C H A P T ER T W E N T Y – T H R E E
I’m not sure if she appreciated it… but she slept soundly.
C H A P T ER T W E N T Y – T H R E E
Olwyn
I sit on the bench in the water gardens, the sun warming my skin as I flip through the pages of a book.
The sound of gently flowing water soothes me, and I watch as the exotic fish glide through the crystal-clear waters of the pond before me. Their iridescent scales catch the light, casting tiny rainbows that dance across the smooth stone that keeps them there.
The air is fragrant with the scent of blooming lilies and jasmine, mingling with the soft rustle of leaves from the overhead trees. For the first time in what feels like forever, I let myself relax, just a little. Besides the library, this is somewhere I can find peace.
I’m so absorbed in my thoughts that I don’t notice Altair approaching until a tendril of shadow drifts over my page, making me look up. He stands there, dressed in a loose black shirt and casual trousers, looking different without the usual suits and leathers that make him seem untouchable. His hair is slightly wet and tousled, and… he is smiling .
“Is this your favourite spot now?” Altair asks, his voice low, almost teasing as he steps closer. The sunlight catches on the dark fabric of his clothes, making him look effortlessly regal, even without trying.
I blink up at him, momentarily startled by his sudden appearance. “It’s quiet,” I say, closing my book but keeping my finger between the pages. “And the fish don’t seem to mind my company.”
Altair chuckles, a sound that rumbles deep in his chest and sends a strange flutter through me. “No, I suppose they wouldn’t.” He gestures to the empty space beside me. “May I?”
I hesitate for a moment but then nod. “Sure.”
He sits down, leaving a small, deliberate distance between us. His warmth radiates across the space, mingling with the sun’s rays, and it makes me all too aware of how close he is. The bench feels smaller than it did a moment ago, and I fight the urge to shift closer, to close the gap that suddenly feels like a much too big divide.
“What are you reading?” he asks, leaning slightly toward me, and I catch a whiff of something warm and dark.
I glance down at the cover, my cheeks heating up. It’s a collection of old poems, stories of love and loss and longing that I picked up on a whim. “Just some poetry,” I mumble, feeling a bit silly for it now.
“Poetry?” Altair’s brow lifts, curiosity lighting up his features. “I didn’t know you liked that sort of thing.”
I smirk, meeting his eyes. “Well, how would you? There’s a lot you don’t know about me. I’m full of surprises.”
He smiles but it doesn’t reach his eyes.
I sigh. “I’ve never really read it before,” I admit, so used to reading… well, I won’t admit what I usually enjoy reading. My fingers brush against the worn leather of the book’s spine. “But it’s… comforting, in a way.”
Altair nods thoughtfully, his eyes drifting over the pond. “Comfort can be hard to come by,” he says softly. “Especially in a place like this.”
Our eyes meet, and for a moment, it’s as if the rest of the world falls away. I bite my lip, feeling the tension in the air shift again, heavier now, like something unsaid lingers between us. I lower my gaze, focusing on the book in my lap as my mind races. Then, without looking up, I find my voice.
“Thank you,” I say quietly.
His brows raise slightly. “For what?”
“For switching the rooms,” I clarify, my eyes flicking back to his. “It… meant a lot. You didn’t have to do that.”
A flicker of surprise crosses his face, quickly replaced by something softer. “I wanted you to feel comfortable,” he replies, his voice low, almost hesitant, as if he’s choosing his words carefully. “It didn’t seem right, you being in that room after everything.”
I nod, swallowing the emotion rising in my chest. “It was… thoughtful. I’m not used to that.”
He doesn’t respond right away, just watches me, his gaze intense. For a moment, I think he might say something more, something that will break the tension humming between us. But instead, his hand moves slightly, brushing against mine on the bench.
The contact is brief, but it sends a jolt through me, and I freeze, my pulse quickening. I look up at him, our eyes locking. His gaze drops to my lips for a heartbeat—long enough for me to notice, long enough for my stomach to flip in response.
My breath catches, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him. There’s something there, something deeper than just a physical pull, and it terrifies me as much as it excites me.
“I’m glad you liked it,” Altair murmurs, his voice soft but carrying weight.
I swallow hard, my heart racing, and all I can manage is a small nod, unable to trust myself to speak.
“What kind of poetry do you like?” he coughs to clear his throat, his tone casual, but there’s an undertone of genuine curiosity that catches me off guard. He’s not just making small talk; he wants to know.
I fumble with the book, running my fingers along the edges of the pages. “I’m not sure yet,” I say honestly. “I guess I like the ones that… make you feel something, even if you don’t understand why.”
He nods, considering my words. “So, you’re drawn to things that stir the heart, even when the mind can’t quite grasp it. That’s interesting.”
I can’t help but let out a small, nervous laugh. “I suppose. What about you? Do you have a preference?”
Altair leans back slightly, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. “I’ve always been more drawn to stories,” he admits. “Tales of adventure, loyalty, sacrifice. There’s something about the way a story can transport you, make you feel like you’re part of something greater than yourself.”
Relatable. I find myself nodding. “I like stories too. They’re a kind of escape, I guess.”
“Exactly,” he says, his eyes lighting up as if I’ve just solved a riddle for him. “It’s the escape. The chance to live a hundred lives and never have to leave your own.”
Our conversation flows easily from there, and I find myself relaxing more than I expected. Altair asks about the books I’ve read, talks about the places I’ve dreamed of visiting—ones I’ve never even heard of. He even pretends to be scandalised that I’ve never tried some exotic vampire dish he swears is the best thing in the world.
But it’s when he teases a smile and small laugh out of me that his face changes.
I don’t know what it is exactly—maybe the way his eyes widen, or the way his mouth softens from its usual hard line—but there’s a shift in him, like he’s caught off guard. His teasing falls away, replaced by something I can’t quite put my finger on. His gaze lingers on my face, on my lips as I smile, and his expression turns almost... reverent, like he's seeing something rare and precious for the first time.
The silence stretches between us, heavy but not uncomfortable, and I can feel the intensity of his stare as if it's a physical thing. My laughter dies down, replaced by a warmth that blooms in my chest, spreading out through my limbs and up to my cheeks.
Suddenly self-conscious, I bite my lip and drop my gaze, my fingers fiddling with the edge of the book in my lap. The blush creeping up my neck is impossible to hide, and I can still feel his eyes on me, watching, studying.
“You should laugh more often,” he says quietly, his voice soft and full of something I can't quite name. “It suits you.”
I blink, caught off guard by the gentleness in his tone. My heart skips a beat, and I look away again, my cheeks flaming.
“Well,” I mumble, “maybe you should work harder to be funnier.”
His chuckle is low, warm, and somehow it only makes my blush deepen.
“What about growing up?” he asks after a beat, his voice hardening slightly. “What was that really like for you?”
The question catches me off guard, and I hesitate. Memories of Avantra flood my mind—the hidden halls, the strict rules, the feeling of always being watched. I chew my lip, unsure of how much to reveal. “There were a lot of expectations, a lot of… restrictions.”
He suddenly looks regretful, and he knows I am playing it down, but he nods, as if he understands more than he’s letting on. “I can only imagine.” His eyes search mine, and I feel the pull of his gaze like a tether. “It must have been lonely.”
The honesty in his words tugs at something inside me, and I swallow hard, nodding. “It was,” I admit quietly. “But I thought that was just… normal. I couldn’t really remember anything different.”
“I remember…” I hesitate, but he tilts his head, silently urging me on. “I do remember fun,” I continue, a wistful smile tugging at my lips. “A classroom. Laughter. I remember friends. It’s all so fuzzy, but it’s there. I know there was a time when life was different. When I played with vampires, without fear or boundaries.”
Altair’s hand shifts, resting closer to mine on the bench, his fingers brushing against mine again as if by accident. The contact sends a spark up my arm. His thumb moves, just the slightest bit, tracing an invisible line along the back of my hand, and I feel my breath hitch in my throat.
“You don’t have to be alone here,” he says, his voice low, almost hesitant. “Not if you don’t want to be.”
I glance up, meeting his gaze, and for a moment, the look in his eyes steals my breath. There’s a rawness there, something vulnerable and sincere, and it scares me as much as it draws me in. He’s not just talking about the palace or the people in it. He’s talking about himself.
“Altair…” I start, but the words trail off, my thoughts tangling into a mess. I want to tell him I want to give him a chance. A proper chance to earn my trust. I want to tell him that I am confused, and scared, but I want to try. It means stripping back everything I think I know, but I am willing to do it.
He turns to face me more fully, his knee brushing against mine in the process. The contact is brief, but I jump, and I almost drop the book. I glance down, embarrassed, but when I look up, I find Altair watching me. His gaze flickers to my lips for the briefest second before snapping back to my eyes.
“What is it?” he asks, his voice gentle, but there’s a tension there, like a string pulled tight, ready to snap.
I shake my head, trying to dispel the strange, electric charge that buzzes between us. “Nothing,” I say quickly, but we both know it’s a lie. There’s so much I want to say, so much I don’t understand about what’s happening. About why my heart races every time he’s near, why I’m hyper-aware of every move he makes. About why his shadows don’t scare me anymore, or the flash of his fangs.
So much I need to reflect on and question. But that feels like something I need to work through on my own… maybe.
Altair doesn’t press me. Instead, he reaches out as if to adjust the way my book is angled, but his fingers brush more obviously against mine. The touch is light, fleeting, but it lingers, the warmth of his skin against mine searing like a brand. We both freeze, neither pulling away, and for a heartbeat, I wonder what would happen if I went against all my old instincts to flee and just… leaned in. If I let the tension break and see where it got me.
If I simply, held his hand.
But I don’t. I can’t. I’m not sure if it’s fear or something else, but the moment passes, and I pull my hand back, cradling the book to my chest like a shield.
Altair’s expression shifts, a flicker of something—disappointment?—crossing his features before he masks it with a small, almost resigned smile. “I should let you get back to your reading,” he says, though he doesn’t move.
I nod, my heart still pounding against my ribs.
He rises slowly, his hand lingering on the back of the bench for a moment as if debating whether to stay. But then he steps away, the spell between us breaking as he puts distance back into our shared space. “I’ll see you at training later,” he says, his voice still holding that undercurrent of something unspoken.
“Yes, I’ll be there,” I manage, my voice steady even as my mind spins.
Altair nods, and with a final glance—one that seems to stretch longer than it should—he turns and walks away, his figure blending into the shadows of the garden’s archways.
I watch him go, my fingers still tingling from his touch, my thoughts tangled. For a moment, I let myself wonder what it would be like to let go of my fears, to rid myself of all the beliefs and thoughts of others that I have so far chosen to live my life with, and instead… make decisions for myself. Wonder if I could reach out and take what I want. But then I shove the thought down, burying it beneath layers of uncertainty.
I pick up my book, opening it to where I left off, but the words blur on the page. My mind is far from poetry now, lost somewhere between the warmth of Altair’s gaze and the lingering touch of his hand against mine.