5. Things Get A Tiny Bit More Out Of Hand #3
“It doesn’t seem that way to me,” I said, glancing back towards the table. “He has good friends around. That counts for a lot.”
“Promise me you’ll be nice to him. All right?”
She extended her right hand, curling her fingers into a fist except for her smallest digit, which remained hooked in the air between us.
I stared at the small, fleshy hook, baffled.
Sensing my hesitation, she nudged her hand closer until I slowly extended my own, copying the shape and interlocking my little finger with hers.
It felt like a ridiculous, miniature covenant of sorts.
The gravity in Settie’s eyes dissolved. She giggled, pulling me down by my new braid to plant a quick peck on my cheek before she fled. I froze, one hand resting against my face, stunned.
The awareness that a solid network of genuine people supported and cared for Elian brought quiet solace to my heavy heart.
It mattered. It would matter immensely when the time came for me to leave, when I’d no longer be here to look after him.
Because during my time on this plane, however long the gods wished to grant me, I vowed to myself to do exactly that.
Soon after, the company disbanded. At such a late hour, exhaustion had set in. They said their goodbyes, Settie giving Elian a fierce hug whilst promising to mind the stall until noon the following day to allow us plenty of time to fulfil the formalities.
Then, the door clicked shut, leaving us on our own.
To a soldier’s mind, a single day constituted a massive chunk of time.
I’d seen towns, provinces—bah, entire nations—collapse within hours, crumbling between sunset and dusk whilst a new reality established itself on the ruins of the old.
I knew a day sufficed to change everything.
Yet the significance of recent events and the speed with which they’d unfolded boggled my mind.
I hadn't even found the time to ponder and process the last several hours.
From the moment of my arrival, I’d reined in my emotions, keeping them in check.
I’d prioritised action and cold reason, even if the madness of it all tested my logic.
The thing that stunned me was that after a while, this strange world—which had rendered me practically weaponless and illiterate—didn’t feel quite as alien to me as it should.
Deep down, nothing registered as outright wrong.
The opposite was the case. On some fundamental level, it felt just right.
The sensation bugged me. My head must have suffered some acute inter-dimensional trauma.
Despite its ridiculous elements, I didn't hate the market. I’d grown fond of Fern, his little sister and their wider company.
I had taken an instant shine to Elian’s house—quaint and cosy, with a charming garden at the back.
It seemed like a proper home, though I had never experienced such a thing firsthand.
And most importantly—a fact that came as no surprise at all—I liked Elian. A whole bloody lot.
We were going to get married.
From a tactical perspective, a marriage of necessity appeared to be a sound, pre-emptive strategy to counter any punitive measures by the Council.
My primary objective centred on protecting Elian from incarceration.
Yet what had my head spinning was that the idea of matrimony left me excited.
Despite my reserved exterior, my chest buzzed with odd jolts of joy and hope.
I never thought I would get married. The previous night, I’d readied for a brutal assault on the enemy’s stronghold, come morning, I would sign a marriage contract with my literal dream man. A lot to take in. A lot to be grateful for. Even if it lasted only a week.
Elian’s sudden silence worried me, however. He appeared flustered but withdrawn at the same time, his eyes avoiding mine as he stared at the floor. I couldn't figure out his state of mind and so far the occasion offered no time to ask.
Did he feel distressed? Pressured? Guilty? Forced into this to the extent of being sickened?
I understood the guilt, given my own sense of remorse at being somewhat—happy?
—gnawed at my chest. My lieutenant, a man who had my complete trust, must have taken charge of the siege, a fact that brought me comfort.
But not knowing the outcome of the struggle lay heavy on my mind.
What were our losses? Who had made it out alive?
The silly excitement rushing through my veins as though I were a blushing groom felt inappropriate.
I let out a long breath.
“It’s—it’s time for bed,” Elian said, his voice dropping into a tightly wound register. “You… um, do you want to take the first turn in the washroom? I’ll show you how to use a heating matchstick for the water.”
He handed me a linen towel. Against my frame, the fabric looked less like a proper bath sheet and more like an oversized kitchen cloth.
I accepted it gratefully, nonetheless. “All right.”
I followed him toward the back of the house; my eyes fixed on the stiff line of his shoulders as he led the way.
Elian
Ihad Commander Kill’em in my bed. IN MY ACTUAL BED. He lay right beside me, as real as you please, his arm almost touching my elbow. A sliver of space separated us, yet he felt so distant we might as well have still been on different planes.
From the moment he’d left the washroom with unbound hair, smelling of my lavender soap and dressed only in a pair of low-waisted linen trousers, a chaotic war between arousal and panic had raged in my mind. The reality of our sleeping arrangements hit hard, threatening to undo me.
He remained awake. Quiet, pensive and motionless. And very, very naked from his sculptured waist up.
I knew every single line of his body. Every muscle underneath that smooth skin.
I knew the exact location of his scars, and hell, he’d collected a few.
In my dreams, I’d traced them multiple times with my fingertips, my palms and my tongue.
I’d drawn them multiple times. Now, faced with the genuine, solid specimen, I found myself frozen.
My raw nerves vibrated, every sense tuned to his large frame.
He hated me, no doubt.
I didn’t even know where to begin apologising for the extent of the wrongs I’d done to him in a single day.
I had dragged him to Everend, forcing him to abandon his life, his career, his war.
Perhaps a lover? And why? Because I was an incompetent nitwit who couldn’t keep his sad, pathetic yearnings to himself but instead chose to broadcast them to another universe.
Who knew what awaited Kill’em if Verity’s loophole failed?
A quarantine cell or worse—being ripped apart in an inter-dimensional explosion.
In the best-case scenario, he would end up sharing a bed with his kidnapper, stuck in a suffocating marriage of convenience.
Trapped. Abhorring me a little bit more with every passing day.
The pace of my breathing quickened, my fingertips a-tingle, a telltale sign of an impending downward spiral.
I gripped the edge of the blanket, desperate to stop myself from making a scene and proving to be an even bigger idiot.
He’d already witnessed me losing my shit at the market—one public humiliation marked an absolute limit of the personal fuckery I allowed myself in a single day.
“What’s wrong?”
A calloused hand settled on my chest. The warmth of his palm acted like a soothing balm to a wound, bringing instant relief to my tense body and clarity to my scrambled thoughts. When Morrigen said physical touch would help anchor him, I hadn’t realised the tethering would work both ways.
It felt as though a dam had burst inside me. I grasped his hand in both of mine, shaking, the words spilling out in a breathless, hyperventilating rush. “I’m sorry,” I blurted. “I’m so sorry. I feel awful. Just the worst. Please forgive me. I’d do anything to reverse it—”
“You wish to reverse it?” His deep voice cut through the dark, sounding strained. He shifted, leaning over me until our torsos brushed. “Funny. I wouldn’t.”
I blinked up at him. Was my brain malfunctioning? “You… wouldn’t?”
“No,” he muttered, his thumb tracing a slow, grounding circle over the back of my hand. He gave a short, mirthless laugh. “You know, I missed you every dawn I opened my eyes back in the barracks.”
“You did?” I gaped. My thoughts scattered.
“You were my respite. From war. From loss. You kept me sane.” His voice lost the rough, dry edge it had carried at the market, softening instead into the low, intimate rumble I so longed to hear.
“I don’t know if this fated match talk holds water, but the pull between us?
It’s unexplained, yet it’s there. I can feel it. ”
“So can I,” I whispered.
“They might demote or court-martial me as a deserter upon my return. But dammit, meeting you is a gift I never hoped for. Even if I’m only given a few days here, it’ll be worth it.”
A gasp escaped me, his words leaving me both horrified and elated. My ribcage felt taut, as if it couldn't contain the sudden rush of unexpected emotion. “Knowing that… you still want to go back?” I choked out.
He shook his head in the semi-darkness, a loose strand of his hair sweeping over my arm.
“Want isn’t really a concept that exists in the army, Elian.
Duty always triumphs over choice. But the situation has changed.
Now, my immediate duty is to you. Before anything else, I’ll make sure you’re free and unharmed.
If a marriage can keep you safe, then by the gods, we’re going to get married.
” He paused, his chest rising and falling against my fingers. “I’ll deal with whatever comes after.”
I lay there baffled—by his words, granted, but also at the delivery. For a man who seemed content with grunts and short phrasing, this marked the longest monologue he’d offered to date.