35. A Sparring Match
O ver the next two days, Selene learns many things.
She learns that Dorian’s favourite place to be kissed is just beneath his jaw, where his pulse beats warm against her lips.
That when she traces a slow path down his spine, he shivers, and that he’s ticklish behind his left knee but not his right.
She learns that the bell pull in her room doesn’t work because it was once Dorian’s room, and Ariella severed the mechanism years ago after he kept ringing it incessantly just to irritate her.
She learns a lot of things about herself, too, and about the body she thought she knew so well. Dorian explores it with her. They chart entire constellations.
She also learns that, for all his sharp wit and effortless charm, Dorian Nightbloom is terrible at accepting care.
Even now, mostly recovered, he’s prone to brushing off concern and pretending he feels better than he does.
But she’s spent too much time watching him these past days not to notice the occasional tightness in his posture, the subtle winces he tries to hide.
And so, when she wakes one morning to find him already pulling himself upright, she watches him carefully. He swings his legs over the side of the bed and rises to his feet, only to draw in a sharp breath and mutter, “Fuck.”
Selene’s eyes snap to him at once. She sits up properly, her hands already tugging him back towards the bed. “What are you doing?” she demands, pressing her palm gently to his ribs. “Lie back down.”
Dorian allows himself to be pulled down, groaning slightly as he eases onto his back. “I thought I was better,” he mutters.
“You were poisoned, Dorian,” she reminds him. “It’s not something you just bounce back from.”
Her hands press carefully over his side, her touch firm as she smooths over the sore muscles. He exhales slowly, head tilting back into the pillows as she works, the tension in his body easing—though his eyes flicker open when she lets out a soft hum of amusement.
“I don’t think I’ve ever heard you swear before,” she remarks.
Dorian laughs. “I’ve been on my best behaviour.”
Selene smirks and reaches for him, catching his chin between her fingers. She tips his face towards hers, her grip firm, her gaze heated. “No fucking more.”
His breath stutters, just for a moment. Then she’s kissing him, fierce and certain, and Dorian doesn’t hesitate—doesn’t even think—before he pulls her flush against him and kisses her back just as hungrily.
For once, there is no urgency, no looming tragedy, no reason to stop.
And so, they don’t.
“Tell me about your timeline,” Dorian asks her later. “I need to understand it better. How did you come to be in the temple?”
Selene tells him, as best as she can—how the soldiers arrived, how the Duke had seen her, how she tried to escape and ended up wounded.
“I don’t remember too much after that,” she explains. “Just bleeding and running and taking shelter.”
Dorian’s face pales. “And me?” he asks. “What do you remember about me during your timeline?”
“You weren’t much in it,” Selene explains, voice quiet. “You went missing around now.”
Dorian nods. “When my attempts to persuade the King proved disastrous,” he says. “Soren and I had to flee.”
Selene claps a hand to her mouth. “Oh, gods!” she exclaims. “The bodies… there were bodies in the temple! I thought… I had no idea.” She shudders, her body going limp. “You must have been there. You and Soren.”
Dorian reaches across and takes her hands. “I’m sorry you had to see that,” he tells her. “But it’s all right. We’re not dead. Not anymore.”
Selene sits up, pulling her hands away. “But is that true?”
Dorian sits up too. “What do you mean?”
“The timelines you’ve come from—that I’ve come from—do they still exist?
If I can remember a timeline where you and Soren were already dead, that seems to suggest that they do.
That they don’t stop when we come back.” She ponders on the awful thought.
Are there a bunch of other worlds where she is still married to the man who destroyed her country?
Are there timelines where they made it? If there are, why would the goddess send them back again?
“I thought the same thing, once,” Dorian tells her.
“The times don’t always overlap perfectly, you see—there have been times when I’ve come back, and Soren’s memories returned a few days later, or when one of us has lingered after the other’s death.
But I’m not sure it’s time that goes back, but us —consciousness travelling through the cosmos sounds easier than turning back an entire world. ”
“But if I can remember you—”
“We always return to the original timeline,” Dorian carries on.
“I think there’s something in that. We don’t return to a timeline we’ve already altered in some way, even if the days aren’t always the same—and I’ve already told you we can’t go back indefinitely.
Something has fixed us to this place, this past. And, if there’s a goddess at work here, perhaps those timelines cease to exist when she’s done all the turning back she can.
She wanted you to come back, Selene. She kept that timeline going because she knew you were the one that could change things. ”
Selene swallows. She’s not sure she likes that responsibility. “Do you think we’ve done enough?” she asks him. “Do you think that the Duke…”
Dorian sighs. No one has heard of the Duke since he tried to abduct Selene.
He’s probably hiding out in one of his many country estates, waiting to see what happens.
Even a man with his power can’t kidnap a reputable married woman and expect to get away with it, but it could take weeks for authorities to track him down.
Selene’s entire body tightens at the thought.
She doesn’t want to think about what he did, and what almost happened.
She also doesn’t want to think about how he could have gotten away with kidnapping someone else—a woman with less reputation, less protection.
No one should have to face such a thing.
It wasn’t fair. A few months ago, she wouldn’t have realised it, either. She would have said that was the way things were, that it was unfortunate, but there it was.
Now, it made her angry.
“I have lived through numerous timelines,” Dorian tells her. “And not in any of them has the Duke ever given up. I highly doubt, however, he will try disposing of me again, or taking you. Not with so much suspicion on him. ”
“That’s a relief,” Selene says, settling back down. “Although you’ll forgive me if I wait a little longer before letting you out of my sight.”
Dorian puts his arms around her and pulls her closer. “I thought I was the one keeping an eye on you. ”
That comment quickly gives way to kissing, and all thoughts of painful pasts and futures less than perfect are very quickly abandoned.
It’s three full days before Dorian convinces Selene to leave their room.
He’s mostly recovered—well enough that she no longer has to coax him into eating or fuss over him as he sleeps.
The worst of the poison’s lingering effects have faded, leaving only the occasional ache in his ribs and a tiredness that he refuses to acknowledge.
Still, the bed has become their own little world, and she’s very reluctant to leave it.
“We can’t hide away forever,” he tells her that morning, stretching before sitting up.
“We could try,” she murmurs, her voice thick with sleep.
Dorian smirks. “Tempting, but I’m starving.”
“Ariella will bring something up—”
“ Selene, ” Dorian whispers, pressing a kiss to the back of her shoulder, “please. ”
That gets her moving. Slowly, grudgingly, she shifts beneath the covers, sitting up with a quiet sigh. She watches him carefully as he gets out, but he moves without too much stiffness. When he stands and offers her a hand, she takes it.
They dress in comfortable silence. He helps her with her stays, and she fastens the cuffs of his shirt .
At the last minute, she returns to her room, fishes through her collection of ribbons, and returns with a velvet one in such a dark shade of green that it’s almost black.
“Here,” she says, holding it out. “For your hair.”
Dorian smiles as he takes it from her, turning around to wind it around his hair tie.
“How does it look?” he asks.
“Dapper,” she responds, adjusting the bow slightly. “Dashing. Delightful .”
“That’s a lot of Ds,” he remarks.
“Today’s compliments shall be brought to you under the category of ‘D’. Perhaps I shall work alphabetically until I’ve covered every single word I could possibly use to describe you.”
“You’re missing a few letters.”
“Amazing, beautiful, clever. Now we are all caught up.”
When she reaches for the door, she feels his fingers ghost along the small of her back, reaching for her ribbon. Her smile drifts to her spine.
They enter the kitchen to find Ariella, Soren, and Rookwood already seated at the long wooden table, plates half-empty before them.
At the sight of them, Soren grins, leaning back in his chair. “Well, well, well,” he says. “Look who’s finally decided to rejoin the land of the living.”
“Good morning, family,” Dorian says breezily, dropping easily into a chair. “How are we all? Any news? ”
He moves to snatch up the abandoned newspaper, flicking through the articles. Selene notices a headline about Duke Drakefell being at large. She tries not to let it bother her that he’s still walking around after what he did.
One day, we’ll get him, she tells herself.
No one else seems to have noticed her hesitation. Soren is grinning at Dorian. “You look well,” he remarks. “I didn’t know sex could be so healing.”
Selene rolls her eyes and moves toward the teapot, but Soren’s smirk only widens.
Dorian doesn’t give Soren the satisfaction of looking ruffled. Instead, he accepts the teacup Selene pushes towards him, and, without missing a beat, replies smoothly:
“I didn’t know you knew anything about sex.”