CHAPTER 90: "PATIENCE"

Soren

Sleep had long abandoned me.

After the chaos of the day, the arrival, the laughter, the market, the discovery of the stowaway, I had thought exhaustion would finally win. Rarely as it did. But the moment I lay down, silence became a trap. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw her.

So I got up.

The night air outside the inn was cool enough to bite, laced with the sharp tang of the River. My men were awake, gathered around a lantern, murmuring over parchment maps and inked routes.

I joined them, though I barely listened. They didn’t need my direction; they knew what to do. I sat on the low stone ledge instead, rolling a rock between my fingers, pretending to be part of their planning.

In truth, my mind was far elsewhere.

Eris.

She’d been the only thing in my head for days now. The only constant. It was pathetic, really, to be an emperor, surrounded by war councils and strategy, and still find myself wondering what she might look like the next time I saw her. Would her hair be loose again, falling down her back like firewater? Would she look at me with that same careful defiance, the kind that could make a man forget his name?

I thought of her voice, the way it curved around my name when she was angry, how easily it could cut and soften in the same breath.

And then I thought of the moment she said she was leaving Solmire tonight.

The relief that had flooded me had been almost dizzying.

Before that, for a moment, I had feared she might stay, that she’d turn back to Caelen and the kingdom that had never deserved her. The thought had sat in my chest like a blade. But she hadn’t stayed. She’d looked at me, chosen me, if not with love, then with trust. That was enough for now.

I was halfway through that thought, wondering whether I could ever win her heart, when I heard her voice.

"You don’t sleep much, do you?"

My head lifted.

She was walking toward me.

The courtyard torchlight kissed the edges of her silhouette, her cloak pulled close, hair spilling like the moon across the fabric. I hadn’t expected her. I’d said I was waiting, yes, but it had been half a jest, half a wish. I hadn’t truly believed she’d come.

For a second, I forgot how to breathe.

"I could ask you the same," I said lightly, shifting to make space beside me. I brushed a bit of dust off the stone, a useless gesture of chivalry, and nodded toward it. "You can sit, if you like."

She hesitated, always so careful, even now, then walked the rest of the way and lowered herself beside me. The air changed instantly. Warmer. Sharper.

From this close, the moonlight touched her skin like reverence. Her profile was all quiet fire, the faint curve of her lashes, the soft gleam at the corner of her mouth, the proud line of her throat. I found myself staring, completely unashamed.

She noticed, of course. "You’re staring again," she murmured.

"Why should I sleep," I said, smiling, "when I can stare at you all day?"

Her head turned just enough for me to catch the sharp flick of her glare. It made me grin wider. I liked her like this, irritated, alive.

"Do you always do that?" she asked suddenly.

"Do what?"

"Make jokes like that. Be... flirtatious." The word seemed strange on her tongue, as though she wasn’t used to saying it. "Is it something you do with every woman that dares to cross your path?"

I tilted my head, pretending to think. "Only with women who rival your beauty." I paused, just to enjoy the faint lift of her brow. "Which, I’m afraid, I haven’t met."

She sighed, that kind of sigh that meant she was trying not to smile. "You should learn to behave, Your Majesty. Keep this up, and you’ll scare away all the women who actually like you."

I frowned. "What women?"

"The ones you’ll meet in Nevareth," she said smoothly, eyes still forward. "If you keep flirting with an older, divorced woman, they might get jealous."

That stung more than it should have.

Older. Divorced. She said it like a verdict. Like a wall she already built up between us.

"You are my wife," I said before I could stop myself.

That made her look at me. Disbelief flashed across her face. "We haven’t exchanged vows officially," she reminded, voice cautious.

"It doesn’t matter." I leaned a little closer. "We could do it now. My authority allows it."

She scoffed, quietly, elegantly. "You should learn patience, Emperor."

Patience. The one thing I had never been good at.

Without thinking, I reached for her hand. Her fingers were warm, hot, even, like holding sunlight. My thumb brushed against her knuckles before I could stop it, and I watched the small hitch of her breath.

"Then perhaps you can teach me," I said softly.

Her brows knit. "Teach you what?"

"Patience." I clasped her hand tighter, smirking. "If you must know the kind of woman I like..." I brought her hand up slowly until it rested near my cheek. "It’s older women who teach me how to wait."

Her face went blank for a second, and then the faintest, prettiest flush crept up her neck.

I almost laughed from the sheer triumph of it.

She yanked her hand back at once. "You need to learn to respect your elders." She started to rise, probably to escape before I said something worse.

But instinct moved faster than thought.

I caught her wrist gently, and tugged her back down. Not beside me this time. Onto me.

She landed on my lap with a startled sound, half glare, half breath, and I shifted just enough to steady her weight. Though I must confess the brush of her figure against me was torture.

Still...

My arms came around her without command, fitting perfectly around her waist.

Her body went tense. "What do you think you’re doing?"

"Warming myself," I murmured near her ear. "It’s cold."

"You have a cloak."

"This is better."

She sighed, but it wasn’t sharp this time. More... resigned. And though she grumbled under her breath about "inappropriate emperors," she didn’t move away.

Slowly, her weight settled into me. I could feel her warmth seeping through every layer of cloth, a living, steady heat that made the cold in my bones retreat. My chin brushed her shoulder; her hair smelled faintly of smoke and something softer, something I couldn’t name.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t dare.

Minutes slipped by, stretched thin by the sound of her breathing. The courtyard around us had gone utterly still, the kind of stillness that makes every heartbeat sound too loud.

When I finally looked down again, her head had tilted slightly against my chest.

Asleep.

Her lips parted in the faintest sigh. A lock of hair fell across her face, glowing faintly in the moonlight. I brushed it aside without thinking, my fingers barely grazing her skin.

And for once, the world didn’t feel divided between fire and ice.

Just quiet.

Just her.