He had prepared for a husband who would leer, or gloat, or seek to prove something behind closed doors. Instead, Azariah had offered him a cloak folded with care and words tempered with consideration. It threw him off-balance, as did the roguish smile and the unspoken permission to rest. How many times had he been told to harden himself, to expect cruelty and manipulation in courtship especially in political marriage that he knew would be shortly lived?

Yet here he was, presented with something bordering on..kindness.

He accepted the cloak silently, folding it beneath his head as he shifted to lean into Azariah’s side. With his gloves tucked away, he let his hands fall idle in his lap, but it was Azariah’s fingertips, gentle and curious against his own, that made his breath catch. He hadn’t expected to be touched like that—slow, reverent, like he was something worth unraveling. It was a dangerous kind of attention, the kind that threatened to see too much. That threatened to make him want more.

A part of him panicked. The soft pad of Azariah’s thumb against his knuckles made him feel exposed. Vulnerable. And yet he didn’t pull away. Azariah must’ve sensed something shift. He pulled back with an easy smile, apologetic and teasing all at once. Eryndor let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding, trying to mask it as a sigh of tiredness.

He didn’t speak, only gave a small nod as he allowed his body to soften further into the bench seat. He rested his head lightly where the cloak had been placed, letting the warmth of Azariah beside him settle like a protective weight. There was no spell to keep him safe here. No blade hidden under his skirts(though that was a good idea for later if he was separated from his husband for longer than necessary). Just trust and a tenuous, frightening bond he hadn’t asked for.

Still, he let sleep take him.

He dreamt of his siblings. Not the ones who lived, but the ones who didn’t. The brother whose name was no longer spoken. The sister born too early, too fragile for the world. He dreamt of the sea, of black stones beneath his feet and a tide that dragged him forward, forward, until—

A hand on his shoulder stirred him. His lashes fluttered open slowly. [i]Eryn[/i]. [i]Her[/i] name again. How many times could someone say it before he remembered to answer to it?

The carriage had stopped. He could feel the shift of the wheel beneath them, the breeze curling through the window and brushing over his exposed forearms. Eryndor nodded, sleep still clinging to his limbs. He pushed himself upright, brushing hair from his cheek and quickly glancing down to make sure the kohl hadn’t smeared, again.

His voice came soft, unguarded. [color=#93E9BE]“Thank you for the cloak.”[/color] He met Azariah's eyes for a moment, the corner of his eyes crinkling with a soft smile. He let his hand linger a moment longer before slipping away to step outside.

The air outside the carriage was mild, laced with a grassy scent from the nearby field, the sun a gentle weight against his shoulders. Eryndor stepped out with practiced grace, skirts gathered lightly in one hand, the other resting along the edge of the doorframe. The shift in temperature was a small relief after the closeness of the carriage. Still, he lingered near it rather than stepping too far.

He left his gloves behind, deliberately forgotten on the bench where he’d sat. It wasn’t a statement, exactly, more a quiet rebellion. The fabric had started to feel suffocating, not just in texture but in what it represented. Eryndor had worn gloves every day since his arrival in Delicana, had allowed them to become part of the illusion. But perhaps, if Azariah was going to touch his hands like that.. perhaps it didn’t matter so much if they were seen.

He stood still by the carriage steps, hands folded gently in front of him, posture straight, calm. A painted lady waiting for her cue. He had no desire to wander or make conversation with the small number of retainers who’d already begun to unpack food and supplies from a secondary cart. Let the others do as they pleased. He waited.

Waited for [i]him[/i].

Eryndor wouldn’t admit how often his gaze flicked toward the carriage door, how carefully he listened for footsteps. It was ridiculous. They had barely spent a full day as husband and wife. This—whatever [i]this[/i] was—was likely temporary. It had to be.

Still, something warm coiled in his chest when he finally caught sight of him.

But it was not Azariah who drew his focus next, it was the woman standing nearby, conversing with a servant in relaxed tones, her hands moving animatedly as she spoke.

And her face, that was what drew his attention. Strong brow, clever eyes, the same dark lashes and bone structure as her brother. It clicked into place before Eryndor was even aware he was speaking. [color=#93E9BE]“Is she your sister?”[/color] he asked, the words quiet as a breeze, his head tilted toward the young woman. He glanced sidelong at Azariah, noting again the shared lines of their jaw, the familiar way they moved both proud and self-assured, though the sister carried it with a softer kind of dignity.

[color=#93E9BE]“She performed Solvya’s Oath during our wedding,”[/color] Eryndor added, turning his eyes back toward Orianne now that the memory had settled fully into place. [color=#93E9BE]“I thought she looked familiar. Though I suppose I was..distracted.”[/color] He didn’t say nervous, or terrified, or reeling. But that had been the truth of it. The ceremony had been beautiful, yes, but also binding. Sacred. A ritual that changed everything.

He wet his lips and folded his arms, slender fingers curling lightly around his elbows. [color=#93E9BE]“She looked steady, then. And kind. You must be proud.”[/color] The last part wasn’t performative. It was quiet and sincere. The sort of thing one might say to keep the conversation polite, but Eryn meant it, and that surprised him too.

He didn’t ask if Azariah had other siblings. He didn’t press, but a part of him, that same flickering ember that dared to feel safe in a borrowed cloak, burned softly with the desire to know. To belong. To [i]matter[/i], even if only briefly.