Arvid #3
The silence returned as they continued eating, taking turns with his fork in a ritual that felt both natural and impossibly intimate.
She'd never shared food like this with anyone—certainly not with someone who made her hyperaware of every breath, every movement, and every accidental touch.
Yet somehow with him it felt right. Made her feel less alone after three years of careful isolation.
Her gaze wandered around the enormous space again, taking in details she'd missed during her initial survey. The empty chairs positioned around the fire. The books that showed signs of regular use. The way firelight danced across walls built to house a family but occupied by one man.
The silence. The space. The weight of solitude that permeated even this beautiful room.
"Do you really live here all alone?"
Calix followed her gaze across the expansive chambers, his expression becoming more guarded. "Yes."
The answer came simply, matter-of-fact. But something in his voice felt heavier. More complicated than simple confirmation.
She thought about the massive size of Ashspire. The dozens of rooms she'd wandered through tonight. The amount of silence that must exist here every evening when the day's responsibilities ended and he climbed these stairs to his chambers.
"I live alone too," she heard herself say.
His attention shifted back to her immediately, his green eyes sharpening with interest. "You do?"
She nodded, suddenly feeling the need to match his honesty with her own. "Yes, but not in a giant estate like you though."
That earned a laugh from him, rich and warm and devastating in its genuineness. The sound nearly undid her completely, sending heat spiraling through her chest.
Something shifted between them then. Some invisible barrier lowering just enough to let real conversation through.
She found herself sharing details she hadn't intended to reveal—her tiny apartment in Dallas that was probably half the size of his private bathroom, how she rarely spent time there because work consumed most of her waking hours.
"I understand that," he said quietly. "I'm always working too."
"I can imagine being king of an entire territory is pretty demanding."
"It is." He paused, studying her face in the firelight. "Do you like it? Living alone in your apartment?"
The question caught her off guard. She hesitated a beat too long, and that pause revealed more than any words could have. "It works."
The words sounded weak the moment they left her mouth. Like the careful lie she'd been telling herself for three years.
Calix didn't call her out on it. But she knew he heard what she wasn't saying. They both heard it. They both understood it perfectly.
Neither of them was happy. Neither of them was miserable. They'd simply built lives around responsibility and duty until there wasn't room for much else. Until "works" became the best they could hope for.
The realization settled heavily between them, creating a connection she hadn't expected. And somehow drew them closer without either of them consciously moving. The fire crackled softly. Neither of them spoke. Neither of them moved away.
Arvid became painfully aware of everything about him.
The way the firelight played across his features.
His scent—that intoxicating combination of spice and rain that seemed to bypass rational thought entirely.
The quiet steadiness beneath all the authority and responsibility.
The loneliness she recognized because it mirrored her own so perfectly.
Before she could overthink it or find reasons to retreat, she leaned forward.
Calix froze completely, giving her every chance to stop. Every opportunity to pull back and pretend this moment had never happened. His green eyes searched hers, looking for certainty she wasn't sure she possessed.
But she didn't retreat. Instead, she closed the remaining distance and captured his lips with hers.
The kiss started soft. Tentative. Almost questioning, as though she were asking permission for something they both wanted but neither had planned.
And somehow it felt more intimate than anything she'd ever experienced—not because of desire, though heat definitely sparked between them, but because of recognition.
Because for one impossible moment she felt completely understood by someone who shouldn't have been able to read her so easily.
Then the kiss deepened, turning hungrier and more desperate. Calix's control cracked, one hand sliding into her hair while the other pulled her closer against his chest. She could taste the desire on his lips and feel the barely restrained need in the way his fingers tightened in her hair.
The world seemed to disappear. The fire, the reports, the weight of responsibility—everything faded except the heat building between them and the way he kissed her like she was the answer to a question he'd been asking his entire life.
Somewhere in the back of her mind, Arvid realized this was probably a terrible idea.
She was here to solve a medical crisis, not complicate her professional relationship with the king.
But the troubling part was that she didn't care.
Not right now. Not when everything about this felt more right than anything ever had.