Member
Stryder BC
Hey Im Jordan
Nemaisare
RPM
Deadline
PrinceAlexus
Antlers
ShankySpice
Nallore
As Amaya withdrew, the sudden absence carved an aching void within Elara, a pang so acute it sent tremors through the very marrow of her being. The delicate intimacy that had enfolded only moments before dissipated, unravelling into an expanse of unfamiliar distance-an expanse Elra could not have foreseen, nor prepared for. Her gaze, once bright with an unguarded tenderness, hardened with an embryonic discontent, the sting of her friend’s persistent insistence on being fine striking a discordant note within her. The incongruity between Amaya’s unwavering facade and her fragility, though not new to her, seemed to release an unrelenting spectre demanding recognition before her, and it set a slow-burning blaze within that Elara’s usual temperate nature now struggled against.
But it was when Amaya’s gaze shifted, drawn inexorably toward Flynn, that the handmaiden felt the fragile scaffolding of her restraint buckle beneath the weight of an unarticulated longing. The strange, the new, affection that flickered between them, intangible yet undeniable, pressed against her like an invisible force, sharpening every single one of her frayed nerves. Beneath the polished mask of self-possession she wore so dutifully in the face of royalty, something fissured-a raw, simmering frustration that refused to remain contained.
And then, like a sudden squall upon tranquil water, it finally broke free.
“Stop,” she said, “Just stop it already.” Elara’s voice emerged cool yet edged with steel, its undercurrent betraying the storm roiling beneath the simple denotation of the word. Amaya’s eyes snapped to Elara, caught off guard. “You’re being a fool, and you know it.” She stood up, grabbing at Amaya’s forearm and turning it to display the bruises there once more.
“Pray tell, what defines ‘fine’ in your lexicon? Because having one of our best sages walk out of this room to grab a priestess, who we don’t know, but is supposed to be our best sun-blighted hope is the exact. Opposite. Of fine!”
“Fine is alive,” Amaya snapped as she wrenched her arm back, “as it has always been. And frankly, that’s all we can afford.” She levelled Elara with a cold look of growing anger. It wasn’t often that the two fought – life in the palace meant they were too often focused on survival, finding comfort and support in each other. But Amaya still knew the storm in her friend’s eyes, just as she recognized the blizzard surging through her veins to meet it. All her chaotic emotions began to coalesce into something sharp and lethal. Pain reverberated through Amaya’s arm in time with her heartbeat.
“And if my survival should ever be in question, I’m confident that adequate resources will be devoted to ensuring that I remain fine, because apparently my entire life has just been a series of men deciding that it’s not yet the opportune time to be rid of me, and there are still at least nine months on the clock.” Her words were precise, steadily gaining speed and volume as she threw the prophecy in Elara’s face, and its inevitable conclusion – a painful, unspoken grief that neither had been willing to address. It sat between them now, a raw wound festering in the open air.
“But what about your survival?” Something fractured the ice in Amaya’s eyes, revealing the fear beneath. Her voice had the slightest tremble. “Hmm? Will the same level of care be taken to make sure you live?” Amaya leaned towards Elara, eyes searching hers like she hoped she might actually find the answer. Then her gaze hardened again, the flash of vulnerability sealed away. “Or Lady Hightower? The innkeeper? Those two sisters from the feast?” Amaya shook her head as she watched Elara. She pulled back again. Her voice was softer when she spoke again, but no less intense.
“Do you think that what happened today will be the only threat Dawnhaven ever faces? All of our best healers are Aurelian, and their magic will only grow weaker. I am not willing to discover the point at which they run dry, nor whom they are unable to save, and I will not have them drain themselves on things that will heal, on their own, because they want to make sure that the Princess is a pretty enough offering for Seluna!”
"Enough." Flynn’s voice cut through the tension, calm but weighted with an authority he rarely leaned into. "Both of you."
Flynn’s green eyes flicked to Elara first, narrowing slightly as he regarded her. The fire in her words held a boldness he wasn’t accustomed to hearing directed toward the Princess—toward his wife. The way she spoke with a familiarity that bordered on insolence bristled against his instincts. A part of him wanted to remind her that Amaya was royalty, deserving of a certain deference.
But as the words settled in the air, Flynn had to admit to himself that he didn't truly know the depth of their relationship. The ease with which Elara spoke to Amaya—how she challenged her without hesitation—hinted at a bond far deeper than any he'd ever shared with the palace staff.
Elara wasn’t just Amaya’s handmaiden. She was a friend—an equal in a way that Flynn hadn’t fully grasped until this moment. She wasn’t speaking out of turn; she was speaking out of care.
Amaya's fears were justified, but Elara was right. Amaya wasn’t fine. And it was time someone made her see it.
His focus shifted to Amaya, his gaze softening. "She's right." he said firmly, even as Amaya's expression sharpened in response, defiance reigniting like flint against steel. His heart skipped a beat, nervous that he had just lost the intoxicating vulnerable way she had looked at him not long ago.
"You survived, but survival isn’t enough—not for me." His eyes locked onto hers, unflinching under her scrutiny. "I didn't fight this hard just to pretend like survival is all you deserve. I want you to live."
Flynn took a breath, his jaw tightening. "And if it were Elara sitting here, wounded, and refusing aid, or even one of the guards, I wouldn’t hesitate to spend every resource at my disposal to save them—to make sure they had the best chance.” His gaze dropped only briefly, looking at her hands as he longed to reach out, but refrained, unsure if she’d accept the gesture. "Because they all matter… Because you matter, Amaya. Not as a Princess, not as some symbol of hope or offering to the Goddess, but as you." He paused, his eyes searching hers.
He knew all too well the fears she carried, the bitter ache of being reduced to a name etched into prophecy, a pawn in a game played by Goddesses. “I want you to be able to wake up one day without having to carry this pain, this burden, every second of your life. And I’ll do whatever it takes to make that happen. But you have to let us help you.”
Elara’s lips pressed into a taut, bloodless line, the gravity of Flynn’s words settling within her and curling into the hollow spaces she had long since fortified against such intrusions.
His words were not solely for Amaya; they were for her as well.
The realization coiled tightly within her, a thorned truth she could neither ignore nor dislodge. She detested it. The way his voice now seemed to carry a quiet dominion over Amaya’s well-being. He spoke with the assuredness of a man who thought he knew Amaya’s every need and the audacity of it sent a bitter pulse of resentment through her veins. It was not jealousy in the simple petty sense-it was something far more complex, a lamentation of space lost, of a role once unquestioned. Truly, this time.
Nonetheless, Elara cast a glance toward Flynn, offering him a curt nod as if he’d said nothing of significance, nothing she’d already expressed. “I shall…procure fresh water,” she murmured the excuse as if it was anything but, retreating with the seamless grace ingrained in her since her earliest training days. At the threshold, she lingered but an instant, her gaze drawn irresistibly back to Amaya. Then, without further hesitation, she slipped through the doorway without waiting for dismissal, her departure marked only by the soft rustle of fabric.
It seemed she’d taken all the air in the room with her.
Amaya deflated, slumping back against the headboard as she squeezed her eyes closed. She brought her hands up to cover her face, like she could simply shut the world — Flynn’s words, her emotions, Elara’s departure — out. The blizzard contained in her body slowed. But ice still crept through her, down the channels of her blood and bones.
Their care for her was a miasma in the air, and her lungs didn’t know how to breathe it in. It wrapped itself around Amaya, suffocating her. The weight of it pressed into her skin as it formed a new layer to cover her. She was too busy trying to keep herself from shattering — she didn’t notice the way her magic stirred, rising to shield her from her own sense of helplessness. It encased her, a sluggish buzz under her skin, like it was the only thing holding her together.
When her hands dropped away, her eyes glistened with tears she refused to let fall. Something in his chest cracked, aching. She stubbornly looked at that candle against the wall, again — even as Flynn burned his presence into her reality, his inescapable weight pressing against the edge of her attention, demanding more.
“This isn’t Aurelia.” Amaya’s voice was hollow as she chose the words she thought might create distance, to disentangle his world from hers and draw careful borders between them again. Perhaps he might leave her as Elara had. Slowly, subtly, the temperature in the room started to drop. “We do not have your abundance. Sometimes survival is all there is.” She said it like a reminder — like to forget would only court more grief.
Flynn stared at her in silence, his gaze unrelenting even as she refused to meet it. She was right—this wasn’t Aurelia. But neither did it feel like Lunaris.
The air between them grew heavy and cold with the weight of her magic, a chill enveloping him and causing his skin to prickle. His own magic stirred in response, a quiet buzz beneath the surface, instinctively seeking to soften her frost, as if something inside had been unleashed by the raw emotion in the room, unguarded by barriers that had been stripped away from him. Unlike Amaya, he made no attempt to rebuild them.
Elara had left, but Flynn had never been so easily deterred. Whether born of his upbringing or his inherent stubbornness, his patience was a quiet rebellion against the walls she’d built. He wasn’t going anywhere. She could try to push him away, but he’d already come this far past the barriers she’d raised, and now he felt a desperation in his soul.
Without a second thought, Flynn closed the distance between them. She didn’t look at him, but he didn’t need her to. Gently, he reached for her, his arms wrapping around her and pulling her into him. She was stiff in his hold.
He had no words that could heal all the wounds she carried, no magic to undo all the pain she’d endured. He didn’t know how to fix any of this. All he knew was this ache to be closer, to offer her all the comfort he could in the only way he knew how.
His lips hovered near her ear as he held her, the words low and hushed, meant only for her. “Don’t lock me out again.”
Amaya shivered, his breath feathering over her skin. She closed her eyes — allowed herself the small comfort of breathing him in, feeling his body around hers. Even that felt like too big a risk. But she couldn’t pull away. Being in his arms felt too much like…
Like…
Amaya broke. Melting into him, she pressed herself deeper into his warmth. She was trembling again, whether from her magic, or the force of her own heartache pulling her apart.
Her hands moved, slow and hesitant. Eventually her arms found their way around Flynn’s body, her fingers curling into the fabric at his back. Relief coursed through him like a tidal wave. It was such a small thing — not just being held, but holding. It should’ve been small. But it set Amaya’s heart hammering in her chest as she discovered the way she fit around his body. Her grip tightened, slender arms trying to keep him, despite the doubts in her mind.
“I’m not wrong,” she whispered, still stubborn despite it all.
“I know,” he murmured against her, lips curving into the faintest smile as she still refused to relent. “But there’s more to life than just survival. More than just being… fine.”
His hand rose to cradle her jaw, his fingers light as he pulled back just enough to tilt her head upward. His eyes sought hers with intensity, willing her to feel the depth of what he could offer. “Let me show you.”
His thumb brushed along the curve of her cheek, pausing just below her lips. His gaze lingered, silently asking her to believe him—to trust him with all the pieces of her that she kept so guarded. To give in. To stop fighting against him at every opportunity.
He leaned closer, the space between them charged. “I’ll find a way.” he whispered, the words carrying a quiet, unshakable conviction, as though her faith in him was all he needed to take on everything the world had levied against them. What else could he possibly need?
His warmth seeped into her, flushing her skin, traveling down her spine, nestling deep in her stomach. Flynn held her gaze. Amaya held him back. The force of him was overwhelming in a way that left her breathless, even as his eyes were patient and open as always. He was a riptide asking her to venture into the depths, waiting for her to take the first step.
Amaya looked up at him with wide eyes as his words moved through her. Her gaze flickered to his lips.
Then she brought her hands back up to his shoulders, as if she could hold him in place. Amaya leaned up to press a kiss to his jaw, even as her senses begged for more. Tilting her head down, she buried herself in the dip of his shoulder. She tried to take a breath.
“Cocky,” she mumbled into him, even as she hid a soft smile. A quiet chuckle escaped him, his arms tightening around her protectively. Amaya let herself stay there – just for a moment. Just long enough to remember his smell, savor his warmth. Then she pulled away.
Amaya leaned back against the headboard, the warmth seeping from her expression – but the softness stayed. The walls did not return. Her eyes were distant as she sighed to herself. A hand remained, resting lightly on Flynn’s knee.
“I need to apologize to Elara.” Her voice was tired. She thought of her friend’s fury, the cold way she’d excused herself. Elara didn't deserve what Amaya had said to her. Not the harsh tone nor the cruel reality of their situation, especially after all they’d gone through today. Her other hand curled in her lap as she thought of Elara’s grief.
His gaze drifted to the door, a moment of quiet thought passing over him before he returned his focus to her. "She cares for you," he said, his voice quiet but assured. He paused for a beat, his eyes searching hers, before a small smile curved his lips.
"Judging by the way she spoke to you," he continued, a touch of amusement in his tone, "I’d say you two must have known each other a long time?" His head tilted slightly, brows raised. "At least, I certainly hope so." he added with a soft chuckle. In Aurelia, a servant who dared speak to or even touch a royal the way Elara had would have been dismissed on the spot—if not worse. It was a strange sight, seeing Elara act in such a way, even if the circumstances had called for it.
Amaya felt her cheeks warm at his observation. She knew her relationship with Elara was unusual. They were normally so careful to keep up appearances around others, lest they be separated — or punished. But somehow they’d completely failed to hide themselves in front of Flynn. She couldn’t help the twinge of shame in her heart as she thought of what he’d witnessed.
“Elara is…”
She didn’t have the chance to finish her thought, half formed as it was. Amaya stopped as the doorknob started to turn.
there are way too many hot people in this
