C H A P T E R T H I R T Y – S E V E N
She doesn’t even notice how she shines.
C H A P T E R T H I R T Y – S E V E N
Olwyn
T he Litha celebration gets into full swing, and the energy in the village square is infectious.
Altair and I had discarded our cloaks the moment we arrived, blending into the festivities—or at least attempting to. The moment the townsfolk caught sight of Altair, there was a ripple of recognition, a few faces lighting up with surprise and joy.
A tall, elderly man with a straw hat approached first, bowing deeply before straightening with a warm grin. “Your Majesty,” he greeted, his tone reverent yet familiar. His eyes shifted to me, and I felt a strange flutter as he added, “And our queen! Welcome!”
Others soon followed, some bowing, some simply smiling as they came to shake Altair's hand or offer me nods of greeting. Their reactions varied—some subdued and respectful, others openly elated—but what struck me most was the ease with which they approached him.
They treated him like one of their own, a leader, yes, but also just… a man. They didn’t grovel or cower like the nobility in the court or those conditioned to fear vampires. Here, they smiled, joked, and exchanged pleasantries with him, as though he were any other villager. Altair greeted them all politely, his voice low and steady, the faintest edge of warmth softening his usual stoic demeanour.
I was startled when one woman, a baker judging by the flour streaked across her apron, turned to me with a beaming smile. “It’s so good to see you, my queen. We’ve heard so much about you,” she said brightly, as though I’m not an outsider, as though I truly belong here.
For a moment, I didn’t know how to respond. “Thank you,” I managed.
Eventually, the villagers, satisfied with their greetings, drifted back to the celebration, leaving us alone to enjoy the midsummer festival. A part of me had expected Altair to stand apart from it all, a distant and untouchable figure. Instead, he was relaxed, even comfortable, blending in effortlessly.
I sit next to him on a low stone wall, the heat of the midsummer sun still warm on my skin. A small loaf of bread rests between us, its golden crust freshly baked, the smell rich and comforting. I tear off a piece and offer it to him. He takes it with a nod, his fingers brushing mine for the briefest moment. We eat in comfortable silence, the sound of the music swelling around us, the village bathed in the glow of the evening light.
Ahead of us, villagers are dancing. It’s a fast, lively dance, full of spinning skirts and stomping feet. Children run through the crowd, laughing and chasing each other, while couples twirl in the centre of the square, their movements quick and joyful.
I can’t help but smile as I watch them, though there’s a part of me that feels out of place—like I’m a spectator, not really part of it. Altair notices my gaze, glancing at me from the corner of his eye before following my line of sight.
“They’re enjoying themselves,” he says, a soft note of amusement in his voice. “Litha is always like this—loud, energetic, a little wild.”
“Do you ever join in?” I ask, half expecting him to scoff at the idea.
He smirks. “I have my moments. We usually have a celebration in the palace.”
“Why aren’t you this year?” I ask.
He smiles, his white teeth flashing. “I wanted to bring you here.” Before I can respond, he rises to his feet and offers his hand. “Come on,” he says, the playful glint in his eyes unmistakable. “You’re not just going to sit here and watch, are you?”
I blink up at him, surprised. “I’m not much of a dancer.”
His smile widens. “Perfect. Then no one will expect you to be good.”
I can’t help but laugh at that, shaking my head. But there’s something infectious about the way he’s looking at me, the hint of a challenge in his tone. Before I know it, I’ve slipped my hand into his, and he pulls me to my feet with an easy strength that catches me off guard.
The music swells as he leads me toward the square, the lively notes of the fiddles urging us into motion. He turns to face me, taking both my hands, and before I can protest, we’re off—spinning into the dance with a speed that leaves me breathless.
At first, I stumble, my feet awkward, my body not quite sure how to move in time with the music. But Altair just laughs, his grip on my hands steady and firm, guiding me through the steps with surprising ease. His laughter is light, a sound I don’t think I’ve ever heard from him before, and it pulls me in, making me forget my initial hesitation.
We spin faster, the world around us becoming a blur of colour and sound. My breath comes in quick bursts, but it’s not from exhaustion—it’s from the thrill of it, the unexpected joy of being pulled into the dance. The ground beneath my feet feels almost weightless as Altair twirls me around, his strength making it seem effortless.
His eyes stay locked on mine, a hint of blue showing in the shadows, and for the first time, I see him not as the stern, brooding king I’ve come to know, but as something else—someone else. He looks younger somehow, more carefree, the hard lines of his face softened by the glow of the celebration and the laughter on his lips.
“Faster!” he calls, his voice carrying over the music.
I laugh, barely able to keep up as he spins me again, pulling me into a tight circle before releasing me just enough to send me twirling out, only to reel me back in. The movement is dizzying, exhilarating, and I’m surprised at how much I enjoy it.
“See?” he says, his breath coming out in short bursts as he pulls me close again. “You’re a natural.”
I roll my eyes, still laughing. “I’m barely keeping up!”
He grins, his eyes sparkling with a mischievous light. “That’s the fun of it.”
We dance like that for what feels like hours, though it could have been minutes—it’s hard to tell when time seems to blur with the music. My legs are starting to ache, and my breath is coming faster, but I don’t want to stop. There’s something freeing about it, the movement, the laughter, the feeling of being part of something for the first time in so long.
Eventually, the music slows, and Altair guides me to a stop, his hand still wrapped around mine. We’re both breathing heavily, our faces flushed from the dance.
He’s watching me closely, his gaze softening as he catches his breath. “You did well,” he says, his voice lower now, more intimate.
I smile up at him, still a little breathless. “I had a good partner.”
He reaches up, his thumb brushing lightly against the apple of my cheek, and I feel a strange flutter in my chest. The air between us seems to shift, just for a moment, as the music fades and the sounds of the celebration drift into the background.
But before I can dwell on it, he releases my hand, stepping back with a smile that’s still warm but tinged with something like restraint. “Shall we sit for a while?”
I nod, grateful for the chance to catch my breath, and we walk back to the edge of the square where we’d started, the warmth of the celebration still buzzing in the air around us.
***
As the last strains of music fade into the evening air, Altair and I make our way back toward the inn. The village is still alive with celebration, lanterns casting warm glows over the cobbled streets as people laugh and dance, their voices carrying through the twilight. But there's a quietness between us now, a kind of peaceful exhaustion after the energy of the Litha festivities.
Altair walks beside me as we navigate through the crowd. Every now and then, his fingers brush against my side, and I’m hyper-aware of the small, fleeting contact.
When we reach the inn, Abbas is waiting for us by the entrance, a broad smile on his weathered face. “Enjoy the celebration, Your Majesty?” he asks with a knowing glint in his eyes.
Altair nods, his expression soft. “It was good,” he replies. “Thank you for keeping this safe for us.” He reaches out, and Abbas hands over the leather satchel we brought with us.
“Your room is ready,” Abbas continues. “If there’s anything you need, don’t hesitate to call.”
Altair nods again, murmuring his thanks. Abbas’s gaze shifts to me then, and his smile widens, warmth radiating from him. “I trust the Queen enjoyed herself as well?”
I flush at the title, still not used to it, but I return his smile. “It was really lovely,” I say. Abbas gives a satisfied nod before he retreats behind the counter, and Altair and I head up the narrow staircase that leads to the room.
The hallways are dim, lit by a few lanterns, their light flickering softly against the wooden walls. The sounds of the village fade behind us, replaced by the creak of the floorboards under our feet and the quiet rustle of the satchel in Altair’s hand.
When we reach the door to our room, Altair pushes it open and steps aside to let me in first. I hesitate for just a second as I go in, the reality of sharing a room with him sinking in.
It’s a decent-sized space, cosy and clean. There’s a large bed in the middle of the room, its wooden frame sturdy, with simple linen sheets and thick, comfortable-looking pillows. A settee sits against the far wall, barely big enough for two people to sit on. A small fireplace sits in the corner, unlit but ready, and beside it is an old chest of drawers. The atmosphere is homey, but there’s no mistaking the fact that the bed is the centrepiece, and that it’s clearly meant for two.
Altair places the satchel on the bed and glances around, his eyes lingering on the settee for a moment before he turns to me. “I’ll take the settee,” he offers, his tone casual, though there’s something a little stiff in the way he says it, like he’s already preparing for an uncomfortable night.
I arch an eyebrow at him, trying to keep my tone light. “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s too small for all six-five of you.”
He hesitates, his eyes flicking to the bed again. “It’s fine. I’ll manage.”
I fold my arms across my chest, fixing him with a look. “We’re both adults, Altair. We can share the bed. It’s not a big deal.”
He blinks, taken aback, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something in his expression—something caught between surprise and something warmer. But then he recovers, giving me a small, resigned nod. “If you’re sure.”
“I am,” I say, trying to sound more confident than I feel. There’s a slight awkwardness settling over the room now.
To fill the silence, I reach for the satchel at the edge of the bed, but my hand stills halfway, my thoughts catching up with me. The events of the day, the sights I’d seen, the people we’d met—they tumble around in my mind, raw and unorganized. I know I need to sort through it all, to make sense of the conflicting emotions swirling in my chest, but I don’t know how to start.
Instead of grabbing the satchel, I drop my hand and glance at Altair. He stands a few feet away, loosening the laces of his tunic, but his movements are slow, almost hesitant, like he’s waiting for something. For me.
The words are out before I can stop them. “The village. The people…” I trail off, searching for the right way to say it. “It wasn’t what I expected.”
Altair looks up, his hands pausing mid-motion, his gaze anchoring me. “What did you expect?” His voice is steady, as though he already knows the answer but wants me to say it anyway.
I hesitate, but only for a moment. “I don’t know. Something darker. More… desolate. Weeks ago, I never would have thought a place like that could exist—vampires and humans living side by side, laughing together, celebrating.” I shake my head, almost laughing at myself. “I thought the world outside Avantra was all shadows and blood. But that… that was light.”
He listens, his expression unreadable, but there’s a quiet intensity in his eyes that makes me feel like every word matters. “And what did you feel?”
The question takes me off guard. It’s not something I’d thought about yet, too caught up in the shock of seeing a world so different from the one I’d imagined. But now that he’s asked, the answer comes quickly, unbidden.
“Hope,” I admit softly, the word hanging in the air between us. “I felt hope.”
Altair exhales, his shoulders relaxing slightly, and there’s something almost vulnerable in the way he looks at me now. “Good,” he says simply, like it’s the only answer that matters.
I nod, but the day still presses on me, and I glance away, focusing on the satchel again. “I’m not ready to talk about everything,” I say quietly, almost to myself. “Not yet. I just… need time to make sense of it.”
Altair doesn’t respond immediately, but when he does, his voice is low and gentle. “Take all the time you need.”
When I finally look back at him, his tunic is off, leaving him in just the thin, sleeveless undershirt that clings to his form. The sight of him, so relaxed and unguarded, catches me off guard for a moment, and I turn quickly back to the satchel, feeling heat rise to my cheeks.
“I’ll go change.”
He steps aside, giving me space as I head toward the small door at the back of the room that leads to the ensuite bathroom. The door creaks as I push it open, and I step inside, closing it gently behind me.
The bathroom is simple, with a small washbasin and a mirror hanging above it. A narrow window lets in the cool night air, and I can hear the distant sounds of the village celebration still carrying on outside. I take a deep breath, trying to steady the fluttering in my chest as I open the satchel and pull out a nightgown from inside, one a maid must have packed for me.
It’s short and soft, a comfortable thing—but now, standing here, it feels suddenly… delicate. The fabric slips through my fingers as I hold it up, and I can’t help but glance at my reflection in the mirror. I undo my hair from its crown, grateful to have the pins out of my hair, the strands falling around my shoulders and the flush from the dancing lingering on my cheeks.
I change quickly, slipping out of the dress and pulling the nightgown over my head. The fabric settles softly against my skin, cool and light, and I run my fingers over the hem, trying to calm the slight nervousness bubbling inside me.
I take a deep breath and open the door, stepping back into the room.
Altair is standing by the fireplace, his covered back to me as he pokes at the logs, coaxing them into a low, warm flame. He has changed into a loose pair of bed trousers. The soft light from the fire flickers across the room, casting gentle shadows on the walls, and when he turns to face me, his eyes flicker down for just a moment before they meet mine again. There’s a brief silence between us, and I can feel the heat of his gaze, though he doesn’t say anything.
“I’ll, um… just get into bed,” I mumble, brushing past him toward the bed. I slide under the covers, feeling the cool sheets against my skin as I settle in.
Altair steps away from the fireplace, his movements slow and deliberate as he walks to the other side of the bed. He slips under the covers beside me, keeping a respectful distance, though the space between us feels smaller than it should.
We lie there in silence for a moment, the flicker of the fire casting a soft glow over the room. I can hear the soft rustle of the sheets as Altair shifts beside me.
I lie there, staring up at the ceiling, my heart still racing from everything that’s happened today. The village, the people, the little girl with the flowers… it all swirls around in my head, but it’s not what keeps my pulse hammering against my chest. It’s him.
It’s Altair.
The way he looked at me when we danced, that quiet awe in his eyes. The way his hand felt on my back, guiding me so effortlessly through the crowd. Even now, as we lie side by side, I can feel the warmth of him, his presence like a low hum in the air, pulling me in even though we’re not touching.
The silence between us stretches, thick and charged. I turn my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye. He’s lying on his back, his eyes closed and face relaxed, but his body tense, as if he’s holding himself in check. The firelight flickers across his features, casting shadows on the sharp planes of his jaw, the curve of his lips.
For a moment, I wonder if he’s asleep, but then I hear his voice—low, soft, like it’s meant just for me. “Get some sleep, Olwyn. We have a long day tomorrow.”
I swallow, my throat suddenly dry. “Goodnight, Altair,” I whisper, my voice barely audible, but the way his name feels on my lips sends a shiver down my spine.
There’s a pause. A long one.
“Goodnight,” he replies, his voice rougher now, like it’s strained.
I close my eyes, trying to will myself to sleep, but my mind won’t settle. The energy between us is almost suffocating, a slow, simmering tension that wraps around my body, making it impossible to relax. I can feel him—every shift of his body, every quiet breath he takes—and it’s too much and not enough all at once.
Without thinking, I turn over to face him, the movement drawing his attention immediately. He inhales sharply, his chest rumbling as his eyes open, watching me, and the intensity in his darkened gaze makes my breath catch in my throat.
“Altair...” I say, my voice trembling, though I don’t even know what I’m asking for.
His hand moves before I can process it, reaching out to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against my skin. The touch is soft, almost tentative, but it sets my blood on fire. I lean into it without thinking, my eyes fluttering shut as I feel the warmth of him seep into me.
He shifts closer, and my heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it, feel it. When I open my eyes again, his face is right there, inches from mine, his gaze dark and intent.
His lips hover just above mine, so close that I can feel the heat radiating from him. But he doesn’t move. Doesn’t close the gap. Instead, his eyes burn into mine, his control absolute, as if he’s savouring the moment—savouring my want, which I’m fed up of denying whilst we’re here alone.
“Ask for it,” he suddenly murmurs, his voice low, like velvet draped in command. His breath fans across my lips, teasing me with the nearness. “Ask, and I’ll give it to you, Olwyn.”
I swallow hard, the pulse between my legs throbbing at the rough edge of his words. My body screams for the kiss that lingers just out of reach, but still, he waits—silent, immovable, utterly in control.
“Altair...” I whisper, my voice trembling, almost pleading, but it isn’t enough. His lips quirk slightly at the corners, amusement flashing through the heat in his eyes.
“Not good enough, love.” His shadowed fingers trail up the curve of my neck, grazing the sensitive skin just beneath my ear. “If you want it... ask for it.”
My breath catches, heat flooding my body as his words sink in. My pride wars with the ache that’s settled deep inside me.
“ Please ,” I manage to whisper, my voice barely audible.
His eyes darken further, and he inches closer, the heat from his body wrapping around me like a storm, but still, he waits.
“Louder, Olwyn,” he growls, his thumb brushing across my bottom lip, teasing the softness there. “Let me hear you want it.”
I shudder, my entire body trembling with the force of the need building inside me. “Please, Altair… kiss me,” I gasp, my voice breaking.
He exhales slowly. The control in his gaze snaps, and the next second, his lips crash into mine with a hunger that leaves me breathless. The world tilts as he devours me, his hands tangling in my hair, pulling me closer, his body pressing against mine as if he can’t get enough. The kiss is rough, deep, filled with the heat of everything we’ve both been holding back.
I moan against his lips, my hands fisting in his shirt as he tilts my head back, taking the kiss deeper, his tongue sweeping into my mouth, claiming me in a way that sends a rush of pleasure flooding through me. He’s everywhere, overwhelming me, consuming me, and all I can do is cling to him, lost in the fire he’s ignited.
When he finally pulls back, both of us panting, his forehead rests against mine, and his voice is a hoarse whisper. “Good girl,” he breathes, his thumb tracing my swollen lips. “That’s all you had to do.”
This time I’m the one to kiss him, my fingers tangling in his dark hair as I pull him closer, closer. His other hand grips my waist, pulling me flush against his body, and I can feel every hard line of him, every shift of muscle beneath his skin.
I gasp into his mouth, and he groans in response, the sound deep and rough and sending a bolt of heat straight between my legs.
For a moment, it feels like we’re the only two people in the world. Like nothing else matters but this—his lips on mine, his hands on my body, the way he makes me feel like I’m burning alive.
But as I hook my leg over his hip, he pulls back, his breath ragged, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His forehead rests against mine, his eyes closed, and I can feel the tension in his body, the restraint.
“Olwyn,” he murmurs, his voice thick with something deep and dark as his fangs show, catching the dim light. “We… we should stop.” But his grip tightens, fingers pressing into my waist, pulling me just a little closer.
It’s not rejection—I can feel it in the way his body remains pressed against mine, in the way his eyes flicker with that dark, heated hunger. His control is slipping, and I know, deep down, that he’s not stopping because he doesn’t want this.
I swallow hard, my heart pounding as I try to ignore the pull to lean back in, to push past this fragile line we’ve drawn.
He hesitates, his lips parting as if weighing something unspoken, and then he speaks, his voice low, rough—almost tortured. “I want to, Olwyn. Gods, I want you. But I don’t want to cross a line you’re not ready for. I want everything. But if we keep going, you must be sure. No regrets tomorrow. I couldn’t bear it.”
The raw confession sends a tremor through me. My pulse quickens, heat pooling in my stomach as his words sink in. He’s not hiding it anymore—the desire, the hunger, the sheer want. It’s right there, out in the open, and the knowledge of it thrills and terrifies me in equal measure. And if I’m being completely honest… I’m not ready.
I look away, afraid that I’ll let him down. But he leans in, pressing a soft kiss to my forehead, his lips lingering.
“Come here,” he says, his voice still hoarse with unspoken need as he pulls me into his arms.
I go willingly, letting him tuck me against his chest, his arms wrapping around me in a way that feels protective, almost possessive. His warmth seeps into me, calming the frantic beat of my heart, and I close my eyes, the tension slowly ebbing away.
“Get some sleep,” he whispers, his breath warm against my hair. “I’ll be right here.”
I nod, resting my head against his chest, listening to the steady thrum of his heartbeat.
And for the first time in a long time, I think I feel safe.