Chapter 9 Heidi
HEIDI
The admission settles between us like smoke, curling around the edges of something I'm not ready to name. My pulse quickens, and I reach for my wine glass to give my hands something to do besides fidget.
"We should head home soon," he says, but his voice carries a roughness that wasn't there before. "Irida will want to hear about your first visit to Vestige."
Home. The word slides through me with dangerous warmth, and I don't correct it even though this arrangement is supposed to be temporary.
Even though I should be plotting my escape instead of sitting here in emerald silk, letting myself enjoy the way his presence makes the bond's pressure fade to nothing.
The carriage ride back passes in charged silence. He sits across from me again, but the careful distance feels different now—deliberate rather than polite, like he's fighting the same urge to close the space that's making my skin feel too tight.
When we arrive at his estate, Thera greets us at the door with the kind of knowing look that makes my cheeks burn.
She takes one glance at the dress, at the way Mihalis's hand hovers protectively near my lower back as we enter, and her expression shifts into something dangerously close to satisfaction.
"Irida's been asleep for hours," she informs us, "but she made me promise to wake her if you came back early enough for a story."
"It's past midnight," Mihalis protests, but there's no real authority in it. We all know he'll cave if his daughter asks.
"I'll go change," I murmur, suddenly hyperaware of how the silk clings to my skin, how exposed I feel under the warm lights of his home.
But when I reach my room, I don't immediately strip out of the dress.
Instead, I catch myself staring at my reflection in the mirror, trying to reconcile this elegant stranger with the street thief who broke into Vestige all those nights ago.
The woman looking back at me appears comfortable with luxury, at ease in expensive fabric.
She looks like someone who belongs in a place like this.
The thought should terrify me. Instead, it sends guilt spiraling through my chest.
I've been here ten days. Ten days of soft beds and regular meals, of Irida's laughter and Mihalis's careful consideration. Ten days of not once attempting a real escape, of letting myself sink into the rhythm of this life like it's something I deserve.
I should feel trapped. Should be clawing at the walls, planning elaborate breakouts, counting down the hours until I can disappear back into the city's shadows where I belong.
Instead, when I think about leaving, all I can picture is Irida's face crumpling with confusion and hurt. Why did Heidi go away? Didn't she like us?
The dress comes off easily, but the guilt clings like a second skin as I change into my nightgown. I've become comfortable here. More than comfortable—I've started to care about these people, started to want things I have no right to want.
Started to imagine staying.
Three days later, I'm sprawled on the library floor with Irida, helping her arrange her collection of "special rocks" while snow falls steadily outside the tall windows. She's explaining the unique properties of each stone with the serious intensity only six-year-olds can muster.
I'm listening as intently as I can while ignoring the pain in my chest. It's getting worse, to the point that I need Mihalis around all the time—not that I'd admit it.
"This one's for protection," she says, placing a smooth black pebble in my palm. "And this one brings good dreams. Dad gave it to me when I had nightmares about thunder."
The casual mention of Mihalis's tenderness toward his daughter does something warm and dangerous to my chest. Over the past week, I've seen glimpses of the man he becomes around Irida—patient where he's normally sharp, playful where he's usually controlled.
He'll spend an entire afternoon building elaborate snow fortresses if she asks, his expression soft with indulgent affection.
"What about this one?" I ask, picking up a piece of deep green stone that catches the light like captured starfire.
"That's my favorite!" Her face lights up with excitement. "It's supposed to help people who are meant to be together find each other. Like soulmates, but for regular people too. Dad says it's silly, but I think it works."
My throat tightens. "Why do you think that?"
"Because I found it the day after you came here," she says matter-of-factly. "And you stayed, so the magic must be working."
Before I can figure out how to respond to that devastating piece of childhood logic, Mihalis appears in the doorway. His hair is slightly mussed from whatever he's been working on, and there's ink on his fingers—signs that he's been handling correspondence in his office.
"What are we discussing so seriously?" he asks, settling onto the floor beside us with the kind of fluid grace that shouldn't be possible for someone his size.
"Heidi likes my rock collection," Irida announces, immediately abandoning her careful arrangements to crawl into his lap. "I told her about the soulmate one."
Something flickers across his expression—too quick for me to interpret before it's gone. "Did you?"
"She thinks it's working because I stayed," I say, meeting his gaze over Irida's dark curls.
"Children see magic everywhere," he replies carefully. "It's one of their gifts."
But his eyes don't leave mine, and I catch something in them that makes my pulse quicken. Like maybe he's not entirely convinced the magic is imaginary either.
Irida wriggles around in his arms until she's facing both of us, her expression suddenly serious. "Dad, can we show Heidi the garden maze tomorrow? I want her to see the ice sculptures."
"If the weather permits," he agrees, but I catch the way his gaze drifts to where I'm still holding her green stone.
"Will you come too?" Irida asks me, golden eyes bright with hope. "The maze is really fun when Dad plays hide-and-seek with me."
The image that conjures—Mihalis stalking through hedge corridors while his daughter shrieks with delighted laughter—sends warmth spiraling through my chest. "I'd like that."
"Perfect!" She claps her hands together. "It'll be like a family adventure!"
The word 'family' makes my chest ache. Casual, innocent, the way children speak truths adults spend years avoiding. But the way Mihalis goes very still tells me he heard it too, felt the same jolt of recognition and longing.
"We should let Dad get back to his work," I say when the silence stretches too long.
But Irida's already scrambling out of her father's lap, apparently satisfied now that tomorrow's plans are confirmed. "I'm going to ask Ilyra if we can have hot chocolate in the maze! With those little sugar cookies!"
She darts from the room with the energy only children possess, leaving me alone on the floor with Mihalis and a scattered collection of rocks that suddenly feel weighted with significance.
"She's getting attached," he says quietly.
"So am I." The admission slips out before I can stop it, honest and raw in the warm library air.
His gaze sharpens, searching my face for something I'm not sure I want him to find. "That wasn't the plan."
"No," I agree. "It wasn't."
We're sitting too close—close enough that I can see the faint lines around his eyes, smell the subtle scent of his skin beneath expensive soap. Close enough that when he reaches out to take the green stone from my palm, his fingers brush mine and send electricity racing up my arm.
He doesn't pull away immediately. Neither do I. For a moment that stretches like eternity, we sit there on the library floor with his hand covering mine, both of us pretending this is about rocks and childhood magic instead of something infinitely more dangerous.
"Heidi," he says, and my name sounds different in his voice. Rougher. Like it costs him something to say it.
"I know." I do know. I know this is getting complicated in ways neither of us anticipated. Know that whatever's building between us goes far beyond magical compulsion. Know that I should be terrified instead of exhilarated. "I know."
But I don't move away. Don't break the contact that's making my skin burn and my breath catch. Instead, I let myself have this moment—this single point of connection that feels more real than anything I've experienced in years.
When he finally pulls back, the loss of contact is almost painful. The bond's pressure doesn't return—we're still close enough to keep it at bay—but something else aches in its absence. Something that has nothing to do with magic and everything to do with want.
The next morning dawns clear and bright, winter sunlight turning the snow-covered grounds into a crystalline wonderland. Irida practically vibrates with excitement through breakfast, chattering about ice sculptures and secret passages while Mihalis listens with patient amusement.
"The maze is Irida’s favorite place on the grounds," he explains to me over coffee. "Each winter, the gardeners create new ice installations throughout the pathways. It's become something of a tradition."
"Dad's being shy," Irida pipes up around a mouthful of toast. "They're not just installations—they're magical! They change when you're not looking!"
"The magic of perspective," Mihalis corrects gently, but there's warmth in his voice that makes my chest tight.
Watching them together is becoming a sweet torture.
The way he automatically cuts her food into smaller pieces, how she unconsciously mirrors his posture, the shared glances that speak of inside jokes and deep affection.
It's a glimpse into a kind of love I've never experienced—unconditional, protective, absolutely certain.
And I want it. Want to be part of it with a desperation that should shame me but doesn't.