28. Chapter Twenty Eight #2
There was bickering and banter and far too much wine. But beneath it all, there was something solid. A bond forged not just in duty but in care. In loyalty.
As the weeks passed, we settled deeper into a routine, whatever it was between us growing stronger by the day.
Drake became not only my protector but my confidant, my anchor, my partner in everything.
We trained together in the mornings, sparred until our limbs ached, and laughed until the sound of it filled the quiet corners of Riftreach.
By night, he was a constant presence, whether in my chambers or his—our bodies entwined under the covers or simply resting shoulder to shoulder, finding solace in the steady rhythm of each other’s breaths.
In the quiet moments, when we sat together reading or when his fingers absentmindedly traced patterns on my skin, I realized how deeply I had come to depend on him.
The life I’d left behind —the kitchen, the inn, the simplicity of home—felt less like a loss and more like a chapter that had led me here.
This was my new home. He was my new home. And with each passing day, as we shared secrets and silences, I found myself falling more deeply in love with the man who had brought me here.
Drake’s mischievous smile had my curiosity piqued from the moment he stepped into my chambers that evening.
“Get dressed warmly,” he said, leaning casually against the doorframe.
“Why?” I asked, already sensing the thrill behind his words.
“We’re going up to the surface.”
My breath hitched, excitement mixing with apprehension.
The surface had become a memory I dared not linger on, but the thought of seeing it again—feeling the cool air, the vastness of the night sky—was enough to propel me into action.
I hurried to pull on layers of soft wool and sturdy leather, lacing up my boots with trembling hands.
When I stepped back to him, he offered me his cloak, the familiar scent of his scale salve clinging to the fabric as he draped it over my shoulders.
“This way,” he said, taking my hand as we exited my chambers and wove through the winding paths of Riftreach.
The descent into the sewers was quiet except for the faint trickle of water and our footsteps echoing against the stone.
The tunnels were dank and dark, and the air was heavy with the scent of earth and decay.
I clutched his hand tightly, my pulse quickening as we navigated the labyrinthine paths.
Drake moved with purpose, his sharp instincts guiding us through turns and junctions I would have surely gotten lost in.
“Stay close,” he whispered when we heard voices echoing faintly from one of the branching tunnels.
We flattened against the damp wall, my heart pounding as the shadows of guards patrolling above flickered in the faint torchlight spilling through a grate.
When the voices faded, Drake gave my hand a reassuring squeeze before leading me onward.
Finally, we climbed a rusted iron ladder that seemed to stretch endlessly upward.
When we emerged, the fresh, cool air of the forest above hit me like a balm.
My chest expanded as I took in the pine-scented breeze, and I realized how much I’d missed the air up here.
The night sky stretched above us, endless and glittering, the stars like shards of crystal scattered across black velvet.
The forest was alive with the symphony of crickets and the distant hoot of an owl. Moonlight filtered through the towering trees, casting dappled shadows on the ground. I marveled at the sights, every detail sharper and brighter than I remembered. The feeling of open space was exhilarating.
“Come on,” Drake urged softly, pulling me forward.
We skirted the edge of the forest until the faint hum of the city reached my ears.
Peering through the trees, I saw the outer districts of the city sprawled before us.
The streets were bathed in the golden glow of lanterns, and the muffled sounds of late-night revelers carried on the wind.
We moved quickly, sticking to the shadows and taking care to avoid the main thoroughfares.
We ducked through a narrow alley, its cobblestone streets slick with dew, and passed shops with their shutters drawn tight for the night. A baker’s shop released a faint, lingering scent of bread, while an apothecary’s window displayed an array of dried herbs and glass vials.
Finally, Drake led me to a hidden courtyard tucked behind a dilapidated inn that seemed forgotten by time.
The building itself leaned with the weight of years, its timber beams warped and its roof sagging in places.
Shutters hung askew on the windows, and the once-bright paint on the door had faded to a muted, peeling gray.
Vines of ivy crept up the stone walls, weaving a tapestry of green that softened the inn’s age-worn appearance. A faint glow emanated from a single lantern hanging by the back door, casting long shadows over the courtyard.
The place felt like another world—hidden, isolated, protected. The air was crisp, tinged with dew and ivy, the quiet broken only by the steady trickle of the fountain. Fireflies bobbed lazily in the lantern glow.
“This is it,” Drake said, spreading his arms like a man unveiling treasure. His smile was unguarded, boyish in a way I rarely saw. “I used to come here when I needed to think.”
“It’s beautiful,” I whispered. The word felt too small for the serenity of the place.
We sat together on the lone bench facing the fountain.
The wood was softened by years of rain and sun, but it held beneath us, creaking faintly.
Drake leaned forward, resting his forearms on his thighs, and pulled something from his pocket—a small vial that caught the moonlight, glowing faintly gold.
“This,” he said, holding it out to me, “is something I made for you.”
I accepted it, turning it carefully in my hands. When I uncorked it, a familiar scent curled up to greet me: warm, earthy, laced with spice. His salve—but softened, blended with something floral, violet maybe. It smelled like him. Like safety and warmth. Like home.
A lump rose in my throat. “It’s… perfect.” A perfume he made for me, his scent married with something just for me.
His eyes searched mine, silver bright even in the half-light. “I thought you might like something to remind you of me. For when I’m not around.”
The ache in my chest deepened. He was giving me more than a trinket. He was giving me something permanent. Something personal. A tether.
I leaned against him, resting my head on his shoulder.
The fabric of his shirt was rough, but beneath it, he radiated heat, steady as a forge.
The night seemed to still around us—the hum of the city muffled, the stars sharpening into clarity.
For once, it felt like time had been gentled, slowed just for us.
I thought of all the moments that had led here: that first rushed kiss in my bedroom back home. His thoughtful glances when he thought I wasn’t looking. And now this—quiet, simple, almost ordinary. But ordinary was a luxury I hadn’t had in so long.
Drake shifted, his arm brushing mine, then settling lightly across the back of the bench. He was close enough that I could feel his pulse, quick and strong, even through the space between us.
“I need to tell you something,” he said suddenly. His voice was low, taut.
My heart leapt. I turned toward him, searching his face. “What is it?”
He opened his mouth, then shut it again, jaw tightening. He scrubbed a hand down his face like the words were caught in his throat, too heavy to lift.
“Drake?”
His eyes flicked to mine, sharp and vulnerable all at once. For a moment, I swore he was about to say something monumental—something that would change everything. His lips parted, his breath shaky.
“I…” He swallowed. “Gods—I shouldn’t say this.”
My stomach twisted. “Say what?”
He hesitated again. And then—like a dam breaking, like he couldn’t hold it in any longer—he blurted, “I love you.”
Heat flooded my face, my chest, my whole body. My breath caught, stuck somewhere between a laugh and a sob. “You—what?”
“I love you,” he repeated, softer this time, as if testing the words on his tongue. His silver eyes locked onto mine, unflinching now. “Gods help me, I love you.”
My throat tightened. No one had ever said those words to me before, not like this. Not with such terrifying sincerity.
“I—” My voice wavered, but the truth spilled out without hesitation. “I love you too.”
Something shifted in him then. Relief, fierce and raw, cracked his expression open. He leaned forward, forehead brushing mine, and I felt the tremor in his breath. His hands cupped my cheeks, warm and calloused, and for a moment I thought he might kiss me.
But he didn’t. Not yet.
Because even as joy surged between us, there was something else—something heavy lurking behind his eyes. Like the words he’d spoken weren’t the ones he’d meant to. Like there was more he’d almost said, but couldn’t.
I stroked the back of his hand gently, grounding him. “Drake,” I whispered. “Are you alright?”
His smile faltered. He nodded, too quickly. “Yeah. Just… Gods, I didn’t mean to?—”
“You didn’t mean to what? Tell me you love me?” I tried to tease, to lighten it, but the weight in his gaze lingered.
“I didn’t mean to tell you like that.” His thumb brushed my cheekbone, tender. “I wanted it to be… better. Different.” He hesitated, then shook his head, dismissing the thought. “Doesn’t matter. You know now.”
I searched his face. Something still sat unsaid, caught like a fishhook beneath his tongue. I could feel it. But I didn’t press—not when his arms closed around me and the warmth of his body enveloped mine. Not when his lips finally found my hair, pressing a kiss there like a benediction.
We sat in silence after that, my head on his chest, his heartbeat steady under my ear. I wanted to believe that this was everything—that love was enough. But a small part of me knew: he had been on the edge of telling me something else. Something bigger. Something that scared him.
And though I didn’t know what it was, I knew it mattered.
For now, though, I let myself sink into the warmth of his arms, the glow of the lantern, the dance of fireflies around us. For now, I let myself believe that love was everything.