Chapter 26
ENOUGH
TWENTY-SIX
“ . . . it’s definitely curious. I suspect this curse may not be a curse.
Curses are rare and often have more defined edges about them.
I am hoping to find more info on this. But I admit I don’t know where to look.
However, I firmly believe that when one is at an impasse, one should go back to the basics—basic texts on basic cures, and see what I can discover.
A beginner’s mindset can often see what we overlook. ”
—VALEN’S JOURNAL
AMARA
After dinner—and more quiet talk about our departure for the capital—we find ourselves walking toward Thane’s quarters. He didn’t ask if I would stay the night and I didn’t ask if I could.
We just started walking together, side by side, like it was always the plan.
I wrap my arms around myself like I’m cold even though the night air is warm, thick with the lingering heat of summer. From beyond the courtyard, I hear the frogs. Their low croaks carry through the dark, steady and strange.
We cross the open stone path slowly.
Around us, a few soldiers and staff linger in small groups and pairs, talking quietly, laughing, moving easily through the late evening air.
As if the world didn’t tilt sideways hours ago.
We pass beneath the arched entrance to the private wing. The halls here are quieter, dimmer.
The only light comes from the occasional torch bracketed to the walls, casting long, flickering shadows that dance along the floor at our feet.
Neither of us speaks. We don’t need to. The bond between us hums low and steady like a silent tether.
I’m here. I’m not leaving.
The farther we walk, the heavier the quiet becomes, almost sacred. Like the stillness between heartbeats.
Thane slows as we near his door, and I feel him glance at me out of the corner of his eye—checking, not assuming. And without hesitation, I step closer, closing the last inch of distance between us.
Thane pushes the door open and gestures for me to step inside first. I do, breathing in the familiar scent of him—smoke, leather, and something quieter beneath it.
Home.
I’ve been here before—more than once—but tonight feels like the first time.
The room is spare but lived-in. The dark wood panels, the simple, large bed, the worn armchair near the hearth. The folded cloak over the chair. The blade mounted neatly on the wall.
Everything in its place.
And yet, somehow, the air feels heavier. Charged. Like even the bond has settled into the bones of this space.
Behind me, the door clicks shut. Soft. Final.
I turn and find Thane watching me. Like he’s still not sure if he’s allowed to want this. Want me.
Even now.
Something in my chest tightens, warm and aching. This man who puts everything ahead of himself still won’t let him believe he can have us also. Without a word, I step farther into the room, a quiet certainty guiding my feet, to show him he can.
But Thane isn’t the Warlord tonight. Not the one who commands armies. Not the one who holds the line. Not the man who never lets anyone close.
Tonight, he is just a man.
And gods, I have never wanted him more. The want isn’t sharp or frantic like it was at the lagoon. It’s deeper. Bone-deep. A pull born from everything we’ve endured—and everything he’s finally let me see.
“Would you like to wash up?”
The question startles me. I blink, turning to him.
But he’s already moving—opening drawers, his motions brisk and careful.
“I can run the bath for you,” he offers, his voice low. Almost too casual.
He reaches deeper into a drawer and pulls out what he was searching for: a soft, worn shirt I could wear as a sleeping gown.
He holds it out to me without meeting my eyes.
“Do you need clothes to sleep in?” he adds, his voice a little rougher now, like he’s bracing himself for rejection even in this small, simple offer.
I study him, tilting my head.
Thane doesn’t fumble. He’s not tentative. And yet here he is—standing with a shirt in hand, eyes averted, unsure.
And gods, I nearly melt.
I don’t say that, of course. The poor man has been through enough. So, for once, I keep my teasing to myself.
“That would be great,” I say, reaching out for the shirt with a small smile. “Better than sleeping in sweaty leathers in the dead of summer.”
Okay. A little teasing.
My fingers brush his as I take the bundle from him—a light touch, fleeting but grounding. Thane nods once as the corner of his mouth lifts, eyes softening.
Then he turns toward the bathing chamber. I follow.
He crouches beside the faucet set into the stone wall, twists it open, and the water begins to flow—clear and steady. The sound fills the space between us like a soft veil.
He reaches beneath the sink, pulling out a small bottle. Without a word, he pours a thick, velvety liquid into the water. Almost immediately, bubbles begin to bloom, soft and white, curling over the surface. Steam rises.
I blink, staring for a moment as the scent of lavender and something faintly sweet fills the air.
The Warlord is making me a bubble bath.
A bubble bath!
For a moment, I don’t know whether to laugh or cry. Because somehow, this small, absurd, tender thing feels like the bravest gesture he’s made all night.
He looks at me. And for the first time tonight, he smiles. Not the sharp-edged smirk of the Warlord. Not the grin he wears in strategy meetings or battle briefings. A real smile. Soft.
Almost shy.
The bond between us hums in response—a gentle caress against my skin, warm and steady, like a fingers brushing through my hair.
And suddenly, I feel shy.
Which is ridiculous, maybe. We’ve seen each other naked more than once. But this . . . this feels different. This isn’t just about sex. It isn’t just about attraction.
It’s about everything else. The truths. The fears. The broken pieces we let the other see.
And still—we’re here. Still wanting. Still choosing.
I smile again, small and a little unsure, clutching the clothes he offered me against my chest. I reach up and tuck a loose strand of hair behind my ear, a nervous habit I can’t quite shake.
Thane watches me. Not with the hunger I saw in his eyes at the lagoon, but something quieter. Softer. Almost . . . awe. The bond between us hums again, a pulse of warmth and reassurance that wraps around my ribs like a second heartbeat.
Before I can move, Thane reaches out. His hand brushes lightly against my cheek as he tucks a stray piece of hair behind my other ear. The touch is feather-light, careful.
I still beneath his touch.
He draws in a breath, and when he speaks, his voice is low, rough at the edges.
“Could I—” He swallows. “Could I take a bath with you?”
The question hangs between us, so open and bare it almost brings me to my knees. He shifts slightly, like he’s bracing for me to pull away.
“Nothing has to happen,” he says quickly. “I don’t even think I can, after everything tonight.” Another breath. “I just want to be near you.”
The bond thrums between us—aching. Full of everything he can’t say aloud.
I don’t hesitate. I step closer and reach for his hand.
His fingers close around mine instantly, like a breath he’s been holding finally releases.
I lift my eyes to his and give a small nod. Yes.
Yes to his closeness.
Yes to his need.
Yes to this fragile, precious thing we’re building in the wreckage. And because of it.
He drops his forehead against mine, his eyes fluttering shut as he inhales. As if he’s breathing me in. As if the scent of me, my presence, is the only thing anchoring him to this moment.
I close my eyes too, resting my forehead against his. For a few heartbeats, we just breathe.
Then—almost in silent agreement—we both turn our backs to one another and begin to undress.
It’s the oddest thing.
This man—the one who has made me moan with nothing more than his lips on my breasts—the one who knows the shape of my body with the same certainty he has when wielding a sword. And me—the woman who once seduced him when he was half-asleep, teasing and brazen—my mouth on his shaft.
Suddenly, we are shy. Like young lovers discovering each other for the first time. It almost makes me laugh—this strange, careful dance we’re doing.
Without speaking, we both turn and slip into the water. The heat wraps around me instantly, easing the tightness in my muscles, coaxing a quiet sigh from my lips.
Thane leans forward and shuts off the faucet. The rush of water cuts out in an instant—and with it, a sharp, sudden silence falls over the room. It presses around us—thick, heavy, expectant.
The bond hums between us—quiet, steady. Unbreakably real.
The tub takes up most of the bathing chamber—big enough for two, but just barely.
My legs stretch out beneath the surface, the side of my foot brushing against his upper thigh.
Facing me in the tub, Thane has to bend his legs slightly to fit, his knees peeking just above the surface. The water beads and slides down his skin in slow, glistening trails.
We sit there. Breathing. Listening to the soft lapping of the water against the sides of the tub. Letting the warmth of the bath seep into our bones. Letting silence say what words can’t.
Then, without thinking, I reach out under the water and rest my hand gently on his shin. The bond thrums in response—soft, steady, wrapping around us like a second skin.
And Thane doesn’t pull away. He just closes his eyes and exhales slowly, as if the weight of the day is finally beginning to ease from his body.
I feel it first—the lightest touch. A hand curling around my ankle under the water. I glance at him.
Thane’s eyes are still closed, his head leaning back against the wall of the tub. Candlelight paints soft shadows across his face. He looks . . . peaceful. Younger, somehow. Unburdened, if only for a moment.
And then, in a voice so soft I almost miss it, I hear him murmur—”This is enough.”
The bond between us pulses gently, wrapping around my heart like a hand closing in a promise.