Chapter 8 Kai #2
Saela emerges from the main room carrying an armload of small packages, her gray-green eyes bright with amusement and something that might be affection.
"More gifts," she announces, gesturing toward the growing collection arranged along one wall. "I think people are competing to see who can give the most creative tribute to Cupid's chosen bride."
I examine the newest additions—carved wooden birds from the Thornwick family, preserved fruit leather from the Ironpaw children, a small hunting knife with intricate handle engravings from Captain Drek and his mate.
"That's a substantial weapon," I observe, testing the blade's balance. "They must really approve of you."
"Or they think I'll need protection from my future husband." Her tone is light, teasing, but there's something underneath that suggests genuine uncertainty about my intentions.
The comment makes heat climb my neck. Does she think I'm a threat to her? The possibility that my size or reserve or clan position makes her nervous in a personal sense rather than just political one bothers me more than it should.
"You won't," I say quietly. "Need protection from me, I mean. I would never—"
"I know." Her voice carries surprising certainty. "You've been very clear about respecting my choices, even when they complicate things for you."
The acknowledgment settles something tight in my chest, though it also highlights the careful distance we've maintained despite sharing living space and daily proximity.
I watch her arrange the gifts with methodical precision, noting the graceful efficiency in her movements and the way afternoon light catches auburn highlights in her dark hair.
She's beautiful in a way that grows more apparent the longer I'm around her—not the obvious appeal of perfect features, but something deeper.
Intelligence and resilience and the kind of quiet strength that comes from surviving things that would break weaker people.
Dangerous thoughts. The kind that lead to the emotional investment Bronn is demanding while making the eventual resolution even more complicated.
"Saela." My voice is a little strangled, carrying weight that makes her pause in her organization to look at me directly. "The border scouts brought concerning news."
Her posture shifts immediately, tension replacing relaxation as survival instincts engage. "About Ressa?"
"No word on your friend yet." The disappointment in her eyes makes something twist in my chest. "But Stonevein patrols are pushing deeper into our territory. Moving in coordinated patterns that suggest organized purpose rather than random exploration."
"Because of me?" The question is quiet, but I catch the self-recrimination underneath.
"Maybe. Or maybe they're testing our defenses during festival season, looking for weaknesses to exploit later.
" I step closer, noting how she doesn't retreat despite the decreased distance.
"Either way, I need you to stay close to the settlement center for the immediate future. Close to me, specifically."
Her chin lifts with the stubborn independence I've learned to associate with her resistance to anything that feels like restriction. "I can't hide inside forever."
"Not forever. Just until we understand what they're looking for and whether it poses a direct threat to clan security."
She studies my face with sharp gray-green eyes, searching for something I can't identify. Reading motivations, maybe, or trying to determine how much of my concern is protective versus controlling.
"Alright," she says finally. "But I want to continue training sessions, and I'm not going to stop visiting families or helping with festival preparations."
The compromise is reasonable, though it means more forced proximity when I'm already struggling with unwelcome awareness of her presence. More opportunities to notice the way she laughs at Ursik's terrible jokes or the careful attention she pays when clan members share stories about their lives.
More chances to want things I shouldn't want, to imagine possibilities that exist only in the space between political necessity and personal disaster.
"Agreed," I say, because refusing isn't really an option when her safety might be at stake.
She nods and returns to arranging gifts, but I catch her watching me with peripheral attention that suggests she's as aware of the changed dynamic as I am.
Forced proximity. Bronn's ultimatum to make the relationship look convincing. Shae's observations about healing and partnership and the courage required to risk caring about someone.
All colliding into a situation that feels increasingly unstable, balanced on the edge between duty and desire in ways that threaten to complicate everything.
The evening brings Ursik and Falla to my door with the casual expectation of people who've been dropping by unannounced since we were adolescents causing trouble together.
"Where's your lovely bride-to-be?" Ursik asks, settling into his preferred chair with the boneless sprawl of someone completely comfortable in any environment.
"Her name is Saela," I say, echoing my earlier correction to Shae. "And she's resting."
"Resting from what?" Falla inquires with the precise diction he uses when he thinks someone is being evasive. "Excessive gift receiving? Overwhelming clan adoration?"
"Long day of social obligations," I reply, moving toward the kitchen area to avoid their penetrating stares. "She's not used to constant attention."
"None of us are," Ursik points out reasonably. "But most people adapt faster than a week of careful distance and polite conversation."
The observation stings because it highlights something I've been trying not to think about—how much effort both Saela and I put into maintaining safe emotional distance despite living in the same space and sharing daily routines.
"It's a complicated situation," I say.
"Everything's complicated if you think about it hard enough." Ursik's gray eyes carry the kind of gentle mockery he's perfected over years of friendship. "Sometimes simple approaches work better."
"Such as?"
"Talking to her like she's a person instead of a political obligation.
Spending time together because you want to rather than because Bronn thinks it's good for clan morale.
" He pauses, studying my expression with uncomfortable accuracy.
"Admitting that you're attracted to her instead of pretending it's purely duty-based concern. "
Heat climbs my neck despite my attempts to maintain neutral composure. "That's not—"
"Please." Falla's dry interruption cuts through my defensive response. "You look at her like a lost pup hoping for table scraps. It's painful to witness."
"I do not—"
"Yesterday you spent ten minutes explaining proper sword grip technique that she already understood because you wanted an excuse to stand behind her with your hands covering hers," Ursik adds helpfully. "Very subtle."
The accurate observation makes my jaw clench involuntarily. I had been looking for excuses to maintain physical contact during training sessions, justifying the proximity as necessary instruction while trying to ignore how much I enjoyed those brief moments of closeness.
"She needed correction—"
"She needed you to stop treating her like she might disappear if you get too attached." Falla's voice carries the blunt honesty that makes him an effective healer and an occasionally brutal friend. "We've all noticed how carefully you avoid anything that might be interpreted as genuine interest."
"Because genuine interest complicates everything.
" The admission is sharp, carrying frustration I've been trying to suppress.
"She doesn't want to be here, doesn't want this binding, doesn't want anything to do with clan politics or arranged relationships.
Getting attached would be unfair to both of us. "
"Would it?" Ursik leans forward with the expression he wears when he thinks he's identified a fundamental flaw in someone's reasoning. "Or would getting attached give you both something worth fighting for instead of something to endure?"
The question hangs in the air like smoke, carrying implications I don't want to examine. The possibility that genuine feeling might make the situation better rather than worse, that caring about Saela could transform political obligation into something resembling actual partnership.
Dangerous territory. The kind of hope that leads to crushing disappointment when circumstances inevitably force impossible choices.
"She's grieving her friend," I say quietly. "Worried about survival, about freedom, about being trapped in circumstances she never chose. Romance is the last thing she needs from me right now."
"Maybe." Falla's tone suggests he thinks I'm rationalizing rather than reasoning. "Or maybe knowing someone genuinely cares about her wellbeing would make everything else easier to bear."
The conversation continues, but I find myself only half-listening as my friends dissect my behavior with the ruthless accuracy of people who've known me long enough to see through careful emotional control.
They're right about the way I watch Saela—with hunger I try to hide and longing I won't acknowledge. Right about the excuses I manufacture to extend training sessions and the careful attention I pay to her interactions with other clan members.
Right about the fact that I'm attracted to her in ways that extend far beyond political convenience or physical appeal.
But they're wrong about the solution being simple. Nothing about this situation is simple, especially not the growing certainty that caring about her—really caring, beyond duty and protection and clan obligations—would make losing her infinitely worse when circumstances finally force resolution.
And they will force resolution. Sooner or later, the political pressures and personal complications will demand choices that please no one and satisfy nothing except the brutal requirements of survival.
Better to maintain distance. Better to keep feelings carefully controlled, managed like any other tactical consideration.
Even if every instinct I possess argues otherwise, even if watching her smile at my friends makes me want to earn one of those expressions for myself, even if the thought of genuine partnership with someone as remarkable as Saela feels like the first real hope I've experienced since Lyanna died.
Distance. Control. Protection for both of us against disappointment that seems increasingly inevitable.
No matter how much my friends think I'm being an idiot about it.