Chapter 5: A Wedding Night of Unease
The ceremony had been a blur of incense and whispered prayers, of stained glass casting crimson and gold across the marble floor, of her father's approving nod from the front row. Seraphine had moved through it like a marionette, her body performing the steps while her mind screamed in a language she couldn't quite translate.
Now, the heavy oak doors of the wedding chamber clicked shut behind them, and the silence that followed was thick enough to choke on.
She stood near the window, her fingers tracing the cold glass, watching the courtyard below empty of guests. The palace staff moved like ants, extinguishing torches, clearing tables, erasing every trace of the celebration. In a few hours, no one would remember the feast. But they would remember the vows.
Elara stood by the massive four-poster bed, her hands clasped in front of her, her gaze fixed on the embroidered canopy like it held the answers to questions she was afraid to ask. She had changed out of her wedding gown into a simple linen shift, and the sight of her bare shoulders made something twist in Kaelen's chest.
He was still in his formal tunic, the collar suddenly too tight. He tugged at it, then stopped, unsure what to do with his hands.
"We could have asked for separate chambers," Seraphine said, not turning from the window. "My father wouldn't have denied us that."
"He would have," Kaelen said quietly. "And we both know it."
She turned, and the firelight caught the sharp angles of her face, the defiant set of her jaw. "Then we should have asked anyway. Made him say no in front of the entire court."
"And what would that have accomplished?"
"It would have proven—" She stopped, her hands curling into fists at her sides. "It would have proven that I'm not just a piece to be moved around his game board."
Kaelen took a step toward her, then stopped. The space between them felt like a chasm.
"You're not a piece," he said. "And I'm not your enemy."
"You're not my anything." The words came out sharp, but he saw the tremble in her lower lip, the way she bit down on it immediately.
The fire crackled in its hearth, filling the silence with a sound that was almost like breathing. Elara shifted on the edge of the bed, her voice soft when it finally came. "We should talk. Like he said we would."
Seraphine let out a bitter laugh. "Talk. Right. Because talking has solved so much between us."
"It's solved something," Elara said, her voice quiet but steady. "We're still here. We're still trying."
The words hung in the air, and Seraphine's shoulders dropped a fraction. She leaned her forehead against the cool glass, and when she spoke, her voice was muffled. "I hate that you're both so reasonable. It makes it very hard to stay angry."
Kaelen felt something loosen in his chest. He crossed the room slowly, giving her every chance to tell him to stop, and stopped when he was close enough to see his own reflection in the window beside hers.
"You don't have to stay angry," he said. "You don't have to pretend you're fine. You don't have to be anything." He paused, his voice dropping. "But we're here, Seraphine. All three of us. In this room, on this night, whether we planned it or not. And I'd rather spend it learning something real about you than pretending we're strangers."
She turned to face him, her green eyes searching his face. Whatever she was looking for, she seemed to find it. Her breath came out shaky.
"Three days ago, I was planning to climb out a window and steal a horse," she said. "I had a map. I had a route. I had a contact in the next province who was going to smuggle me to the coast."
"Did you?" Kaelen asked, a note of surprise in his voice.
"I did." A bitter smile crossed her lips. "But then I met you. And Elara. And I realized that escaping would mean leaving you both to face my father's wrath, and I couldn't do that to people who had been nothing but kind to me." She shook her head. "I don't know if that makes me brave or stupid."
"Maybe both," he said, and there was warmth in his voice. "Most of the bravest people I know are a little stupid."
She laughed, a real laugh that seemed to surprise even her. Elara looked up, a hesitant smile on her lips.
"That's the first time I've heard you laugh," Elara said softly.
Seraphine's smile faded, replaced by something more contemplative. "It's been a long time since I had a reason to."
The three of them looked at each other, the silence between them shifting from weighted to expectant. Kaelen moved to the bed and sat on the edge, leaving space on either side of him.
"Come here," he said, and his voice was rough in a way that made both women's breath catch. "Both of you. We don't have to do anything. I just want to be close to you."
Elara moved first, crossing the room with quiet steps and settling on his left side, her shoulder brushing his arm. She was trembling slightly, and he reached out to take her hand.
In his deep voice, Kaelen said, "I meant what I said. You tell me to stop and I stop." He squeezed gently, feeling her trembling. For a moment, he thought she might still flee. Then her fingers curled around his, fitting like they had always belonged there.
Seraphine remained frozen by the window. The firelight continued its dance across her skin. She looked at them—at Elara's hand in Kaelen's, at the open space on his right side.
Every instinct she had was screaming at her to stay where she was. To keep her distance. To remember that this was a cage, no matter how gilded its bars.
But then Kaelen looked at her, and she saw something she hadn't seen before. He was afraid. Not of her, not of the situation—afraid that he would fail them, that he would reach out and find nothing but empty space where his wives should have been.
She crossed the room, her bare feet silent on the thick carpet. She sat on his right side, her hip brushing his, her arm carefully not touching.
"Oh, for the love of—" She grabbed his hand and placed it on her own, her skin startlingly warm. "Quit looking at me like I'm going to shatter."
Kaelen blinked, then let out a rough sound that was half laugh, half groan. "You're going to make this difficult, aren't you?"
"I'm going to make it real," she corrected, meeting his gaze. "That's harder than difficult."
Elara leaned forward, looking past Kaelen to meet Seraphine's eyes. "I'm glad you're here," she said quietly.
"Where else would I be?" Seraphine asked, but there was no bite in it.
The fire popped, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Kaelen sat between them, connected to both by hands and warmth and the weight of the vows they had spoken.
He wanted to do this right. Not because they were his brides and he owed them something legal. Because they were people he was growing to care for and he wanted them to feel, for the first time in maybe years, like someone was truly in their corner.
"Tell me something real," he said, his gaze fixed on the fire. "Something you've never told anyone."
The room was silent for a long moment. He felt Seraphine shift beside him, her edge softening, a quiet stillness descending over her.
"I never learned to read until I was fourteen," she finally said. Her voice barely carried over the fire's crackle. "My tutors tried to teach me, but I was so angry after my mother died—I didn't want to learn anything from anyone. I wanted to stay angry because it was easier than facing the fact that she was gone."
Kaelen turned to look at her, the firelight catching the vulnerability in her eyes.
"In my final year at the academy," he began slowly, "when I was offered the title and the land—my commanding officer warned me not to take it." He laughed, but it was hollow. "He said I was a soldier, not a lord. That I'd drown in the paperwork and the politics and the endless quiet. I didn't listen."
He looked down at her hand in his, seeing her strength through new eyes. "He died two years later in a skirmish I should have been leading. I was here, attending a harvest festival, when the news arrived." Her breath caught, and his thumb traced soft circles over her knuckles, a gesture of understanding that spoke louder than words. "I've always wondered if he would have survived if I'd been there. If I'd been where I belonged."
The confession hung between them, raw.
Elara's voice, when it came, was barely above a whisper. "I used to pretend my mother wrote to me." She felt both their gazes shift to her, but she couldn't meet them at first. She kept her eyes fixed on their joined hands, her thumb stroking slow over his knuckles. "I would find old letters in her desk, ones my father had saved from when they were courting, and I would just... imagine she had written them to me. That she was somewhere in the world and one day she would come home."
Her voice trembled, but she pushed on, the confession spilling out of her like something long held back. "I was six when she died. I don't even remember her face. But I remember the shape of her handwriting, the way she curled her 'e's, and I would trace them with my fingers at night, pretending she'd just stepped out of the room and would be back any minute."
The fire had burned low, casting long shadows across the bed, when Elara finally fell asleep, her head resting on Kaelen's shoulder. He looked down at her honey-brown hair, the soft curve of her lashes on her cheeks, and felt her breathing even out into rest. He felt a fierce protectiveness he couldn't quite name.
Seraphine was still awake beside him, her hand loose in his, her gaze distant and unreadable.
"Are you tired?" he asked softly.
She shook her head. "Haven't been able to sleep the past few nights."
"Me neither."
He shifted carefully, easing Elara down onto the pillow without waking her, then pulled a blanket over her shoulders. She murmured something in her sleep that might have been his name, and his chest ached at the sound.
Seraphine watched him, a strange expression flickering across her face. There was a softness and confusion to it as she considered the movement.
"What?" he asked.
"You're gentle with her." She paused there, struggling to fit her next words into place. "You're gentle with both of us. I didn't expect that."
Kaelen moved to face her, one knee on the mattress, close enough that their breath mingled in the space between them. "What did you expect?"
"I expected a soldier." Her voice was quiet. "Someone who would take what he wanted and never ask. Someone who saw us as prizes to be claimed."
"If I wanted a prize, I would have chosen a portrait to hang on my wall." He reached out, slowly, and tucked a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. She flinched at the gesture, but held still. "I chose people, Seraphine. Because I wanted to build something that wasn't made of blood and steel."
She let her breath out slowly. "My father's whole court is watching us. Waiting for me to fail my way out of this marriage one tantrum at a time." Her self-deprecating humor fell a little flat. "They expect a show."
Her gaze fell past his shoulder to the massive bed behind them, then back to him. A flicker of wickedness returned to her eyes.
"What if we gave them one?" Her voice dropped to a murmur. "What if my tantrums stop because I've found a man who can keep up with all the fire I carry?"
Kaelen's pulse kicked. "Seraphine—
"I'm not asking for forever," she interrupted, raw and honest. "I'm asking for tonight. Just tonight. I want to know what it feels like to be chosen for me, not for my bloodline."
The silence between them was thick with unspoken words. He almost said yes. Almost closed the distance between them.
Instead, what he said was: "I've never touched anyone who didn't surrender first." His voice was barely audible under the gravity of his confession. "Not like that. Not for mutual pleasure. Always in the aftermath of violence—feverish, frantic, every touch a question of who lived and who died."
Her breath caught. She looked at him, the firelight catching the silver in his hair.
"I don't know if I know how to be soft," he admitted. His hand came up to rest over his heart, a fierce ache wedged behind his ribs. "I don't know if I know how to touch someone without thinking about what I could take from them instead of what I could give."
She watched the confession settle into his skin, the lines of his face.
"Then we learn together," Seraphine said.
She moved before she could second-guess herself, shifting onto her knees to face him fully. The lamp had guttered low, leaving them in firelight and shadow. She reached for his hand and guided it to her waist, over the thin silk of her shift, and pressed his palm flat against her hip.
"Start with this," she said quietly. "One touch. Just learn what it feels like."
His breath hitched, but he didn't pull away. His hand felt warm through the fabric, a solid weight at her waist. She watched the shifting emotions cross his face as he adjusted to the contact, his hand slowly relaxing against the curve of her hip.
She reached down, her fingers brushing over his knuckles. He flinched at the softness, his jaw tightening, but he held still.
"You're allowed to be uncertain," she whispered. "We all are."
"I'm not used to being allowed things," he said roughly.
"Then let me teach you."
He looked at her through the shadow and firelight, and something in that moment shifted. She saw him take a slow breath, reach out with his other hand to rest it at her other hip, drawing her gently closer. Not demanding. Just present.
"This okay?" he asked.
She nodded.
He leaned in until his forehead rested against hers. In close, in the quiet warmth of the fire, he exhaled a tremulous breath. She felt it feather across her lips and a shiver of vulnerability skittered down her spine.
"I'm scared," he admitted. It emerged so small and broken it barely sounded like his voice at all. "More scared than I was on any battlefield."
"Of me?"
"Of failing you. Of being too much or not enough. Of waking up in ten years and realizing I never learned how to love you the way you deserve—either of you."
Her throat tightened. She brought her hand up to frame his face, her thumb tracing the line of his scar. He closed his eyes at her touch, leaning into it like a man seeking warmth.
"You're already succeeding," she whispered, watching him. "Because you're trying. Because you're here. Because you didn't run."
He opened his eyes and his gaze was soft and searching. "And you? Are you still planning to run?"
She looked at him for a long moment. There was something in his face—quiet, raw, hopeful—that made her chest ache.
"No," she said. "I'm not."
Some distance away on the mattress, Elara stirred, murmuring in her sleep. They both stilled until she settled. Kaelen let out a quiet breath, and Seraphine felt the corner of her mouth quirk in a dark share of amusement. She glanced back at him, a spark of mischief flickering in her green eyes.
"We should sleep," she said, but she didn't pull away.
"We should," he agreed, but he didn't either.
Their foreheads remained touching, their breaths mingling in the space between them. Eventually, Kaelen pulled back just enough to meet her eyes.
"Will you stay here?" he asked, indicating his side of the bed. "Both of you? I'd like to wake up knowing you're still here."
The request was so earnest, so vulnerable, that she almost laughed. But she didn't. She nodded, settling onto the mattress beside Elara, who shifted in her sleep to make room. There was a quiet intimacy in the way her body instinctively curled toward the warmth.
Kaelen lay down on the other side of Seraphine, keeping a careful space between them.
She reached across that gap, her fingers finding his hand in the dark, lacing with his. Without hesitation, she pulled it to rest over her heart.
"Feel that?" she whispered. "That's trust. Try to hold onto it."
His breath caught in the darkness. For a long moment, chest to back, he simply breathed and listened. When his voice came, it sounded steadier—like something was settling into place. "I'll protect it with everything I have."
"I know you will," she murmured into the dark. "That's why I gave it to you."
The fire surrendered its last warmth, leaving the room to the quiet hush of three hearts finding their rhythm together. Outside the window, the first pale hues of dawn began to bleed across the horizon. They had a long road ahead—nights of uncertainty, days of learning each other's jagged edges, a world that would watch and judge and whisper.
But for now, in the quiet dark, they had this: hands intertwined, breath steadying, three people choosing to hold on rather than let go.
Elara stirred, her hand finding Kaelen's chest in her sleep, curling into the warmth like she had always belonged there. Kaelen looked down at her, then at Seraphine, something raw and reverent passing through his gaze.
Over their joined hands, the dawn crept closer.
Over their joined hands, the dawn crept closer, painting the sky in shades of rose and amber that bled through the heavy curtains. Seraphine woke first, her cheek pressed against Kaelen's chest, her hand still tangled with his. She blinked, disoriented by the warmth surrounding her, by the steady rhythm of a heartbeat beneath her ear.
For a moment, she forgot where she was. Then the weight of the previous night crashed back—the vows, the chamber, the whispered confessions that had cracked something open inside her chest.
She lifted her head carefully, not wanting to wake him. In the pale morning light, Kaelen looked younger somehow. The deep lines of worry that usually carved his face had softened, and his scar seemed less harsh, more like a map of survival than a mark of violence.
Elara was still asleep on his other side, her honey-brown hair splayed across the pillow, her hand resting on his chest like she had always slept there. Her face held a peace that made Seraphine's throat tight.
No one had run.
Kaelen stirred, his eyes opening slowly. They found hers immediately, and something warm flickered in them when he saw her still there.
"Morning," he said, his voice rough with sleep.
"Morning." She didn't pull away.
His hand tightened around hers. "You stayed."
"Told you I would."
The words felt heavier than she had intended, weighted with promises she wasn't sure she was ready to keep. But she didn't take them back.
Elara shifted, a soft sound escaping her lips as she woke. Her gray eyes blinked open, first confused, then softening as she registered where she was and who she was with. A shy smile curved her lips.
"This is nice," she murmured. "Waking up like this."
Kaelen let out a breath that might have been relief. "It is."
They lay there for a while longer, none of them willing to break the spell. The estate would be waiting for them. The king had granted them two days before they were expected to leave for Kaelen's lands, two days to begin the long process of becoming a family.
Eventually, hunger won out. They dressed in silence, each lost in their own thoughts. Seraphine found her reflection in the polished glass and paused, startled by the woman who stared back at her. She looked different. Softer around the edges.
The carriage ride back to Kaelen's estate felt shorter than the journey to the capital had been. They sat close, Elara wedged between Kaelen and Seraphine, the silence comfortable rather than strained.
"What do you think the estate will be like?" Elara asked, her voice carrying a hint of nervousness.
"Quiet," Kaelen said. "The staff are loyal. They'll give us space to settle in."
"Or they'll be watching every move we make," Seraphine added, but there was no bite in her voice. Just tired pragmatism.
Kaelen's hand found hers. "They'll be happy to see you. Both of you. I've known most of them for years—they're good people."
The gates of the estate appeared on the horizon, and Seraphine felt her shoulders tense. This was real now. This was home. She was coming home to a place she had never seen, to people she had never met, to a life she had never imagined.
When the carriage rolled to a stop in the courtyard, it wasn't empty.
Lanterns were strung across the entrance, their paper shades catching the afternoon light. Garlands of wildflowers draped the railings, and the smell of roasting meat drifted from the kitchen. Tomas stood at the head of a cluster of staff, her weathered face split in a wide grin.
"Welcome home, General!" Tomas called. "Welcome home, ladies!"
Kaelen stepped out of the carriage first and froze, his eyes scanning the scene in confusion. He turned to Tomas, a look on his face that was almost vulnerability. "What is all this?"
"A wedding celebration," Tomas said, as if it were obvious. She stepped forward and clasped his arm with familiar warmth. "You didn't think we'd let you get married without a proper party, did you? We've been planning this for weeks."
Seraphine and Elara emerged from the carriage behind him, and the staff erupted in cheers. Elara flushed, ducking her head, but Seraphine felt the corners of her mouth tug upward despite herself.
"For us?" Seraphine asked.
"For you three," Tomas confirmed. "Now come on. There's wine, there's food, and there's a fiddler who's been waiting all week to play something that isn't a funeral dirge."
The estate transformed as evening fell. Long tables appeared in the courtyard, laden with food Seraphine had never seen outside of palace feasts. The fiddler tuned his instrument in the corner, his nimble fingers coaxing bright melodies into the air. Servants and stable hands and kitchen girls mingled, all wearing their finest clothes, all smiling at her like she was something precious.
Kaelen was pulled to the head of the table, and the stories began almost immediately.
"You should have seen him his first week here," Tomas said, raising her tankard. "Walked into the kitchen at dawn, looked at the hearth like it had personally offended him, and asked where 'the soldiers' were quartered."
"I was still adjusting," Kaelen muttered, but he was smiling.
"He tried to chop his own firewood," one of the stable hands added, a young man with a gap-toothed grin. "Broke three axes before Tomas made him stop."
"I didn't break them. They were poorly made."
"They were perfectly good axes, and you split them in half."
The table erupted in laughter. Seraphine watched Kaelen's cheeks flush, but there was a brightness in his eyes she hadn't seen before. He was relaxed here, more relaxed than she had ever seen him.
Elara leaned closer to Seraphine. "He's different here," she murmured softly, so the men couldn't hear. "Lighter."
Seraphine watched the way Kaelen laughed as someone recounted a story about his attempt to mend a fence. It was genuine, unguarded. She found herself leaning towards Elara, appreciating the same observation in her quiet way. "I like this version of him."
"Me too."
The fiddler struck up a new tune, something lively that made feet tap and tankards clatter. Tomas grabbed Kaelen's hand and pulled him to his feet, dragging him into the center of the courtyard. He protested, but his smile betrayed him as he let himself be drawn into the simple, joyful dance.
Seraphine felt a shy tugging at her elbow and looked down to see Elara, the wine having loosened her usual reserve. Her cheeks were flushed and her smile was wide.
"Dance with me?" Elara asked, her voice a little too loud. "They're all watching, and I want to move."
Without waiting for an answer, Elara pulled Seraphine into the whirl of dancers. They joined hands, laughing, spinning under the lantern light. The fiddler quickened the tempo, and the crowd around them cheered, ringing them in.
Seraphine caught glimpses of Kaelen dancing with Tomas, then with a kitchen maid, then—slowly, deliberately—making his way toward her. Elara spun away, caught up in the reel, leaving Seraphine facing Kaelen alone in the moving crowd.
He took her hand with a softness that made her breath catch. "May I?"
"You've already got my hand," she said roughly, her throat gone dry.
"Then I'll take that as a yes."
He drew her into the dance, his steps surprisingly light for a man of his size. They moved together, the music wrapping around them. In the lantern light, his scars seemed less prominent, his features softer. She watched how his gaze lingered on her lips almost absently.
"How are you feeling?" he asked, close to her ear.
"Drunk," she admitted. "Happy. Confused. All of it."
"That's about right."
The song ended, and the crowd clapped. Kaelen's hands lingered at her waist. "One more?"
"The night is yours, General," she murmured.
He led her through another dance, then another, and Seraphine began to lose track of the hours. The wine flowed freely, the stories grew more exaggerated, and the laughter never seemed to quiet. She found herself tucked under Kaelen's arm, watching Elara attempt a solo reel that had everyone in stitches, her own cheeks aching from smiling.
"Thank you," Kaelen said quietly. She looked at him, but he was watching the party, his expression moved. "I don't remember the last time I felt like this. Like there was something to celebrate instead of just survive."
Seraphine's chest tightened, her smile softening. "You built this. That's why they care."
"I built a place people belong."
"Then that's what we have to carry with us." She turned to him, meeting his eyes, her wine-warm heart open. "And we will. All of us."
The night stretched on, but eventually, the music slowed and the staff began to drift toward their quarters. Tomas squeezed Kaelen's shoulder as she passed. "Yours is a good home, General. Now it's got good people in it too."
Kaelen watched them all go, his expression unreadable. Elara swayed slightly beside him, her hand resting on his arm for balance.
"I think I had too much wine," Elara confessed, her words a little slurred. She looked up at him through heavy-lidded eyes, her gaze tender and direct. "But I think I needed it. To feel braver."
Kaelen smiled. "Come on. Let's get you to bed."
He led them both inside, through the quiet house, up the stairs to the master chamber. The door clicked shut behind them, leaving them in the familiar space lit by a single candle.
Seraphine sank onto the edge of the bed, the warmth of the evening pooling in her head and her heart. She watched Elara sway on her feet as she tried to unlace her dress. Kaelen stepped forward, gently turning her around. He was patient as he worked the knots loose, his knuckles brushing the warm skin of her spine. Elara let out a shaky breath, leaning back into his touch.
"Kaelen?" Her voice was small.
"Hmm?"
"I'm ready."
His hands paused on the laces. "Ready?"
She turned and framed his face with her palms, a soft intentness in her expression. "To be with you. All the way. Tonight." Her voice trembled. "I've never been more sure of anything."
His face flickered with surprise, then grounded into something steady and warm. He searched her features, his own breath catching. "Elara, you've been drinking. I don't want you to regret anything in the morning."
"I won't regret this." She took his hand and pressed it to her cheek, closing her eyes. Her words came out tender but determined. "I've spent my whole life watching other people live, Kaelen. I've been the quiet one, the observer, the historian. I've never once asked for anything for myself." She opened her eyes, and there was a fire there, wine-fueled but fierce. "Tonight, I'm asking for this. I'm asking for you."
Kaelen looked over her shoulder at Seraphine, his gaze seeking guidance. His voice was rough. "Seraphine..."
Seraphine's chest squeezed but not with jealousy. She remembered the raw hunger in Elara's eyes as she watched them kiss, remembered how Elara had never been touched. A warmth moved through her, tenderness and something more.
"I think you should," Seraphine said gently. "I think you should both have this." She paused, the truth settling in her chest. "I'll be here when you're done." She offered a soft, genuine smile. "I'm not going anywhere."
Elara turned to her, a mix of gratitude and surprise in her eyes. "You're sure?"
"I'm sure." Seraphine's voice softened. "Tonight is for you. And perhaps... when you're both ready, we'll find our way to each other too."
The air between them thickened. Kaelen's hands found Elara's waist, drawing her closer. He looked at Seraphine one last time, waiting for her permission. She nodded.
Then he turned to Elara, his thumb tracing her jawline with a reverence that made Seraphine's throat catch. He leaned down and kissed her—soft, searching, like he was learning the shape of her for the first time. Seraphine watched from the edge of the bed as Elara melted into him, her hands sliding up his chest. The room filled with the sound of quiet breathing, the whisper of fabric, the low murmur of two people discovering each other.
Elara pulled back, a sudden shyness crossing her face. "I don't quite know what to do."
Kaelen pressed his forehead to hers. "We'll figure it out together. There's no rush." He glanced at Seraphine, including her in the moment with a flicker of warmth. "We have time."
Elara's hands trembled against him. "I just want it to be real. I want it to mean something."
"It will," Seraphine said softly from the bed, propping herself on one elbow. She watched them, her green eyes hooded with the wine's warmth. "Just start slow, Elara. Follow what feels good. He'll guide you." A small, wicked smile curved her lips. "And if he doesn't, I'll kick him."
Elara let out a nervous giggle, the tension cracking. Kaelen laughed too, pulling her closer.
"See?" he murmured. "We're already figuring it out."
Elara bit her lip at him, sudden determination flaring. She reached for the hem of her shift and pulled it over her head without hesitation, standing before him in the candlelight. Bare skin gleamed golden, and she watched him watch her with a quiet confidence she'd never let herself feel before.
"Tell me I'm beautiful," she whispered.
Kaelen's breath caught. He reached out, his hands settling on her bare shoulders before sliding down the slope of her arms. Fingers wrapped her wrists with a gentle, trembling pressure as he pulled her closer.
"Elara," he murmured, but his voice cracked. He cupped her face again, softer, firmer, filled with an aching reverence. "You are the most beautiful thing I've ever seen."
Was there a whisper in his voice, a storm barely held? She shivered at the sound.
Seraphine reached out from the bed, her fingers brushing Elara's hip. She smiled up at her, warm and reassuring. "He means it. He's been watching you all night."