Chapter 4: The First Night
The sun was beginning its slow climb toward noon, and the estate gates stood open, waiting. Kaelen stood in the courtyard long after Marcus disappeared down the road, his silhouette rigid against the pale stone. Seraphine watched him from the doorway, her arms crossed, the heat of the morning doing nothing to thaw the cold knot in her chest.
She had seen men break before. In her father's court, in the aftermath of battles, in the quiet corners where soldiers went when they thought no one was watching. But this was different. This was a man who had been carved open by someone he loved, and she didn't know what to do with the pieces.
Elara appeared beside her, a cup of water in each hand. "He's been standing there for ten minutes."
"I noticed."
"You should go to him." Elara offered one of the cups. "He listens to you. Even when he doesn't want to."
Seraphine took the water but didn't move. "What makes you think he wants to hear from me right now?"
"He doesn't." Elara's voice was gentle, almost amused. "That's exactly why you should go."
The words sat between them for a moment. Seraphine studied Elara's face, searching for the hidden edge she had come to expect from courtiers and schemers. But there was nothing there but quiet sincerity, the kind that made Seraphine feel exposed in a way she couldn't name.
"You're strange, you know that?" Seraphine said, but there was no venom in it.
"So I've been told." Elara's lips twitched. "Go on. I'll make sure lunch is ready when you're both done."
Seraphine crossed the courtyard slowly, her boots crunching on the gravel. Kaelen didn't turn when she approached, didn't acknowledge her presence at all. He just stood there, staring at the empty road as if Marcus might materialize again, as if the last hour had been a bad dream he could undo with enough focus.
"Water," she said, holding out the cup. "You look like you need it more than I do."
He finally turned, and the rawness in his eyes made her breath catch. This was not the general who commanded armies or the man who had held her in the yard that morning. This was someone younger, someone who had just learned that trust was a luxury he couldn't afford.
"You were right, you know." His voice was rough, scraped clean of pretense. "About what you said in the stable. About anger making men into monsters." He took the cup but didn't drink. "I wanted to hurt him. I wanted to make him feel even a fraction of what I was feeling."
"But you didn't."
"No." He looked down at the water, at his reflection rippling in the cup. "Because you stopped me. Both of you." A bitter laugh escaped him. "I've commanded armies. I've held lines against impossible odds. And it took two women I barely know to keep me from becoming the thing I've spent my whole life fighting."
Seraphine didn't know what to say to that, so she said nothing. She just stood beside him, close enough that their shoulders almost touched, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating off his skin.
"I'm not good at this," he admitted after a long silence. "Being a lord. Being a husband. Being anything other than a soldier." He finally drank, the water disappearing in three long swallows. "I don't know how to be soft. I don't know how to be present. I've spent so many years focused on the next battle, the next campaign, the next threat—I never learned how to just... be."
"You're learning." The words came out before she could stop them, and she felt her cheeks warm. "You apologized this morning. That's more than most men I know would have done."
Kaelen's eyes met hers, and there was something searching in them. "And what do most men you know do?"
"They double down." She shrugged, trying to keep her voice light. "They pretend they didn't do anything wrong. They blame the woman for being too sensitive, too demanding, too much." She paused. "They don't ask what they can do better."
"You're not what I expected either."
The echo of his earlier words hung between them, and she felt something shift in her chest. She should step back. She should keep her distance. She should remember that this man was part of an arrangement she had never wanted, a cage she was still trying to escape.
But she didn't step back.
"The cook mentioned something about lunch," she said instead. "Elara's making sure it's ready. You should eat something."
"In a minute." He didn't move. "Can I ask you something first?"
She nodded, her throat tight.
"When you look at me—when you really look at me—what do you see?" There was no vanity in the question, no manipulation. Just a raw, uncertain honesty that made her heart ache. "Do you see a general? A jailer? A man who took you from everything you knew?"
Seraphine considered the question carefully, letting the silence stretch. She thought about the way he had held her that morning, gentle despite his strength. She thought about the way he had apologized without excuse or deflection. She thought about the way he had stopped—actually stopped—when she and Elara had asked him to.
"I see a man who's trying," she said finally. "A man who's scared and tired and doesn't know what he's doing. A man who's been so busy fighting for everyone else that he forgot to figure out what he actually wants." She met his eyes. "I see someone who's not as different from me as I expected."
Something flickered in his expression, too fast for her to name. He opened his mouth to respond, but Elara's voice rang across the courtyard before he could.
"Lunch is ready!" She stood in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. "And I made that honey cake you mentioned liking, Kaelen. Figured we could all use something sweet today."
The tension between them broke, replaced by something lighter, almost absurd. Kaelen let out a breath that was half laugh, half sigh. "She makes honey cake to cheer me up. I've known her for less than a day, and she makes honey cake to cheer me up."
"She pays attention," Seraphine said, and she wasn't entirely sure if she meant Elara or herself. "That's a rare thing."
They walked back to the house together, the silence between them no longer heavy but expectant, like a held breath waiting to be released. The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and roasting vegetables, and Elara was already setting three places at the small table by the window.
"Eat first," Elara said before either of them could speak. "Talk after. You'll both think clearer on full stomachs."
For the first time that day, Kaelen smiled. It was small, barely a curve of his lips, but it was real. "Yes, ma'am."
They ate in relative quiet, the clink of utensils and the soft sounds of chewing filling the space. Seraphine watched Kaelen from the corner of her eye, noting the way his shoulders slowly unknotted with each bite. Elara kept the conversation light, talking about the village market and the people she'd met, sharing observations that made Kaelen chuckle despite himself.
After lunch, Kaelen excused himself to the map room, claiming he needed to reorganize the supplies in light of Marcus's departure. Seraphine watched him go, a knot tightening in her stomach.
"He'll be alright," Elara said, clearing the plates. "He just needs time."
"And if he doesn't have time?" Seraphine asked. "The harvest festival is at the end of the month. Word has already spread about his new brides. If he shows up looking like a kicked dog, the whole region will know something's wrong."
Elara paused, a plate in each hand. "Then we make sure he doesn't have to show up looking like that alone."
Seraphine met Elara's eyes, and for a moment, something passed between them—an understanding, a tentative alliance forged in the ashes of the morning's chaos. They were both in this, whether they wanted to be or not, and they had to figure out how to make it work.
"What do you suggest?" Seraphine asked.
Elara set the plates down, a thoughtful expression crossing her face. "We help him rebuild. We earn the trust of the staff. We learn this estate inside and out, so that when Marcus's absence leaves gaps, we're ready to fill them." She paused. "And we show him that this doesn't have to be a prison. Not for him. Not for us."
"And what if it is?" Seraphine's voice was quiet. "What if no matter what we do, this is still an arrangement we never chose?"
Elara's gaze softened. "Then we make it something we choose anyway. Every day, in small ways, until it becomes true."
The kitchen fell silent. Seraphine turned to the window, watching Kaelen cross the courtyard to the map room, his gait heavy but purposeful. She hadn't expected to feel anything for him, least of all empathy. But there it was, a stubborn bloom of connection she couldn't uproot.
Her hand moved unconsciously to her chest, where the warmth of his embrace still lingered. She had spent the morning pushing him away, and yet every time she turned around, she found herself stepping closer.
The afternoon passed in a blur of household tasks. Elara threw herself into inventorying the kitchen stores, ticking off jars and sacks with relentless efficiency. Seraphine shadowed the head groom, learning the names and temperaments of the horses, noting which ones favored which handlers.
Kaelen stayed in the map room, door closed, light flickering beneath it until the sun set. Seraphine paused at his threshold twice, hesitated, and walked away both times.
She found Elara in the library just after dusk. Elara sat cross-legged on the worn sofa, a stack of records spread around her, her cheeks flushed with focus. She looked up as Seraphine entered, a quick smile crossing her face. "I think I found where Marcus was hiding his ledgers. There's a false bottom in one of the old trunks—I noticed the wood was newer than the rest."
"Impressive." Seraphine meant it. Elara had a sharpness that she hadn't expected, hidden beneath layers of quiet gentleness. "Do you always dig this deep?"
Elara's smile turned wry. "Only when I'm trying to prove I'm not just the historian's daughter." She paused, eyes flicking to the door. "You went to see him."
"Twice." Seraphine dropped into the armchair opposite. "Couldn't bring myself to knock."
"He's grieving. Yesterday he lost his trusted steward, and in a way, he lost the version of himself that believed in that kind of loyalty." Elara closed the ledgers, folding her hands on top of them. "It's not the kind of wound that heals fast. But it helps when people don't treat him like he's fragile."
"Is that what I was doing?"
"Maybe." Elara's voice was kind. "Or maybe you were treating him like he might break if you got too close."
A sharp laugh escaped Seraphine. "You see too much."
"I'm a historian. I notice patterns." Elara tilted her head. "The same way I notice that you've been watching the door since you walked in, hoping he'll appear."
Seraphine's cheeks burned. "That's not—
"He's lucky." Elara's eyes met hers with surprising strength. "He's lucky he has you. Whatever you think this arrangement is, you're not just a prisoner here. You're becoming something else." She took a breath, as if steadying herself. "And I'm glad I get to witness it."
Something hot and strange pressed behind Seraphine's eyes, and she blinked hard. No tears. She was a princess. She didn't cry.
But she also didn't pull away when Elara reached over and squeezed her hand.
Voices echoed from the yard, laughter rising like a flare. Elara's head cocked toward the window. "That sounds like the stable hands. They must have gotten wind of Marcus's departure." A note of mischief crept into her tone. "I'll bet there's a toast happening."
They found a small knot of staff near the stable doors—Tomas among them, holding a tankard, her face lit with something close to relief. Elara nodded toward them. "People feel safer now. That's something."
Seraphine hung back, arms folded, watching the ripple of celebration move through the yard. Kaelen stood apart, near the well, a tankard in his hand but untouched. His gaze met hers across the space, and the corner of his mouth lifted in a gesture that was apologetic and uncertain.
She crossed the yard before she could think better of it. "You look like a man at his own wake."
He huffed a laugh, dark and self-aware. "Feels like it. I executed a man today for being human, and now everyone's celebrating as though I did something brave."
"You stopped when you could have killed him." Seraphine took a step closer, close enough to hear his breathing. "That's more than brave. That's disciplined."
He looked at her, the firelight carving shadows into his scarred face. "And what would you have done, if you were me?"
She considered the question. "I'd like to think I would have done the same. Stripped him of his power, sent him out with nothing." She paused. "But honestly? I don't know. I've never had someone I trusted betray me like that."
Kaelen looked at her for a long moment, then said, so quietly she almost missed it, "You've had people leave. That's its own kind of betrayal."
The fire crackled between them, sparks rising into the dark. Seraphine didn't move forward, didn't close the distance he was so careful to preserve. But she didn't move away either, and the silence between them stretched, not empty, but substantial—a bridge beginning to form.
"Elara made another cake," she offered after a moment. "Said people always eat more when they're given something sweet."
Kaelen blinked, then a real smile broke across his face, rough but genuine. "Did she now."
"She's in the kitchen, probably waiting for us to ask for seconds." Seraphine stepped back, gesturing toward the lit doorway. "You're not alone tonight, Kaelen. Whatever you decide to feel, you're not alone."
He followed her, silent and uncertain, as she led him into the warmth of the house. Kaelen paused at the doorway to the kitchen, watching Elara bend over the oven. She was pulling a golden-brown cake onto a cooling rack, her cheeks flushed with the warmth.
She looked up, startled, when he cleared his throat. Then her face softened. "You're just in time."
"I hope you know I don't deserve this." Kaelen's voice was low, rough. "Any of this."
Elara's smile dimmed, replaced by something more serious. "Deserve has nothing to do with what we give each other when we're hurting." She set the cake on the table, her movements careful. "I'm not here because you deserve me. I'm here because I chose to be."
The words landed, so quiet and complete. Kaelen looked at her, then at Seraphine, something settling in his face.
"Then I choose to be here too," he said roughly. "As much as I know how."
Silence. The kitchen settled around them, warm and quiet. And in the shadows of the estate, a fragile new peace begins to make itself at home. They hadn't solved anything. Marcus was gone, the grain still missing, the future still uncertain. But Elara was cutting the cake, Seraphine was pouring the tea, Kaelen was breathing easier—and for now, that was enough. The candle gutted on the windowsill as the last light faded. Kaelen looked at the two women in his kitchen, the weight on his chest finally beginning to ease.
"We should probably talk about what happens next," he said, almost reluctantly. "The harvest festival, the staff, the missing grain."
"It can wait until morning." Elara set three plates on the table. "Right now, we eat cake."
Seraphine snorted, a sound that surprised her. "That's your answer to everything?"
"It hasn't failed me yet."
Kaelen laughed, a low, rough sound that cut through the lingering shadows of the house. Seraphine paused, hearing it, and felt some cold thing ease in her chest. Elara smiled as she slid the first slice onto a plate.
The three of them ate in warm silence, breaking bread—and cake—like people learning how to trust each other.
The three of them ate in warm silence, breaking bread—and cake—like people learning how to trust each other. The honey cake was rich on Seraphine's tongue, and she found herself reaching for a second slice without thinking. Kaelen watched her with quiet amusement, something almost playful flickering behind his steel-grey eyes.
"What?" she demanded, a crumb still on her lip.
"Nothing." He shook his head, but the corner of his mouth twitched. "Just never pictured a princess with a sweet tooth."
"Never pictured a general who blushes when someone compliments his eyes," she shot back, and was rewarded with a flush creeping up his scarred neck. Elara laughed, a genuine sound that filled the kitchen like warmth from the oven, and the tension that had gripped the house since Marcus's betrayal loosened further.
They cleared the plates together, moving around each other with tentative ease. Kaelen's shoulder brushed Seraphine's as he reached for a drying cloth, and neither of them pulled away. The domesticity of it was strange—foreign in a way that made her chest feel tight—but not entirely unwelcome.
"Same time tomorrow?" Elara asked, drying her hands on her apron. "I want to get through the rest of those ledgers. See if Marcus left any other surprises."
Kaelen's expression sobered. "I'll help. The more eyes on those records, the better."
They said their goodnights, lingering in the hallway like they were waiting for something. Seraphine caught Elara glancing at Kaelen's door before disappearing into her own room. The weight of the arrangement pressed down on her anew—three people, two rooms, one marriage that still felt more like a treaty than a union.
She closed her door and leaned against it, her heart beating too fast.
Sleep came slowly, fragmentarily. She drifted in and out, visions of honey cake and betrayal and a scarred face swimming through her dreams. When she woke to pale grey light filtering through her curtains, she felt like she hadn't rested at all.
A rapping at the front door echoed through the house, urgent and insistent. Seraphine pulled on a robe and padded to the top of the stairs, where she found Kaelen already in the entrance hall, his hair still mussed from sleep.
A messenger stood on the threshold, travel-stained and breathless, holding a leather satchel. "General Voss. A letter from the king. He said it couldn't wait."
Kaelen took the satchel, his jaw tight. "Thank you. Get some water from the kitchen before you head back."
The messenger nodded and disappeared. Kaelen stood in the doorway, the satchel heavy in his hands, not moving. Seraphine descended the stairs slowly, the cold stone biting at her bare feet. Elara emerged from her room, still in her nightgown, her honey-brown hair loose around her shoulders.
"Who was that?" Elara asked, stifling a yawn.
"A messenger." Kaelen's voice was flat. "From your father." He looked at Seraphine, and there was something dark in his eyes. "The wedding. It's happening in three days. At the palace, in front of the entire court."
The words hit her like ice water. Her chest seized, and she gripped the banister, knuckles whitening.
"Three days." The words came out strained. "He gave us three days."
Kaelen broke the royal seal with a sharp crack and read the letter, his expression growing darker with each line. When he finished, he held it out for them to read, his arm stiff. "He's also sending an advance retinue. They'll arrive tomorrow evening to escort us to the capital."
Elara took the letter, scanning it quickly, her face paling. Seraphine read over her shoulder from memory, but the words blurred before her eyes. The warmth they had built the night before evaporated, leaving only this cold certainty.
She turned and fled up the stairs, her room's door slamming behind her. A distant part of her noted Elara's footsteps faltering in the hall. She pressed her back against the door, breathing hard.
She had three days.
After that, she would belong to someone she barely knew—even if he was trying, even if she felt her walls crumbling brick by brick.
The hours that followed were silent. Kaelen retreated to the map room and didn't emerge. Elara made tea she didn't drink, stared at ledgers she didn't read. Seraphine lay on her bed, staring at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the plaster.
Three days.
She must have dozed, because when she opened her eyes again, the shadows had grown long. She heard low voices downstairs, and she followed them to find Kaelen in the library, seated before the cold fireplace. He held a dark bottle in one hand, and on the table before him sat two more, their necks still sealed. Elara stood by the window, her arms wrapped around herself.
Kaelen looked up as she entered. His eyes were glassy, and his cheeks held more color than she had seen all day. He gestured to the bottle. "I started without you. Figured the occasion warranted it."
"It's that kind of day?" Seraphine asked.
"It's that kind of day." He tipped the bottle, and a dark red liquid swirled. "Finest vintage I have. Saved it for something special." A bitter laugh escaped him. "Didn't think 'the day before my wedding to two strangers' would be what qualified."
Elara turned from the window, a hesitant smile on her face. "He's been drinking alone for an hour. I thought someone should keep him company."
Seraphine crossed the room and sat on the armchair across from Kaelen. "Pour me a glass."
He obliged, and she took a long sip. The wine was smooth, rich, tasting of dark berries and something smoky. She coughed slightly as the warmth spread.
"Elara?" Kaelen held up the bottle.
Elara hesitated, then perched on the edge of the settee, nodding. He poured her a glass, and she sipped it carefully, a small furrow appearing between her brows as she swallowed. They sat in silence, each lost in their own spiraling thoughts, the wine slowly loosening the tightness in their chests.
By the second glass, Kaelen's eyes had lost their glassy edge, replaced by a mellowed softness. He leaned back in his chair, staring at the ceiling. "I never thought I'd marry at all. Spent five years watching men die for causes I barely understood, wondering when it would be my turn." He took another sip. "Now I'm marrying two women who didn't choose me, and I don't know what to do with that."
Seraphine opened her mouth, intending something sharp, but what came out instead was soft. "We're choosing you now. That's what matters."
"Barely." Kaelen shook his head. "You barely know me."
Elara's voice was quiet, a little dreamy from the wine. "I've known men my whole life through books and archives. The problem is, I've never known them." The room seemed to still, her words carrying a confession she'd kept locked away. She took another sip, then set the glass down, a flush creeping up her neck. "I've spent my life in the shadows of stories, watching others live. I suppose I'm tired of spectating."
The confession hung between them, raw and vulnerable. Seraphine looked at her, really looked at her—the slight tremor in her hands, the way she wouldn't quite meet either of their eyes.
"I've never been kissed," Elara said, the words spilling out like they had been dammed too long. "I've never had a boyfriend, or held hands with anyone, or—" she gestured vaguely, her cheeks now crimson. "Anything. I've never even had a sleepover growing up. Just me, my father, and a lifetime of other people's battles."
The silence that followed was heavy. Kaelen's glass paused halfway to his lips, and something tender moved in his eyes. Seraphine's throat tightened—she forgot how sheltered Elara had been.
"Never at all?" Kaelen asked, his voice rough.
Elara shook her head, studying her hands. "I told you, I spent my life preparing to be chosen. Just never imagined I'd have to figure out what came after." She looked up, her gray eyes glassy but earnest. "The kiss at the wedding is supposed to seal everything, isn't it? Everyone watching. If I don't know what I'm doing, I'll embarrass all of us."
Seraphine, emboldened by a second glass of wine and this sudden honesty, leaned forward. "Then we practice."
Kaelen choked on his wine, coughing and sputtering, red liquid spilling down his chin. "We what?"
"Practice." Seraphine's grin was sharp, almost feral. "You can't tell me you'd rather have your first kiss with us happen in front of half the realm, watched by my father and every gossiping noble who ever drew breath." She gestured between them. "We're all going to be married in three days. It would be ridiculous if we didn't at least try."
Kaelen coughed again, dabbing at his chin with his sleeve. "You want to practice kissing."
"That's what I said, isn't it?" Seraphine sat back, folding her arms, trying to look unaffected. "It's practical. We're just being practical."
Elara's cheeks were bright pink. She spoke to her lap. "I wouldn't know what to do. If we're going to do this foolish thing, I'd rather be sure."
Kaelen set his bottle down slowly, looking between the two of them like he was trying to find the trap. Then he let out a breath, something yielding in his expression. "If we do this—we do it right. You tell me to stop, I stop. You're uncomfortable, we end it."
"Of course." Seraphine rolled her eyes, though something softened at his words.
"No, I mean it." His voice was steady as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "This isn't a command. It's not an order. We don't do this unless all three of us are certain."
The room's air had thickened. Seraphine looked at Elara, who nodded slowly, her blush deepening. She looked back at Kaelen, who was watching them both with something careful, almost reverent.
"We're sure," Seraphine said, her voice coming out softer than she intended.
Kaelen took a breath, then turned fully to Elara. He was gentle as he asked, "Would you like to go first?"
Elara's hands trembled around her glass, and she set it down with exaggerated care. She looked at him, gray eyes wide and uncertain.
"I've never done this," she whispered.
"I know." Kaelen's voice was low, patient. "We'll go slow. Just—look at me."
She lifted her gaze, meeting his. He reached out, slowly, giving her every chance to pull away. One hand settled on the curve of her jaw, his thumb resting against her cheekbone. Elara closed her eyes.
Kaelen leaned in, pressing his lips to hers. He paused, letting her adjust, letting her feel the shape of contact without pressure. Then he moved against her gently. For a moment, she was stiff still as a pinned butterfly, her mouth closed and uncertain. But Kaelen was patient with the unhurried focus of a man learning new terrain. She softened gradually—so gradually it was barely perceptible—until her lips parted like a bud unfolding.
One of her hands came up to rest on his chest. Fingertips pressed gingerly against his shirt. Kaelen tilted his head to deepen the angle, and Elara let out a small, soft sound.
Then something shifted. Her mouth opened more fully, and she began to respond with a hesitant curiosity. He slid his free hand to the back of her neck, pulling her gently closer. Elara made a quiet noise against his lips.
Encouraged, Kaelen deepened the kiss, tracing her lower lip with his tongue. She stilled for a moment, then followed his lead with trembling courage. Her hand curled into the fabric of his tunic, steadying herself.
It was awkward at first—her nose bumped his cheek, one angle didn't quite fit. But they worked through it, adjusting, learning. Kaelen was patient, unhurried, guiding without controlling. By the end, Elara had tilted her head naturally and her kisses came easier—more sure, though still shy.
Then, mid-kiss, she surprised them both with a soft, startled moan. She pulled back, her hands flying to cover her mouth, eyes wide with alarm.
"I—I didn't mean—"
Kaelen's throat worked. His voice, when it came, was rough-edged and warm. "It's alright. That's good. That's nothing to be ashamed of."
Elara dropped her hands but she was trembling. "I'm sorry, I didn't expect—"
"You don't have to apologize." Seraphine's voice was gentler than she expected it to be. "It sounds like Kaelen knows what he's doing."
Kaelen shot her a look that was half exasperation, half gratitude. Elara let out a shaky breath, her eyes still wide as she adjusted to what had just happened.
"Are you alright?" he asked.
Elara nodded slowly. "I think. That was just... more than I expected."
"Take a moment. Drink some water." He picked up a pitcher from the sideboard and poured her a glass.
Elara drank, her hands still shaking slightly. Then she let out a small laugh, almost disbelieving. "I think I understand why songs are written about this."
Seraphine smiled, but a different tension wound through her. She wanted to know what it felt like to be kissed like that—slowly, carefully, like she mattered.
Her patience was running thin. "My turn."
Kaelen turned to her, that careful consideration still in his eyes. "Are you sure?"
"I've been sure since the kitchen, General." She leaned in before he could ask another question.
This kiss was nothing like Elara's. She pressed in fast, and her mouth was fierce, demanding. Her hands came up to frame his face, pulling him flush against her. It was all need, all heat, and Kaelen groaned low in his throat as his own hands found her hips—wide, firm.
Seraphine's fingers slid into his hair, tugging slightly. She tasted of wine and defiance, and she gave herself over with kind of aggressive surrender that made Kaelen's head spin. He answered her hunger with his own, his hands sliding up her sides to trace her ribs.
She might have lost herself entirely—her senses closing in around him, this solid presence, this kiss that felt like consuming—until a sharp breath from across the room reminded her they weren't alone. She broke away, chest heaving, and looked over to see Elara watching them, lips parted, eyes dark.
Elara's fingers were wrapped around her own forearm like she was holding herself back. There was no jealousy in her gaze—just a raw fascination, a visible tremor. She swallowed hard. "That was..."
"Different," Seraphine finished, trying to catch her breath.
Elara nodded. "It looked..." She trailed off, her cheeks tinting a brighter shade.
Kaelen, still breathing heavy, turned to look at Elara and then back at Seraphine. His hands remained loosely on her hips, his thumbs tracing small circles. "If you're both trying to kill me, you're doing a fine job."
Seraphine laughed, a genuine sound, the tension in her chest loosening into something lighter. She stayed where she was, half in his lap, feeling his heartbeat through his shirt. Elara shifted on the settee, leaning closer without quite realizing it.
"Feel free to keep practicing," Seraphine murmured, and saw Kaelen's eyes darken.
But he gave a slow shake of his head, a rueful smile curving his mouth. Sensation and will warred in his expression for a moment before he pulled back with visible effort. "I can't. I need to stop." His voice was strained but warm. "If I don't stop now, I'll be in no fit state to wait for our wedding night. I'd hate to be too tired to give either of you the attention you deserve."
The silence he left held a charge, sharp in the space between them.
"Then we wait," Elara said softly, her hand finding his.
Seraphine nodded, something settling in her chest. "Three days. Then we'll be married." Her voice broke slightly. "We'll figure it out."
Kaelen squeezed both their hands, his gaze shuttling between them. "We will. That's a promise."
When they eventually retired, the bottles stood empty on the table, and the light had gone out of the sky.