7 #2
Baths weren’t necessary in the Dream Realm; there were no bodily odors here, no grime that couldn’t be willed away.
Sweat, blood, and dirt held no permanence, and every morning I woke fresh, restored.
But there was something undeniably soothing in the simple act of bathing.
The heat, the weightlessness. The delicious feeling of resting tired limbs in a warm, soapy pool.
It was one of several things I missed about the waking world.
I wondered what Erebus would think.
But he merely nodded, atypically unbothered. “I can create a bath for you. I will model it after one I recall from Citadel Firstlight.”
So that was why he was so unbothered.
“No, not just for me,” I said, trying to spell it out for him.
His brow furrowed. “Then who—” He halted, his entire body growing rigid as he realized the implications of what I was saying. He blinked at me, slowly, as if his mind needed an extra second to catch up. “You want us to bathe together,” he said at last, voice cracking on the last word.
Together.
He stumbled over it as if he was imagining something indecent.
Oh.
My face burned. Now I was imagining something indecent. I had used the word bath, but I hadn’t really considered the logistical implications of, well, bathing. Only the comfort. The warmth. Dream or not, baths usually didn’t include much clothing.
“Is there something wrong with taking a bath together?” I asked, trying to hide my sudden realization. “Or perhaps it’s been a while since your last bathing experience. Let me guess. Five hundred years?” I teased, a playful lilt to my voice.
He propped a knuckle underneath his chin, considering. “Give or take.”
“Then your cleanliness leaves much to be desired.”
“Does it?” he implored, silver eyes narrowing.
“The way you bury your nose in my pillows and blankets every night says otherwise.” He leaned over me, caging my torso with his arms as his cape draped like a blanket across our legs.
I made a surprised squeak, my spine knocking into cold stone.
“Or the way you wake with your face pressed into my chest every morning.”
He was right. I did wake up every morning pressed to him as if we were a sculpture molded from the same marble block.
But I didn’t realize he’d been so attentive to that fact.
I took a deep breath as his pale nose skimmed my neck.
He smelled heavenly tonight. Like a windswept forest at dusk mixed with something deliciously masculine.
“Now that I think about it, you don’t seem to mind my scent at all.” I felt him inhale against my neck, dragging his nose up the column of my throat. A deep sigh rumbled from his chest as he reached my ear. As if he was savoring it. “Nor do I mind yours. But you wish for a bath regardless.”
“I used to take baths almost every night in Norhavellis,” I reasoned, trying not to squirm. “On some nights, I’d scent it with dried flowers. Or use soap pressed with goat’s milk and honey from the village. The water was never hot enough, though.”
“No?” he asked, pulling back a bit so that he could look at me.
“Especially in winter. And the tub was never large enough, either.” I smiled, recalling those early days.
I was wretched at swimming, but baths were different.
I’d sink until my lips were underwater, imagining I was a mythical river nymph with moss for hair.
Mother would yell at me, complaining I was taking too long.
“I could never stretch my legs out like I wanted.”
“Well, then, we’ll have to do better than that.”
I gasped.
The change was seamless, almost imperceptible, until it wasn’t. One moment, I was lying on stone, and the next, the roof shimmered beneath me. The texture softened, liquefied. And then I sank—gently, soundlessly—into it. Part of the roof had become a magical pool of warm, silken water.
As if it had been waiting for us.
My legs drifted down, no longer pressed against the roof.
Erebus’s body followed mine, suspended by the midnight water pooling up to our chests.
It was silkier than ordinary water, as if we were swimming in mulled wine, and it was just shallow enough for me to touch the bottom, a fact that made me smile, considering how much I loathed the act of swimming itself.
Our private corner of the roof had transformed into a warm, steaming pool that overlooked the entire domain and caught the sparkle of Sorren’s creation in its reflection.
We were both still fully clothed, Erebus’s magic having moved around us rather than through us.
My dress and cape began to float up, mingling with Erebus’s as they rippled like ink atop the surface.
The water smelled divine, like roses, bergamot, strawberries, the sea, and a million other ambrosial things I was too distracted to recall.
Because I was thinking of what would be next.
A bath implied nakedness. A removal of our heavy layers and obsidian armor.
The pool was dark, though, as was the scenery surrounding us.
The sky was filled with Sorren’s kaleidoscope of stars, but the roof itself—and in turn, the pool—were dimly lit.
This gave me courage. Well, that and our impending battle against Raelion.
The end felt so near, unavoidable and terrifying.
I wasn’t sure I deserved this stolen moment, but the beautiful man in front of me—the man who was finally free—absolutely did.
Be brave, Esmer.
I dove under Erebus’s cloak, moving to the farthest side of the pool.
I willed my layers away as I swam. Boots, dress, cape, necklace, armor, feathers, ribbons, gauntlets.
The water felt euphoric against my bare skin; a warm, comforting embrace against the cold wind.
A gentle caress of my legs, a trickling heat on my shoulders.
When I was certain all my layers were properly removed, I imagined myself into a black silk chemise, sleeveless and lined with simple lace.
Just enough to be clothed, but not so much that it took away from the experience.
I drifted toward the stone ledge that surrounded the pool, letting my body float until I could brace myself. In the dimness, I couldn’t see any dreamers, but the height was staggering. Erebus and I were suspended over the entire domain, cradled in the sky.
From behind me, Erebus’s long legs began cutting through the water in effortless strides.
“There you are,” he murmured, reaching for my arms. His hands froze when he realized they were bare. A breath later and he was stumbling back as if he had been struck by a bolt of lightning. “You’re—I’m sorry, I didn’t realize,” he stammered, flustered.
I rose on my toes to face him, and his eyes dipped down.
“I’m still dressed,” I insisted, gesturing to my chemise. “See?”
“Hardly.” The word was strangled. Pointed.
I glanced down at myself. My arms and legs were bare, and the thin fabric clung to my chest. And I was sure my wet hair looked like serpents upon my shoulders, curling down my back. It wasn’t much in the way of modesty.
“I’m sorry,” I mumbled, sinking back into the water.
Was I sorry? Or just embarrassed he reacted the way he did?
Erebus sidled next to me on the ledge, not quite touching me.
“My surprise was not meant to embarrass you,” he said through gritted teeth. As if he was choking on something. “I only expected to feel your armor. Not your skin.”
“I’ve never seen people bathe with their clothes on,” I said defensively, giving his obsidian arms a meaningful glance.
He exhaled sharply, his jaw tightening. “They don’t. But I wasn’t expecting…” He cut himself off, dragging a hand through his hair. His gaze flickered back to me, dark and unreadable, before snapping away just as quickly.
The water lapped at my chin, warm and weightless, but his presence made it feel somehow heavier. I resisted the urge to shift closer, to see if he would flinch again—or if he would stay.
“I didn’t mean to startle you. I just thought…”
What had I thought? That he wouldn’t care? That he would simply join me without a second thought?
Erebus let out a low, breathy laugh—though there was no amusement in it.
“You thought what, Esmer?” His voice had dropped to something lower, rougher, as if he was wrestling with himself.
“That I would sit here beside you, unbothered? That I wouldn’t notice you?
That I would touch your bare skin and be unaffected? ”
Oh.
My stomach twisted at his words. At the heat in them.
“I notice everything about you,” he muttered.
I swallowed hard, a shiver rippling down my spine. “Then stop acting like you don’t,” I challenged.
Understanding my look, he drew back his gauntlets, revealing large, slender hands.
Then his chest plate, shirt, and cape melted, sliding from his body in long smoky tendrils.
I admired his skin, his back, his arms. The way the water glistened down his broad shoulders and muscled chest. How his white hair looked like wet snow when damp.
My gaze dipped down, and I faintly wondered if he really had taken off everything—but I hastily pressed my face into my forearms, cheeks burning, before I allowed myself to find out.
I really needed to calm down.
“Do you see why I took my armor off now?” I asked, trying not to fixate on how the water lapped against his bare skin. “This feels amazing, doesn’t it?”