21. Claire #3
“Fever takes fast,” she added after a moment, her tone softer. “Doesn’t give you much time to prepare for it.”
My throat tightened. I nodded, my fingers curling around my glass. “No,” I murmured. “It doesn’t.”
For a moment, neither of us spoke.
“What is your family like?” I asked again.
Ash shrugged. “Not much to tell. We lived in Frostwind.”
My brows lifted. Frostwind, one of the most northern settlements on the continent. A place spoken of in stories more than in casual conversation.
“Was it cold there?”
Ash let out a short breath through her nose, almost like a quiet laugh. “Very. In winter, if you didn’t have proper shelter…” She paused, taking another sip of her wine. “You were as good as dead.”
“And… your home?” I asked carefully.
“We lived in the slums.”
“The slums?”
She nodded once. “They were small and crowded. Many living there had roofs that barely held and walls that didn’t keep the wind out. You learned real quick how to layer everything you owned just to make it through the night.”
I swallowed. That… was nothing like anything I had ever known.
“My father worked roofing. Climbing, fixing, patching—whatever people could pay for.” She paused again. This time longer. “Until, he fell.”
The words were simple, but they landed heavy.
“From a roof,” she added. “Bad enough that he couldn’t climb anymore. Couldn’t work, and in Frostwind…” she went on, quieter, “if you can’t work…”
She didn’t finish the sentence. She didn’t need to. I felt the familiar twist in my chest.
“What did you do?”
Ash shrugged again. “What we had to.”
I looked at her then, at the woman who sat so easily in the shadows, who carried herself like nothing could touch her.
And for the first time, I wondered what it had taken for her to become that way.
I couldn’t seem to look away. From the dark smudge of kohl lining her eyes, making them seem deeper, sharper.
To the curve of her lips, softened by the firelight.
Down to her hands, resting loosely against her knee, adorned with rings on every finger.
One caught my eye in particular—a ruby set into her index finger, glinting with every movement.
And then her tattoos traced along her arm, disappearing beneath the sleeve of her shirt, ink winding over her skin. A warmth spread slowly through me. I was… admiring her. The realization settled quietly. And then another thought followed.
I want to kiss her.
My breath caught. My mouth went dry, my fingers tightening in my lap as my stomach fluttered wildly.
Gods.
What was happening to me?
I dragged in a small breath, forcing myself to look away, but the feeling lingered. I turned back toward her. She hadn’t noticed. Or perhaps she had, and simply hadn’t said anything. Either way, something in me shifted. A small flicker of boldness came to the surface.
“You were jealous earlier.”
Ash blinked. “What?”
“When I was approached by the woman,” I clarified.
Her expression hardened. “I wasn’t jealous.” Too quick. Too sharp.
I felt that flicker of confidence, growing just enough to push me forward instead of back. “Mm,” I hummed lightly, unconvinced.
Her eyes narrowed. “I wasn’t,” she repeated.
I leaned in, thinning the space between us. “Are you sure?”
She stilled for the briefest moment, and I saw the hesitation. My heart raced. But I didn’t pull away.
Instead, I reached out. My fingers brushed against her arm. Light, barely there, ghosting across her skin, skimming its warmth beneath my touch, feeling the faint ridges of ink as I traced along one of her tattoos following its path with quiet curiosity.
Her breath hitched. I noticed that, too. Everything felt louder suddenly. The crackle of the fire. The rhythm of my heartbeat. The way her gaze dropped to my lips. I leaned in closer without thinking—close enough that I could feel the heat of her. Close enough that if I moved just a fraction more…
Ash moved first.
Her hand came to my waist, pulling me forward before I could think, before I could breathe, and her lips met mine. The world seemed to tilt as she pulled me toward her, the space between us vanishing in a heartbeat.
Her lips were softer and warmer than I expected. And for a single, suspended moment, I forgot how to exist.
The fire crackled somewhere behind us, distant and insignificant—all I could feel was her, the steady press of her hand at my waist, the heat of her mouth against mine, the way everything inside me seemed to spark all at once.
My heart stumbled and then began to race.
Our kiss wasn’t like I had imagined. It wasn’t careful, or practiced, or a moment out of a story. It was real, messy, and electric.
My fingers tightened where they had rested against her arm, instinctively pulling closer instead of away, as though something in me had already decided I never wanted to let go. For a fleeting second, I forgot everything—the road, the duke, the future waiting for me.
There was only this.
Only her.
And the way the world seemed to fall quiet the moment she kissed me.