Silence fell over the small, warm hut.
The iron stove crackled quietly, casting flickering light over the fur rugs.
Kaelen turned his head, looking at Soren.
Soren was sitting perfectly straight, his face turned toward the far wall, his expression entirely blank, like a flawless marble statue.
“Soren,” Kaelen said softly.
“We should rest, Commander,” Soren said immediately, his voice flat, polite, and completely devoid of the sharp warmth they had shared just hours ago in the pine grove.
“It’s a long walk tomorrow.”
Soren shifted on the bench, turning his body away from Kaelen as far as the three-foot chain would allow, pulling his knees up to his chest and closing his eyes.
Kaelen stared at him in the dim light, feeling a strange, sudden chill seep into the room that had nothing to do with the winter wind outside.
He reached out a hand to touch Soren’s shoulder, but stopped mid-air, sensing the invisible, sharp wall Soren had just built between them.
Slowly, Kaelen withdrew his hand, looking down at the chain resting in the space between them—now feeling heavier, colder, and infinitely longer than three feet.
The next morning, the mountain fog blew down from the high peaks in thick, milky waves, smelling faintly of sulfur.
Before the sun had even cleared the horizon, Ash-Haven was already lost beneath a cold, grey veil.
Soren pulled his heavy traveling cloak tighter around his chest, his gloved fingers tucked tightly into the dark wool.
His left wrist felt heavy because the chain hung between him and Kaelen in a low loop, clinking softly against their leather boots with every single step they took through the frozen mud.
Ten feet ahead of them, Rys moved like a ghost through the fog.
The smuggler walked with an easy, fluid grace, his silver earring catching what little light filtered through the mist.
He didn’t seem to feel the biting cold at all.
Every few minutes, Rys would drop back, dropping his stride to match Kaelen’s long steps, his eyes bright with an easy, familiar warmth.
“I still can’t believe you’re letting yourself get dragged all the way out to the Sunken Ruins, Kaelen,” Rys said, his voice light and teasing as he threw a casual look over his shoulder.
“The Citadel must be falling apart if they’re sending their prized High Handsome Alpha to fetch herbs in the Reaches.”
Kaelen didn’t smile, but there was no tension in his shoulders and was simply relaxed since he viewed Rys as a longtime friend so he wasn’t guarded.
He kept his eyes on the trail ahead, his dark hair damp from the mountain mist.
“Circumstances changed.”
“Circumstances,” Rys echoed, his lips curving into a sharp, charming smirk.
He slowed his pace even more, coming to walk right beside Kaelen’s right shoulder.
“Is that what we’re calling him now?”
Soren didn’t look up from the muddy ground.
He kept his face entirely smooth, his eyes fixed on the heel of Kaelen’s heavy iron-plated boot.
‘Look at him, so desperate’ Soren thought, a dark, sharp bitterness curling right behind his ribs.
Look at the way he leans in.
Look at the way he smiles like he owns the air Kaelen breathes.
While on the outside, Soren’s expression was as cold and blank as a frozen pond.
He kept his spine straight, his chin lifted, wearing the exact same cool, professional mask he used to wear when facing the high lords in the Citadel court.
“I believe the trail narrows up ahead, Mr.
Rys,” Soren said, his voice coming out perfectly even, crisp, and polite.
“Perhaps our guide should remain in front, so we don’t wander off the path.”
Rys stopped, turning around to look at Soren with an amused tilt of his head.
“So formal, little spell-cutter.
You’ve been staring at the dirt for two miles.
I was just trying to keep the Commander entertained.”
“The Commander does not require entertainment,” Soren replied smoothly, his tone as light and dry as parchment.
“He requires a clear path.
But do continue.”
Kaelen glanced down at Soren, his golden eyes narrowing slightly as he picked up on the sharp, icy edge hidden behind Soren’s immaculate manners.
“Soren.
Are you holding up alright?
“I am entirely fine, Commander,” Soren said, refusing to make direct eye contact.
He kept his gaze fixed on Kaelen’s chin.
“My stamina is quite sufficient.
You need not concern yourself with me.”
Commander.
The word hung between them like a sudden wall of ice.
Just yesterday, in the dark pine grove after the fight, Kaelen had been Kaelen.
Now, Soren had shoved the title back between them like a shield.
Kaelen’s jaw tightened, a faint shadow of frustration passing across his dark features, but before he could say anything, Rys let out a soft laugh and reached out, his leather-gloved fingers lightly tapping Kaelen’s broad forearm.
“Don’t pester him, Kaelen,” Rys purred softly.
“Mages are fragile creatures.
They get touchy when their spell-dust runs low.”
Soren watched Rys’s hand linger on
Kaelen’s arm.
He watched the way Kaelen didn’t pull away—didn’t shake the touch off the way he usually did with strangers.
Fragile.
Soren’s fingers flexed inside his gloves, his knuckles turning white.
I fought off five poisoned spear-men while empty of magic, and this black-market thief calls me fragile.
Soren didn’t say a word.
He simply drew his breath in slowly through his nose, holding it until the sharp burn in his chest settled into a hard, cold stone.
He kept walking, letting the silent friction simmer beneath his skin.
Soren is about to explode behind that cold mask!
Hehe!
Chapter updates coming very soon