23. Claire
Claire
Iwandered aimlessly down narrow streets, passing closing shops and the hum of daily village life. Even the warm sunlight failed to comfort me.
Because my thoughts were too loud, too tangled, too impossible to ignore, and somewhere between one turn and the next—the realization settled.
I have feelings for Ash.
The realization hit all at once, like it had been building quietly beneath the surface, finally breaking through.
I stopped walking. My breath caught as I stood there, the world continuing on around me while everything inside me seemed to still.
When did that happen? I couldn’t trace it back to a single moment. It certainly was not the first time I saw her, nor the first time we spoke. Not even the first time she touched me. It had just… grown quietly, steadily. Until now, it was impossible to ignore.
I liked her. No, that felt too small.
I wanted her.
The thought made my stomach flutter, my fingers curling at my sides as heat crept into my cheeks. I wanted her touch. The way her hands felt firm, certain, grounding. I wanted her to kiss me again.
Gods…
I wanted it so badly it made my chest ache.
The memory alone was enough to make my knees feel weak again. That moment when her lips met mine, how everything had blurred and shifted and fallen away until there was nothing but her. I had forgotten everything, even myself.
And when she pulled away, I felt that immediate, aching pull to return to her, to close that space again. To not let it end. But then I saw the shift in her eyes, the moment reality came crashing back into place.
There was the matter of my betrothal, the absolute truth of what we were versus what we could never be.
A continent away, a man waited for me—having bought and paid for my safe arrival and holding the duty that bound Ash.
And despite all of that, I had told her I wanted to explore, to experiment, and have fun before my freedom ended at the altar.
At the time, it felt free and exciting, like I was stepping into a life bigger than myself. But now, it felt different. Because Ash was not a dalliance I wanted to try and leave behind. She wasn’t a passing moment, a fleeting experience.
She meant something more than I was prepared for. I wrapped my arms around myself, my steps slowing as my thoughts shifted again, this time toward heavier thoughts. Because what did that mean? What did she mean in the life I had always imagined?
All my life, I had dreamed of a home filled with warmth and a partner who loved me, who looked after me, who built a steady life with me.
I had imagined mornings with tea already steeping, afternoons spent baking, evenings wrapped in comfort and certainty.
I could be a good wife. I could care for someone in all the quiet, meaningful ways that mattered. I could create a home that was safe.
That was the life I had always wanted. But the more I thought about it, the more that vision began to blur because Ash didn’t belong in that picture.
She didn’t sit still long enough for that kind of life.
She didn’t build roots; she traveled, fought, survived.
Her world was unpredictable and even dangerous—nothing like the one I had imagined for myself.
And yet my chest tightened at the thought of her not being in it.
My gaze drifted to the ground as my steps came to a stop once more. I didn’t know what that meant. I didn’t know what I was supposed to do with it.
All I knew was the life I had dreamed of no longer felt as certain as it once had.
Caspian laughed as I narrowly avoided stepping on his foot again.
“I’m trying,” I insisted, my skirts swirling around my legs as I spun a half-second too late to the music.
The fiddler near the hearth played like he had something to prove, his bow flying across the strings in a wild, lively rhythm that filled the tavern and set every foot in motion.
The tune was fast, infectious, impossible to ignore.
People clapped along, boots striking the floor, laughter spilling freely into the air.
It was chaos. Joyful, unrestrained chaos. And I was right in the middle of it.
“Believe it or not,” Caspian teased—leaning closer so I could hear him over the music as the song reached its lively end—“you’re actually getting better.”
I laughed, my heart still racing from the movement. “That’s a very generous assessment.”
The crowd clapped as the song ended, the energy lingering in the room like a spark waiting to catch again. I turned, still smiling, and then I saw Ash standing just beyond the edge of the dancing, watching not with that usual detached look she wore. Something I couldn’t quite name.
My smile faltered just a fraction.
“May I have this dance?” she asked, nudging Caspian with her shoulder.
He blinked in surprise, then grinned. “Well, I’ll leave you to it,” he smirked, clearly far too pleased with himself as he stepped aside, disappearing back toward the tables.
And suddenly, it was just her. And me.
The music started again, faster this time. Ash approached me and reached for my hand, holding mine firmly as we began to sway.
I stared at Ash, my heart beginning to race for an entirely different reason.
“I thought you didn’t dance?” I asked.
Her mouth quirked. “I don’t.”
The music swelled around us again, louder, faster, pressing in from all sides as people surged back into motion.
And still, she didn’t let go of my hand. Her grip tightened just enough to keep me there, her gaze flicking briefly to mine before dropping to my lips.
“Doesn’t mean I won’t make an exception,” she added, quieter now.
There was a pause.
And just like that, we were moving. If what we were doing could even be called dancing.
It was… awkward.
We stepped at the wrong times, nearly collided once, and at one point I was fairly certain we were doing two entirely different dances at once. I laughed despite myself, the sound spilling out easily as I tried—and failed—to match her rhythm.
Ash huffed under her breath, clearly just as out of her depth, her hand tightening around mine as if that might somehow fix it.
We stumbled through a turn that wasn’t quite a turn, and then stopped at the same time—our faces a little too close, breathing a little too uneven, and in perfect, unplanned unison—
“I’m sorry.”
We paused and blinked at each other. I let out a small, unexpected laugh, and a second later, Ash followed with a quieter, genuine chuckle.
“I’ll be frank with you,” I murmured, my voice softer than I intended, nearly lost beneath the swell of music and laughter around us. The firelight flickered between us, catching in her eyes, and for a moment I almost lost my nerve.
But I didn’t.
“I like you, Ash.”
The words felt heavier once spoken and real in a way they hadn’t been inside my thoughts.
“I don’t know when it happened, or why.” My fingers tightened around hers. “We are so different. Our lives don’t fit together—not in any way that makes sense.” My breath faltered, but I pushed through it, meeting her gaze. “But I like you, and I can’t pretend that I don’t.”
The world around us seemed to blur—the music, the movement, everything fading into the distance.
“I know our situation is… complicated. I’m not technically a single woman, and I understand what that means. I do.”
I hesitated then.
Because what I was about to say felt reckless.
“And still…” I swallowed, my heart pounding. “Even if I could only have you for a short time… it would be worth it to me. More than never having you at all.” My lips pressed together before I whispered, almost afraid of the answer. “Does that make me selfish?”
Ash didn’t answer right away. She just looked at me. Her expression softened in a way I hadn’t seen before, like whatever walls she kept so firmly in place had cracked just enough to let my confession slip through.
Her hand tightened around mine.
“Yeah,” she whispered.
My heart dropped, but then—
“I like you, too.”
The words hit harder than anything else she could have said.
“This—” she gestured between us, her gaze never leaving mine, “stopped being a job long ago. If you’re selfish for wanting this, knowing it might not last…”
She paused, just long enough for my breath to catch.
“Then I am selfish, too. I’m not walking into this thinking it ends well. I know exactly what this is.” Her gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes. “But I want it, anyway.”
The air between us felt charged. My breath caught.
“You’re not just some fling I’m passing time with,” she added, her voice lower now, rougher around the edges. “And I don’t want you to be. You were right earlier. When I saw you talking to that woman... it nearly drove me out of my mind. I was jealous, Claire. Completely and utterly jealous.”
I didn’t think. I just moved. I leaned in, my hand lifting to her arm as I brushed my lips against hers—soft, tentative, testing. For a moment, it was barely a kiss.
And then she answered.
Her hand came to my waist again, pulling me closer—not rushed this time, not desperate, but certain.
Our lips met again, slower, deeper in a way that made everything inside me soften and ache all at once.
I melted into her. There was no rush. No urgency.
Just the quiet, undeniable pull of her as we moved together, fitting in a way that felt far too natural.
Like this had been waiting.
And for that moment, nothing else existed.