C H A P T E R T W E N T Y
She’s seeing. She’s trying. It means so much.
C H A P T E R T W E N T Y
Olwyn
I jolt awake, a scream tearing from my throat, shattering the quiet of my chambers.
The nightmare lingers, clinging to me like a suffocating weight. I’m gasping for air, my hands clutching the silk sheets, damp with sweat. My heart is racing, the sound of it thudding in my ears as I try to calm down, to steady my breaths.
I rid my mind of the memory of the man’s scent, telling myself it isn’t real, even if I can smell him as if he were led directly underneath my nose.
Footsteps echo in the room next to mine, and before I can fully collect myself, Altair comes through the door, his expression a mix of concern and determination. Shadows coil around him like a living cloak, responding to the distress that still hangs heavy in the air.
“Olwyn,” he says, his voice low and steady but tinged with urgency.
“I’m fine,” I croak, my voice cracking. I try to sound firm, but the tremble in my hands betrays me. “Go away, Altair.”
But he doesn’t listen. He strides across the room, his eyes never leaving mine, reading the panic still etched into my expression. I flinch, my pride prickling as I sit up straighter, trying to put on a brave front. “I said I’m fine,” I snap, but my voice wavers, the conviction slipping through my fingers.
Altair ignores my protests, sweeping the sheets aside. “You’re not fine,” he says simply. “And I cannot bear it, listening to your pain.”
Before I can argue further, he bends down, effortlessly scooping me into his arms.
“What are you doing?” I shriek, pushing against his chest, my fists weakly beating against his shoulder. “Put me down!”
Altair holds me close, his grip gentle yet unyielding. “You need rest,” he replies calmly, as though this is the most obvious thing in the world. “If we’re going to train tomorrow, you need your sleep.”
I still a little. He’s not wrong.
But the sudden closeness is jarring, his bare chest pressing against me. His skin is cool and smooth, but it radiates a warmth that seeps through the thin fabric of my nightgown, sending a jolt through my body. There’s an electricity in the contact, a charge that sets my nerves on fire. My breath catches, the sensation so visceral, so intimate that my instinct is to recoil, to put distance between us.
My fingers twitch, hovering near his shoulder as I instinctively try to maintain some semblance of balance. The steady thrum of his heartbeat, strong and unwavering, pulses against my side, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. The scent of him—dark and musky with a hint of something sharp, like air before a storm—fills my senses, overwhelming my resolve to stay angry, to push him away. I can feel the play of his muscles beneath my palms, each movement graceful and deliberate as he carries me across the room.
I am painfully aware of every point of contact—his arms wrapped around me, the way his chest rises and falls against mine. A blush creeps up my neck, my pulse quickening. I am caught between the urge to scream at him to let me go and the maddening temptation to sink deeper into the warmth he offers.
His grip tightens just slightly, almost possessively, and I can feel the strength he holds back, the restraint that keeps him gentle. He cradles me as if I’m something precious, and for a moment, I let myself believe it. That maybe, in this closeness, there’s a truth I’ve been too afraid to see—that at some base level, Altair doesn’t just want to protect me. The thought sends a fresh wave of confusion through me, twisting my fear into something far more complicated.
He carries me through the door connecting our rooms, each step sure, as if this is routine, as if carrying me is something he’s done a thousand times before. My protests grow weaker, my body betraying me as exhaustion pulls at my limbs. I stiffen in his arms when we reach his bed.
His room is grand and impeccably decorated, dark wood furnishings and thick drapes framing a large bed in the centre. It feels warm and safe, a sharp contrast to the cold emptiness that clings to my own chambers.
“Altair, I don’t—” I begin, but he cuts me off, setting me down on the bed with surprising tenderness before he tucks the blankets around me.
“Don’t think too much on it,” he says, brushing a stray lock of hair from my forehead. His touch is light, but it sends a shiver through me. “You need to sleep.”
I feel the last of my energy slipping away. “I can sleep in my own room,” I mumble weakly.
Altair steps back, his expression softening just a touch. “You’ll be more comfortable here,” he insists. “The outer door is already locked, and there’s a bolt on this one. Use it, if it makes you feel safer.”
He turns to leave, heading back towards the door. I open my mouth to argue, but the words die on my lips. A strange, unsettling warmth blossoms in my chest, one I can’t quite name. I haven’t felt safe in so long—not in this palace, not in my chambers, and certainly not around Altair. But the way he moved, the quiet resolve in his voice… It makes my defences wobble.
“Altair,” I call after him, my voice softer now. He pauses at the doorway, glancing back at me with a curious look.
I hesitate, the words tangling on my tongue. “Thank you,” I whisper. He nods once, a brief, almost imperceptible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.
“Get some rest, Olwyn,” he replies, his voice gentle. “I’ll be in the next room if you need anything. And I’ll make sure you’re safe.”
Without another word, he slips out, the door clicking shut behind him. I’m left alone in the dimly lit room, the silence almost oppressive in its stillness. I lie back against the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, my mind racing with everything that just happened.
But then his words from dinner the other night float back into my mind to add to the confusion.
If you find yourself craving a touch a little less gentle, you need only ask.
I stand, walking over and finding the bolt on the door, sliding it into place with a satisfying click. The action is small, but it gives me a sliver of control, a tiny piece of security in this overwhelming situation.
I turn back to the bed— Altair’s bed—and the sight of it makes my breath hitch. It’s absurdly large, draped in dark, luxurious fabrics that reflect the moonlight streaming in through the tall windows. The sheets are crisp and smooth, and as I slide beneath them, the lingering warmth of Altair’s presence seems to wrap around me, mingling with the coolness of the silk.
The scent of him is everywhere—deep, musky, and laced with the sharp tang of midnight air. It’s the scent that clings to him always, and it’s oddly soothing in this space. It envelops me, filling my lungs with every breath I take. It’s a reminder of where I am, whose space I’ve invaded, but instead of recoiling, I find myself sinking deeper into it.
It feels wrong to find comfort here, but the bed is impossibly soft, and his scent is grounding in a way I didn’t expect. I press my face into the pillow, the trace of him lingering there, and I can almost feel the weight of his gaze, even though he’s not in the room. My eyes drift shut, and exhaustion finally takes hold. The tension in my muscles begins to unwind, and I allow myself to relax—just a little.
Here, I feel like I don’t have to be on guard. I don’t have to fight, or plan, or think about what comes next. For a few stolen moments, I can simply exist, the heady mix of fear and comfort lulling me into a state that’s dangerously close to peace.
For once, I don’t fear the shadows lurking in the corners of the room. I don’t fear the nightmares that have haunted me every night. And as I drift off, the lingering warmth of Altair’s touch and the memory of his quiet reassurance wrap around me like a cloak, softening the sharp edges of my fear.