FIFTY-FOUR #3
So different from the way I’ve seen him move on the battlefield. Fierce. Unrelenting. Forged in fire and precision. But here, with me, he’s all tenderness.
And gods, it makes my chest feel too full.
After a while, he exhales softly.
“All right,” he says, his tone leaving little room for argument. “Time to stand up. Move your whole body.”
I groan. “That sounds suspiciously like effort.”
He smiles warmly. “It is. And Healer Marion said full-body movement helps circulation and speeds healing. Her words, not mine.”
Thane guides my arm through one final bend, then looks up at me with exaggerated seriousness, as though this is the most critical moment of the day.
“Amara, darling,” he says, drawing out the words with mock patience, “surely you wouldn’t have me endure a cane-whipping from Healer Marion. She aims for the knees, you know.”
There’s a twinkle in his eye as he says it.
I narrow my eyes. “Are you guilt-tripping me right now?”
He shrugs, completely unrepentant. “If it gets you moving? Absolutely.”
I release a long, dramatic, entirely unnecessary sigh and start to move, swinging my legs over the edge of the bed. Everything aches, but the corners of my mouth are already betraying me, curving upward despite my best efforts.
“I hope you’re ready to catch me if I fall.”
Thane steps closer, one hand settling at my waist, the other hovering near my good arm, ready before I’ve even risen.
“Always,” he murmurs.
And gods, the way he says it, I almost forget how much it hurts to stand.
I brace myself as Thane steadies me, his hands firm at my waist, but even the effort of putting weight on my legs makes them tremble. My feet find the fur-lined slippers waiting on the floor, and I sink into them with a soft, contented sigh.
As I rise, I adjust the waistband of my sleep trousers, smoothing the soft wool sweater over them with a quick tug.
With Winter Solstice only six weeks away, the chill has started creeping into the stone floors and the air itself. I wiggle my toes, savoring the warmth of my slippers, then reach for Thane, using his hands to help keep me upright.
My body is still drained from the aftereffects of that black lightning bolt.
Nearly a week has passed, and I still can’t stand without help.
The healers say the dark magics lingers, even when the wound closes.
That it leaves something behind, something that steals your strength in whispers rather than strikes.
I hate how vulnerable I feel.
But Thane doesn’t flinch. He doesn’t rush me. He supports me as though I’m something precious, not damaged.
“I’ve got you,” he says again, barely above a whisper.
And I believe him.
I lean more heavily into him, my arm hooking around his for balance.
“I feel like a newborn foal.”
A small smile touches his mouth.
“You’ll be running circles around all of us again soon. Until then . . . lean on me.”
So I do.
One step.
Then another.
Each one uncertain, but mine.
“Gods,” Lyra announces behind us, dragging the word out as though it personally offends her. “I didn’t sign up for a front-row seat to your epic romance.”
I turn just enough to shoot her a glare.
“Oh, hold on,” I say, pointing an accusatory finger. “Miss ‘I’m in love!’”
Thane looks over at Lyra and arches an eyebrow. She just shrugs in that infuriatingly casual way of hers.
I mimic her earlier squeal, high-pitched and ridiculous, and immediately wobble, my balance tipping dangerously. But Thane is already there. He catches me without missing a beat, one hand tightening at my waist, the other sliding to the small of my back.
He always catches me.
Lyra grins, completely unbothered by my teasing. “At least I have the decency to keep my swooning behind closed doors.”
“You squealed, Lyra.”
“In the privacy of a sealed room,” she says primly, as though she holds the moral high ground. “Unlike some people, I’m not turning Thane’s quarters into a romance novella.”
“Our quarters,” he corrects.
I can’t help smiling when he calls it ours. Like I’ve always belonged here. With him.
Then he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest.
“Don’t worry,” he says. “She’s more war epic than love story.”
I blink up at him, offended. “Excuse me?”
Thane’s grin widens. “With a few . . . heated interludes.”
Lyra groans and throws her hands into the air as though surrendering to fate. “Can’t you two use your weird bond-communication thing? I don’t need to hear this. I’m leaving.”
She grabs her cloak and heads for the door, still muttering about lovebirds and trauma-induced hormones on her way out. The door clicks shut behind her, her laughter echoing faintly down the hall.
The room grows quiet again.
Thane doesn’t say anything at first. He simply keeps his hand at my waist, guiding me through the next stretch.
“Turn to the left,” he murmurs. “Easy does it.”
I do as he says, twisting at the waist. My muscles protest, stiff and sore, but having him beside me makes it bearable.
“Good,” he says, encouragement threading through his voice. “Now the right.”