Kael remained beside the bed after his parents left, crouched close enough that Nia could still feel the warmth coming from him even through the blankets.
“You know,” she said carefully, holding the folded clothes his mother had brought, “staring at people this much would probably make most strangers nervous.”
“It makes you nervous too.”
Nia narrowed her eyes. “You are not supposed to agree with me.”
Kael’s mouth shifted faintly. “Then stop saying accurate things.”
She looked down at the clothes instead. The fabric felt soft beneath her fingers, thick enough to hold warmth but flexible enough not to feel heavy. The stitching was careful and even, and the material smelled faintly of smoke and something clean she could not name.
“My mother made those,” Kael said.
“She makes all the clothing?”
“Most of it. Others weave too, but she likes making things with her hands.”
Nia smoothed her thumb over one seam. The more she observed the tribe, the more she realized their lives had simply developed around different priorities than the ones she grew up with. Strength, warmth, durability, and surviving harsh winters shaped nearly everything she had seen so far, from the mountain homes to the heavy clothing and communal gathering spaces.
Unfortunately, none of that solved the immediate problem of Kael still crouching in front of her while she needed to change.
“Are you planning to leave the room?”
Kael blinked. “Why would I leave?”
“Because people usually want privacy while changing clothes.”
“You’re injured.”
“That does not cancel out modesty.”
His gaze moved over her face as though he was trying to understand the rule rather than dismiss it.
“You truly don’t want me here while you change?”
“Yes.”
Kael was quiet for a moment, then stood.
“I’ll wait outside the curtain.”
Nia blinked at how easily he accepted it.
Before stepping out, he looked back at her.
“Call if your ankle worsens.”
“You’re standing right outside the room.”
“I can still wait outside.”
The curtain shifted closed behind him.
Silence settled through the sleeping chamber. Nia changed carefully, trying not to put pressure on her ankle while pulling the dry clothes on one piece at a time. The fabric trapped warmth compared to the soaked clothing she peeled away from her skin, and by the time she finished fastening the last layer, she felt significantly more human again.
She draped her damp clothes over a wooden stand near the lantern before settling back onto the bed with a quiet exhale. The room smelled faintly of smoke, clean fur, worn leather, and Kael himself, which was a detail she wished her mind had chosen not to notice.
A soft sound came from beyond the curtain.
“Can I come back in?”
“You can come in.”
Kael entered carrying a shallow wooden tray with a steaming bowl and a clay cup. His gaze landed on her first and stayed there long enough for suspicion to rise.
“What?”
“You smell better warm.”
Nia nearly choked on air.
“You really do say whatever enters your mind, don’t you?”
“If it matters.”
“That should concern me more than it currently does.”
Kael set the tray near her legs and sat close enough that his warmth reached her through the blankets.
“You barely ate earlier.”
“You watched me enough to measure that?”
“Yes.”
Of course he had.
Nia picked up the bowl carefully. The broth was hot and full of tender meat, but once she tasted it, she understood it in the same way she had understood the first bowl. It was not bad. It was clean, warm, and filling. It tasted like meat boiled until the strength of it entered the liquid, with nothing added to pull the flavor brighter or deeper. No salt that she could detect, no aromatics, no spice, no careful layering. The food did what it was meant to do for people who ate for energy, but it did not invite pleasure.
Kael watched her face.
“You’re thinking about the food again.”
Nia lowered the bowl slightly.
“You noticed?”
“You looked at it like it had offended you.”
“It didn’t offend me.”
“But?”
She hesitated, then decided careful honesty was safer than pretending.
“It tastes useful.”
Kael’s brows lowered slightly.
“Useful.”
“It warms me. It fills me. The meat is tender. Whoever made it knows how to cook it long enough for that.”
She took another sip before continuing, partly because she was hungry enough that even bland broth felt precious.
“But it does not taste like anyone expected it to be enjoyed.”
Kael leaned forward slightly.
“Food makes the body strong.”
“It can do that and still make people happy to eat it.”
He was quiet after that, not dismissing her words, simply considering them with the same focus he gave everything involving her.
Nia looked down into the bowl. She had no intention of explaining the orphanage, the hunger, or the way cooking had become one of the only things in her life capable of making a place feel warm and safe again, especially not to a man she had met only today, but she still found herself answering a little.
“Food can change the way a place feels,” she said. “A warm meal can make people feel safe even before anything around them actually changes.”
Kael’s gaze remained on her, but he did not ask for more than she had offered.
“Then you’ll tell me what would make it better.”
Nia looked up.
“The broth?”
“Yes.”
“You want my opinion?”
“I asked for it.”
She studied him for a moment before glancing back at the bowl.
“Salt, if you have it. Something sharp if you do not. A sour leaf, a root with bite, or something fragrant added earlier while it cooks. Even one strong herb chosen for flavor instead of only usefulness would change it.”
Kael listened without interrupting.
Nia paused when she realized how comfortable her voice had become.
“I did not mean to insult your food.”
“You didn’t.”
“You’re very sure.”
“You explained it.”
That response was harder to argue with than she expected.
She took another spoonful, then glanced toward the clay cup.
“What is that?”
“Tea. My mother uses it when someone has been in the cold too long.”
Nia accepted the cup when he handed it to her. The tea smelled earthy and faintly sweet, with a resinous note she did not recognize. She took a cautious sip and let the flavor settle over her tongue.
“This is good.”
“Better than the broth?”
She looked at him over the cup.
“Are you fishing for food criticism?”
“I want to know what face you make.”
“That is not better.”
“It is more honest.”
Nia huffed softly.
“The tea has more balance. The broth is plain because no one seasoned it.”
“We usually boil, grill, or eat fresh meat raw. Broth is for warmth and strength.”
“That explains a lot.”
Kael’s eyes narrowed slightly.
“You don’t eat that way?”
“Sometimes. But I like food to have layers.”
“Layers,” he repeated.
“Flavor that changes as you eat. Heat, sharpness, richness, softness, something fragrant, something bright. Food can be filling and still make you want the next bite for more than hunger.”
Kael watched her with an intensity that made her suddenly aware of how much she had revealed without saying anything directly.
“You care about it deeply.”
Nia stirred the broth once with the spoon.
“I do.”
He did not ask why.
That made it easier to keep sitting beside him.
A faint sound moved through the outer room, followed by his mother’s voice and retreating footsteps. Kael stood and returned a moment later with a wrapped bundle that steamed faintly between layers of cloth.
“Hot stones?” Nia asked.
“Warm stones. Hot enough to help, not enough to burn.”
He sat near her feet and unwrapped the bundle. Several smooth dark stones rested inside, radiating steady heat. He tested each one against the inside of his wrist before wrapping one in thinner cloth and glancing at her face.
“You can lift my foot,” she said before he asked.
Kael’s hand slid beneath her ankle with careful control. His fingers were warm, his claws angled away from her skin, and the stone settled near the swelling without pressing against the tenderest part. Heat spread slowly into the ache.
Nia released a breath before she could stop herself.
“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.”
Kael placed another wrapped stone near the other side of her ankle, then adjusted the blanket so the warmth stayed trapped without making the pressure uncomfortable.
“You know how to do this well,” she said.
“I hunt. I fight. I lead people who hunt and fight. Injuries are common.”
“That makes sense.”
He looked up at her.
“You sound surprised anyway.”
“I think I am surprised by how gentle you are with your hands.”
Kael went still for the briefest moment.
The words settled between them before Nia fully processed what she had said.
His gaze lifted to hers slowly, and the quiet between them warmed in a way that had nothing to do with the stones.
She looked back down at the tea.
“Do not make that strange.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were about to.”
His mouth shifted faintly.
“I was thinking.”
“That is not reassuring.”
“I was thinking I like when you stop being afraid of me.”
Nia’s fingers tightened around the cup.
She did not know how to answer that without giving away too much, so she chose not to answer directly.
“I am still cautious.”
“I know.”
“That is not the same as fear.”
“I know.”
Nia looked down into her tea instead of answering immediately.
Kael rose only long enough to set the empty wrapping aside before returning to the edge of the bed. He did not crowd her. He remained close enough to help if she shifted wrong, but not close enough to trap her. Nia noticed the distance because he clearly chose it deliberately.
She finished more of the broth than expected. Bland or not, it warmed her stomach and softened the shaking exhaustion that had been sitting under her skin since the forest. By the time she set the bowl aside, her eyelids felt heavier.
Kael took the cup from her before it tilted.
“Sleep.”
“You are very bossy.”
“You’re almost asleep while arguing.”
“I can multitask.”
“You should not be proud of that.”
Nia leaned back against the pillows despite herself.
“I am not sleeping while you sit there staring at me.”
“I can face the wall.”
“That is worse somehow.”
“Why?”
“Because then I’ll know you are deliberately not staring.”
Kael seemed to consider that.
“That sounds like improvement.”
“It sounds suspicious.”
His quiet rumble returned, soft enough that the sound blended with the fire beyond the curtain.
Nia pulled the blanket higher around herself.
“Do you ever get tired of finding me entertaining?”
“No.”
“That was not the answer I wanted.”
“It was accurate.”
“Accuracy is overrated.”
“Not by people who survive winter.”
Nia opened one eye to look at him.
“That was almost philosophical.”
“My council would be pleased.”
“Your council complains about you, don’t they?”
“Often.”
“I understand them completely.”
Kael’s eyes warmed with amusement, and for a moment Nia forgot how tired she was.
Firelight from the outer room moved faintly along the hard lines of his face, catching in the gold of his eyes and the damp black hair near his cheek. Nia liked beautiful things. She liked colors, textures, flowers, voices, careful craftsmanship, and faces that made her pause before she remembered herself. Beauty did not need to mean love or trust or safety. It was simply something her senses recognized, and Kael was becoming increasingly difficult for her senses to ignore.
Kael went very still beneath her gaze.
She had been looking at him long enough that the silence began to feel noticeable.
She turned her attention toward the blanket.
“Your mother’s clothes are comfortable.”
Kael let the subject change happen.
“She’ll be pleased.”
“She seems kind.”
“She is.”
“Your father too.”
“He pretends to be less kind than he is.”
Nia smiled faintly.
“That sounds familiar.”
Kael watched her for another moment.
“They like you.”
“They barely know me.”
“That matters less here than you think.”
Nia’s fingers tightened lightly against the blanket.
“It matters where I’m from.”
Kael did not answer immediately, and when he finally spoke, his voice held a careful steadiness she had not expected from him.
“Then here can be different.”
The words settled between them quietly.
Nia did not know enough to believe that fully, but some part of her wanted to. Wanting to believe in that kindness felt riskier than she liked. That was what made the kindness dangerous. Wanting to believe in safety could make a person careless.
Her eyes lowered despite her effort to keep them open.
Kael took the bowl and cup from the bed and set them aside. When he returned, he adjusted the blanket over her shoulders without disturbing her ankle.
“I’m not asleep,” she murmured.
“No.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
“You sound asleep.”
She would have argued more, but her body had begun sinking into the bedding with humiliating gratitude. The warmth around her ankle, the dry clothes, the full stomach, and the steady quiet of the cave all pressed down gently until her thoughts blurred at the edges.
Kael remained beside the bed long after her breathing slowed.
He should have left the chamber once she slept, but the thought of stepping away while her scent still carried pain and exhaustion felt wrong. So he stayed where he was, close enough to hear if she stirred and far enough not to crowd her when she woke.
His mother would laugh at him in the morning. His father would say nothing and look amused anyway. The council would have questions, and Kael already knew he would dislike most of them.
He looked at Nia’s sleeping face and decided none of that mattered tonight.