court? I know almost nothing about them beyond their reputation for cruelty.”
The brothers exchanged a glance, brief but loaded with meaning.
“Expect lies,” Cindrissian said, his tone dropping to a dangerous timbre. “Everything they say, every gesture, every supposed peace offering—it’s all calculated. They’re masters of manipulation.”
“And Ashterion?” I asked, trying to keep my voice steady. “What’s he like?”