Chapter 5 Keira #2
"I know so." And I do. I've watched him. Seen how he pours himself into research, into remedies, into desperate hope. How he shows up every other day without fail. How he brings gifts for Amisra and comfort for Daryn and tries so hard to be invisible around me. "You're a good man, Valas."
The admission costs me something. Costs me armor I'm not sure I can afford to lose. But it's true, and he looks so tired, and I'm so sick of pretending I don't see the goodness in him.
His expression shifts. Surprise, maybe. Or something warmer that I don't want to name. "Coming from you, that means—" He stops, seems to reconsider. "You barely talk to me."
"I know."
"Why?"
The question is gentle. Curious. Not demanding or entitled, just... asking. Like my answer might matter. Like I matter.
I should deflect. Should retreat behind pleasant lies and polite distance. Instead, exhausted and unguarded and so tired of being afraid, I tell him the truth.
"Because I don't trust easily." I wrap both hands around my mug, letting the heat ground me. "Dark elves have never given me reason to. And you—" I force myself to meet his eyes. "You scare me."
He goes very still. "I would never hurt you."
"I know that too." The contradiction tastes bitter. "But you're still a dark elf. Still part of a world that sees humans as property. Still someone who could claim me if you wanted and I'd have no say in it."
The words hang between us, sharp and honest. Valas sets his mug down carefully, like he needs both hands free for whatever comes next.
"I would never claim you." His voice carries absolute conviction. "Not like that. Not without your consent. Not unless you wanted—" He stops, jaw working. "You're not property to me, Keira. You never have been."
"What am I, then?" The question escapes before I can stop it.
He looks at me with those impossible eyes, and I see want there. Naked and undisguised and so intense it steals my breath. "Someone I'd very much like to know. If you'd let me."
My heart hammers against my ribs. This is dangerous. This wanting. This moment where I could say yes or no or something in between. Where I could step closer or pull away. Where everything could change or stay safely, miserably the same.
"I don't know how," I admit quietly.
"Neither do I." A small smile touches his mouth. "But I'm willing to figure it out. Slowly. At whatever pace you need."
The offer sits between us like something fragile. Something that could shatter with one wrong word or break under the weight of everything we're not saying. I should refuse. Should protect myself. Should remember that attraction doesn't mean safety and kindness doesn't erase power dynamics.
Instead, I find myself smiling back. Just a little. Just enough.
"Maybe start with not avoiding each other?" The suggestion comes out tentative. Testing.
"I can do that." Relief washes over his features. "Though I should warn you—I'm terrible at small talk."
"Noted." I take a sip of tea to hide how my hands are shaking. "What are you good at?"
"Healing. Research. Making Amisra laugh." He considers. "Bad jokes, apparently, though Daryn claims they're only funny because they're so terrible."
"Try me."
His eyebrow lifts. "You want to hear a bad joke?"
"I want to see if Daryn is right."
The challenge hangs there. Valas's smile widens, turning almost boyish, and for a moment, I forget to be afraid of him. Forget to see the power difference. Forget everything except how that smile transforms his face from beautiful to something that makes my stomach flip.
"What do you call a dark elf who can't cast spells?" he asks.
"I don't know. What?"
"A failure with excellent cheekbones."
The laugh bursts out of me before I can stop it—surprised and genuine and probably too loud for the late hour. I clap a hand over my mouth, but the damage is done. I'm laughing. Actually laughing. And Valas is watching me like I've given him something precious.
"That was terrible," I manage between giggles.
"I warned you." But he's grinning now, clearly pleased with himself. "Daryn was right, wasn't he? So bad it circles back to funny."
"Circles back to something." I shake my head, still smiling. "I can't believe that worked."
"I have more if you're interested."
"Absolutely not." But there's no heat in it. Just warmth. Just this strange, tentative thing building between us that feels dangerously close to friendship.
We finish our tea in more comfortable silence.
He tells me about a remedy he's researching—something about mountain herbs and moon phases that goes over my head but I listen anyway, just to hear his voice.
Just to watch how animated he becomes when discussing his work.
I tell him about Amisra's latest imaginative game, and he laughs at the right parts, asks questions that prove he's actually listening.
It's easy. Too easy. And when I finally excuse myself to bed, murmuring goodnight and slipping from the kitchen, I realize with dawning horror how close I came tonight to forgetting.
Forgetting that he's a dark elf and I'm human. Forgetting the power he holds over me. Forgetting that attraction and kindness and bad jokes don't change the fundamental reality of what we are. What we can never be.
I reach my room and lock the door behind me, pressing my back against the wood.
My heart is still racing. My face still warm from laughing.
And all I can think about is how his eyes had lit up when I smiled.
How his voice had gentled when he said my name.
How for just a few moments, I'd let myself imagine what it might be like to be wanted by someone who actually sees me as a person.
How dangerous that imagining is.
I slide down to sit on the floor, knees pulled to my chest, and try to rebuild the walls I let crumble. Try to remember all the reasons I can't let a dark elf in. Can't let this attraction become something real. Can't let hope make me reckless.
But his voice still echoes in my head—someone I'd very much like to know—and I know, with sinking certainty, that those walls are already far too damaged to protect me from whatever comes next.