[center][img]https://i.imgur.com/ZPETHbP.png[/img] Collab between [@The Muse] and [@c3p-0h] [sub]Location: The Royal Residence[/sub] [i][h1]Part VII[/h1][/i] [hr][/center] Flynn held the door open, letting Amaya step through first. As she entered into the stillness of their home, Flynn turned slightly, catching the eye of the guard who moved to follow. A silent exchange passed between them. Flynn’s quiet request met with a flicker of hesitation, a question unspoken in the guard’s brown eyes. But after a breath, the man gave a short nod and stepped back, falling into place beside his companion at the door. For now, they would be left alone. Flynn stepped inside and shut the door softly behind him, his gaze fixed on Amaya. On the frost that still clung to her fingertips. His own hands ached, fingers numb from where they’d held hers. He flexed them slowly, trying to will life back into them, then dragged a hand through his damp hair. Snowflakes melted in the strands, along his shoulders, soaking into the threads of his coat. But on Amaya, the flakes lingered—clinging to her coat, caught in the dark strands of her hair, glittering like stars. Even here, wrapped in the warmth of their home, the cold was reluctant to let her go. He took a slow breath. [color=337d71]“Let’s get you warm,”[/color] he said softly, gesturing for her to continue into the living room. Shaking and silent, Amaya moved as directed. She was too cold to argue. Too warm to be numb. She sat in that painful middle ground, drained and aching as she found her way to the couch in the middle of the room – the one they’d spent the night on, wrapped around each other. Amaya’s blanket was still there, folded neatly and draped along the back. The fireplace was dark and empty, the wood so thoroughly burnt that it’d turned pale, somewhere between ash and snow. She heard Flynn’s steady footsteps trailing after her like a shadow. Without any other eyes on her, Amaya’s composure slipped away bit by bit as she sank into the couch. Fog drifted out past her lips as she curled in on herself, clutching her frozen hands around each other and squeezing her eyes shut. Her magic had grown less wild, drained by her own exhaustion, but ice still stubbornly clung where it’d managed to grab a hold of her. Opening her eyes again, she glanced up at Flynn. Even in the darkness of the room, she could still make out the concern on his face. It sank into Amaya so sharply that she looked away, back to her shaking hands. Something tightened around her heart. Even through the frigid pain, she could still feel the ghost of his lips on her knuckles – against her temple. All the little touches he’d peppered her with throughout the morning, how closely he held her, like he was trying to make up for all the distance she’d created over the last two months. Even as she froze him, too. Flynn knelt in front of the hearth without a word, reaching for the kindling kept in a worn metal basket beside it. There was something grounding in the process of creating fire. Something sacred in the friction it required, the slow coaxing of embers, the patient ritual of building warmth out of nothing. It could offer a rare moment of calm against the storm in his mind. So he opted not to use magic this time. Instead, he laid out the kindling by hand, carefully arranged logs, and struck flint. [color=d15e5e]“Thank you,”[/color] Amaya murmured through her shaking breaths as she watched him, the words billowing in the air. They felt inadequate. Too small and thin, for all that was layered in them. But Amaya didn’t know how to pull those layers to the surface. She settled on what was easiest. [color=d15e5e]“For pulling me away, before…”[/color] Her icy fingers curled in on themselves and her expression flinched. [color=d15e5e]“This.”[/color] Flynn glanced over his shoulder as the fire sparked to life, casting flickering gold across the room. His eyes found Amaya, and for a moment, he simply looked at her. Something ached deep inside his chest, but he rose to his feet with a playful glint in his eyes anyway. [color=337d71]“Oh, that wasn’t for you,”[/color] he said casually, his voice light, a half-smile tugging at his mouth as he tried to soften the tension in the room. [color=337d71]“I did need air. Before I could start arguing with a High Priestess and say something truly regrettable.”[/color] It was a joke—[i]barely[/i]. But he was rewarded when light flickered in her eyes, quick and fleeting like a stray ember. Rounding the couch, he reached for the blanket and unfolded it before carefully draping it over her shoulders. His hands lingered only a moment as he tucked it around her. Then, quietly, he returned to the hearth and held his hands out toward the warmth. Amaya’s fingers were stiff and fumbling as she pulled the blanket tighter around her shoulders. She watched as the growing firelight danced through his hair. The heat was slow to sink into her. [color=d15e5e]“I knew her.”[/color] It was a quiet admission that slipped out before she could stop it. Flynn’s eyes flicked back to her. The words hung in the air between them. They felt more vulnerable than they should’ve been. [color=d15e5e]“Not well,”[/color] she amended. Amaya wanted to wipe the words away, scatter them like snowflakes. But she couldn’t stop looking at Flynn, aglow in his own fire. She couldn’t stop the words from coming out of her, reaching towards him. [color=d15e5e]“Not at all, actually.”[/color] Amaya shook her head to herself, pulling back. Her eyes drifted to the window, the fire’s reflection painting the glass. [color=d15e5e]“She grew up in the palace. We’d never officially met.”[/color] Flynn went still. The fire crackled beside him, but its warmth barely reached through the sudden chill washing over him. His brow furrowed as Amaya’s voice trailed into uncertainty, his jaw tensed. He might’ve been relieved—grateful even—that she was speaking at all, if not for what she’d said. He’d expected the silence to stretch, for it to fall on him to break, as it so often did. But Amaya, too, could be like coaxing an ember into flame. She required patience. The right pressure. The right conditions to bring her to light. Yet her words pulled his thoughts in a different direction. The fact that the High Priestess had also come from the palace—under the thumb of King Jericho—didn’t sit right. Was she another pair of eyes for the Lunarian crown? How many of them had been sent here? He wondered how cold the High Priestess might’ve been to Amaya in the past—if she too had stood among the countless people who’d never allowed Amaya to take up space in the way Flynn had always been given the right to. It made more sense now—the Priestess’s cold shoulder. Not just to him, but to Amaya too. The fire popped quietly. [color=337d71]“Do you know her family connection?”[/color] he asked at last, his voice quiet, thoughtful. His curiosity edged with caution, as he wondered what sort of power her family might’ve held to allow her to grow up within palace walls. Amaya hesitated, her lips pressing together. Her fingers curled a little more tightly around the edges of the blanket. The pain was less and less with each pull of her slight muscles. She shook her head, eyes still trained on the window pane. Images grew more distinct in the reflection as she let herself focus on more than just the dancing fire – her own figure bundled and hazy on the couch. Flynn, cast in golden hues. [color=d15e5e]“Only that her father is someone powerful.”[/color] Powerful enough that Amaya had never even been allowed to know his [i]name[/i]. She’d been kept far from anyone and anything of [i]real[/i] importance – it had always been the easiest way to tell who she actually needed to pay attention to. But the Priestess and her father… Amaya had never been able to learn anything about them. Her lips parted to continue, quiet thoughts and observations bubbling to the surface as she remembered the cold girl and her looming father from her childhood – when the image in the window shifted. For just a moment, the shadow that she cast, flickering in the movement of the fire, grew too large, too dark behind her. The words died in her throat. Reality seemed to shift and refocus around her – she was the Princess of Lunaris. Wanted or not, she was an extension of the Crown, even the parts that had been hidden from her. And Flynn – Amaya found him again in the reflection, outlined in shining summer gold, and focused solely on her. On what she might reveal. Her mouth closed as she looked away from the window. She found the fireplace, if only for something else to focus on. She tried to lose herself in the movement of the flames. [color=d15e5e]“I haven’t seen her in years.”[/color] Her voice was softer, careful and flat as she tried to breathe under the weight of her father’s anger crushing her chest. Flynn didn’t answer right away. He only nodded, thoughtful, as his gaze slid back to the fire. [color=337d71]“I met her yesterday,”[/color] he said after a beat. [color=337d71]“Briefly. She was with the body—Sir Abel—when I arrived.”[/color] His voice was quiet, steady, but edged with something colder as the memory took shape. [color=337d71]“She looked sick. Pale, exhausted… trembling, even. She could barely stand on her own. At the time I assumed it was because of Sir Abel, but…”[/color] he paused, brow furrowing as he tried to make sense of what he’d seen. [color=337d71]“Earlier, she claimed she’d ‘felled far greater than a single blight-born.’”[/color] He shook his head faintly. [color=337d71]“I know Priestesses of Seluna are often made tougher than those of Aelios, but… I’ve never known them to be warriors. That can’t be common, can it?”[/color] He briefly looked up to Amaya, then continued with his train of thought, [color=337d71]“If she’s battleworn, why did she look so petrified at the sight of gore?”[/color] Flynn didn’t expect an answer. He assumed that Amaya couldn’t explain it either, but something in his gut told him the Priestess wasn’t to be trusted. Turning to Amaya again, he watched her quietly for a moment, checking to see if she still shivered beneath the blanket. She held herself still, her eyes distant as she watched the fire. Without a word, he crossed the space between them and sat beside her, facing inward with one knee drawn up onto the cushion. Something warm stirred in his chest again—an echo of the night before, remembering how they’d sat in this same position. Remembering how she’d discarded the blanket for his warmth instead. Of how she’d curled into him, the weight of her against his chest, her breath warm in the hollow of his collarbone. He blinked the memory away. Reaching for her hand, he gently took it in his own and examined for any remaining frost. [color=337d71]“It’s a wonder you haven’t given yourself frostbite,”[/color] he murmured, half-joking as he turned her hand over in his. She felt her breath still in her chest, with how carefully she held herself, unable to focus on anything but the nearness of him. Amaya wasn’t quite looking at their hands, her pale gaze still unfocused even as she turned her head slightly. But she could trace the feel of him along her skin. Sensation danced through her hand, down her arm, mixing with the swirling guilt that had emerged from her anxiety. Her guilt only compounded as she filed his words about the Priestess away, aligning them with the few pieces she knew. He’d offered his thoughts and information about the Priestess so freely – just as he offered his warmth, his [i]partnership[/i], expecting her to meet him halfway. And what did Amaya offer in return? Even now, with her hand in his, Amaya felt the force of her father’s presence more solidly than she felt Flynn’s. Fear turned the words she would’ve given him thick and jagged in her throat, as they lodged themselves painfully in place. [color=d15e5e]“It wasn’t a concern until recently,”[/color] she said instead. She’d steadied her breathing, but her pulse was still too quick – and it only sped up under his touch. She thought maybe he could feel it, always too mindful of her. Amaya slowly drew her hand back, away from his. She felt the loss of him immediately. Echoes of his touch still danced along her nerves, but they were less potent. They made the guilt less bitter on her tongue. She tucked her hand back under the blanket as she looked back to the fire, as if to hide any new crystals that might form along her skin in his absence. As she withdrew from him, he shifted too—leaning into the cushion, propping one elbow along the back of the couch. Though she wouldn’t meet his eyes, he still faced her, studying her quietly. Watching the way the firelight caught in the pale shimmer of her eyes and flickered shadows along her cheeks. He thought, maybe, shadows danced behind her eyes, too. [color=337d71]“What would you think about letting the Sage help?”[/color] he asked at last, gently. [color=337d71]“Lady Hightower should have tools—something to make it easier to manage.”[/color] Her gaze sharpened immediately, taking on a proud, stubborn edge. [color=d15e5e]“I’m handling it.”[/color] But there was a flicker of hesitation in her eyes, before she snuffed it out. She forced herself to take a breath, to push down the guilt of snapping at him. [color=d15e5e]“She has more pressing concerns,”[/color] she said, more gently this time. Flynn’s lips pressed together as he raised one hand in quiet surrender, palm up—a silent gesture that he wouldn’t push her. [color=337d71]“Okay,”[/color] he said, his gaze drifting from her back to the fire. Amaya glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, regretful. An apology sat at the tip of her tongue – and moved no further. After a moment, he shifted again, lowering his knee and planting his boot flat on the floor. Leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, he rubbed his hands idly, his eyes dropping to the ground in thought. When he finally spoke, he glanced up—meeting her eyes for only a moment. [color=337d71]“Do you still want to talk to the prisoner with me? Or come to the blight-born interviews?”[/color] he asked. [color=337d71]“You can rest, if you’d rather. It’s already been a… difficult day.”[/color] He hesitated before adding, [color=337d71]“I still need to go, but I’d understand.”[/color] Amaya finally turned her head to face him, watching him carefully. She felt exhaustion seeping into her, weighing her down with every heartbeat. But they seemed to lengthen as she looked at Flynn – that space between each beat growing heavier with anticipation. He was suddenly too far from her – but not by his choice. By hers. [color=d15e5e]“Do you want me there?”[/color] Her voice was neutral, but the question was too soft and she watched him too closely. Flynn looked up at her again, this time meeting her gaze fully. His brows drew together as he considered her, searching her eyes for the things she refused to voice. [color=337d71]“I want you to be where [i]you[/i] want to be,”[/color] he said at last. [color=337d71]“Not because I asked, or anyone else expects it of you. Just… because it’s where you choose to stand.”[/color] He held her gaze a moment longer, then added, [color=337d71]“I’d always rather have you beside me… but only if it’s what you want, too.”[/color] Emotions flickered behind her eyes, too quick to name as she stared at him. His words sank into her like heat from the fire, painfully stark against the chill. Unbidden, a memory came to her: Elara offering to stay by her side. But only if Amaya wished it. There’d been no mention of Elara’s desires – she’d dismissed the very idea. And she’d pulled further and further away until finally, Amaya’s friend had made herself into only her handmaiden. Amaya blinked against the pain, sharp and bloody where it cut at wounds that hadn’t yet healed. Doubts and regrets, mistakes that she was too scared to yet examine. Her eyes dropped from Flynn’s. The crackling fire punctuated the silence. Then, with sore legs and hands still stiff and aching from ice that always seemed to wait beneath her skin, Amaya pushed herself carefully towards Flynn, like she was waiting to be told no with every motion. Amaya crossed the short distance between them, blanket still wrapped around her shoulders, and leaned into his warmth. [color=d15e5e]“I’ll go,”[/color] came her fragile words as she fit herself against his side. [color=d15e5e]“I just… need a moment.”[/color] Flynn stayed where he was—elbows on his knees, hands clasped loosely. Shoulders stiff. She’d brought herself to him now for the second time. But somehow, this time felt different. It should have made him feel the way it had the night before—when her touch had been passionate and instinctive, when she’d reached for him because she’d [i]wanted[/i] to. But now… he couldn’t shake the doubt that coiled in his chest. When she agreed to come, he wasn’t fully convinced that she’d chosen it for herself. That it wasn’t a choice made for his sake alone. Was she beside him because she wanted to be, or just to keep peace with the man she was forced to share four walls with? The man who’d brought her here in the first place and asked her to stay—to feel what he felt. Someday, he thought, the guilt for it all would eat him alive. If Aelios didn't demand his life first. He drew in a breath and straightened. Carefully, he slipped an arm around her lower back, his fingers curling lightly at her waist beneath the blanket. He leaned into her and pressed a soft kiss to her temple. Amaya’s eyes fluttered closed. [color=337d71]“Okay,”[/color] he murmured against her skin. Closing his eyes, he rested his cheek atop her head. For a fleeting moment, he tried to quiet the ache wrapped around his heart—the sharp tangle of doubt and longing that bound him to her and asked if she was bound to him too. [color=337d71]“I need to tell the guards to send out the summons,”[/color] he said finally, lifting his head and drawing back. Reluctantly, he stood. Amaya was surrounded by the empty space he left behind, blue eyes trailing after him. [color=337d71]“I’ll be back.”[/color] he added before stepping out into the hall, leaving her alone in the firelit room. She sat there on the couch, with nothing but the murmuring fire and her blanket, staring at the empty doorframe he’d stepped through. Finally Amaya sighed, pulling back into herself. The scene played in her head again — how hesitant he’d been at her side, before he’d moved against her. Only to pull away again. Nerves built under her skin like her ice. Amaya had only ever known how to create distance, to guard herself. How did one just… [i]reach[/i] for what they wanted? How much distance would he tolerate before he pulled away entirely, just as Elara did? The fire popped, its orange glow filling the room. Amaya bit her lip and glanced back at the darkened door frame. She heard the soft murmur of his voice as he spoke with the guards, muffled and out of reach. Another sigh. Amaya pressed herself deeper into the couch, leaning her side against its back and curling her legs up just enough that her feet still hung heavy off the edge — truthfully, she wanted her shoes [i]off[/i]. Her feet ached from the trips they’d taken across town, the distance farther than she was used to and the cobblestone a far cry from the smooth floors of the palace beneath the low heel of her boots. Exhaustion tightened its hold on her as she thought of the day — the [i]morning[/i]. The commanders. The argument with Flynn beneath the snowy canopy. The [i]temple[/i]. And all the while, there’d been the constant fight for control over her magic. The chaos of the previous day, that she still didn’t think she’d recovered from. The ever brewing fear of her attacker and his poisonous promises. Elara’s absence. Flynn’s distracting presence. Shame filled her as she thought of all the ways she’d failed today — how unprepared she’d been to face those who knew enough to dismiss her, as Flynn stood tall and sure… and [i]reckless.[/i] Open and direct, in ways she’d never learned how to be. Glancing at the doorway again, she tried to listen for his voice, or maybe approaching footsteps. It hadn’t been long, though — perhaps a minute or two. She told herself she was more patient than this. Amaya pulled her blanket tighter around her shoulders, trying in vain to find his warmth again. Her head dipped to rest against the corner of the cushion that lined the back of the couch. Everything felt too heavy. Too slow. Amaya tried to concentrate, the flickering of the fire growing indistinct and hazy, just like her thoughts. It was nearly hypnotic, with its dancing colors and warm light. Not warm enough, though. She blinked slowly, until finally her eyes couldn’t open anymore. The last thing she saw before she slipped away was the golden glow of the fire and the looming shadows they cast around the room. Flynn paused in the doorway the moment he stepped back into the room. He took in the stillness of her, curled up against the couch. Her eyes closed. The tension eased from her brow. Unguarded and peaceful, for once. He didn't need to step closer to know she was asleep. Or at least somewhere close to it. Flynn stayed where he was, one hand resting lightly on the doorframe as he watched her, letting the quiet wrap around them. Then, as quiet as he’d come, he turned and stepped away.