Darian
The library was quiet, the sort of silence that wrapped around you and held you accountable for every thought. The fire glowed low, the embers flickering against the polished walnut shelves, and the scent of old leather and waxed wood filled the air. I had come here seeking solitude after the day's events—the delivery, the chaos, the fleeting moments of life and death—and yet, I was not alone.
Elowen was there, sitting cross-legged in one of the wingback chairs by the tall windows. A single candle illuminated her face as she bent over a thick, leather-bound medical text, the gold leaf on the spine catching the firelight. Her hair was loose, spilling over one shoulder, soft tendrils brushing her cheek. She looked utterly absorbed in the book, and yet… I could feel her presence across the room, magnetic in its quiet strength.
I stepped closer, boots muffled against the Persian rug. She didn't look up immediately. Even so, the moment I entered fully, the air shifted. It was not just the warmth of her near the fire—it was something else, something in the curve of her neck, the set of her shoulders, the subtle way her breathing quickened.
"Elowen," I said softly, not wanting to startle her.
Her head lifted slowly, those luminous eyes meeting mine. There was a faint flush on her cheeks, and I felt it, deep in my chest, like the strike of a bell I had not anticipated.
"You're here," she murmured, her voice low, tentative, as though testing the sound of me in the room.
I closed the distance between us deliberately, but with care. "I thought I might find you here," I said, my eyes tracing the delicate line of her jaw, the curve of her lips, the way the candlelight caught the gold threads in her gown.
She set the book aside, fingers lingering on its cover for a moment, and then rose. We were closer now than the firelight alone could account for. I could see every detail of her—her pulse quickening at the hollow of her throat, the slight parting of her lips, the warm flush that lingered on her skin.
Without thinking, I lifted my hand, letting it hover near her waist. She didn't pull away. She let me close the space between us, step by careful step. Our eyes held each other in a slow, deliberate dance, and then, impossibly, she reached out, her fingers brushing my chest, and I felt it—a spark that traveled straight to my blood.
And then we kissed.
It began slowly, almost reverently, as though we were learning the contours of each other for the first time. Her lips were soft, warm, yielding in a way that drew me in, pulled me from the edge of restraint I had fought to maintain all these weeks. My hand settled lightly at the small of her back, guiding her closer, feeling the soft heat of her against me.
Her fingers threaded through the leather straps of my tunic, tugging me toward her. The kiss deepened, became more urgent, yet still deliberate, a slow burn that threatened to consume the room around us. I felt her inhale sharply against me, the scent of lavender and rose lingering as she pressed closer, and I gave in to the gravity of her entirely.
The fire crackled, shadows dancing across the walls, but we were alone in a world of touch and taste and whispered breaths. Our foreheads pressed together briefly, just to catch our bearings, and then she tilted her head back, and I kissed her again—this time, fiercely, desperately, letting every unspoken thought and every denied desire pour through the simple act of our lips meeting.
When we finally parted, breathless and trembling, I kept my forehead against hers, inhaling the warmth and strength she carried. Her eyes were wide, shining with something fierce and tender all at once.
"You… you should not have done this," she whispered, voice husky, though I could hear the laugh lurking just beneath the surface.
"Neither should I," I murmured, letting a slow grin tug at my mouth. "And yet… I would do it again."
She laughed softly, a sound that made the ache in my chest sharper. And even as we straightened, separating by only inches, I knew one thing with clarity: nothing in the palace, in my reign, or in the world beyond mattered more than this—than her.
The fire crackled low, the library silent once more, and we stood together, caught between desire and propriety, letting the moment linger as long as we could.
Time lost meaning. The library, the books, the silent shelves—they ceased to exist. There was only the taste of her lips, the press of her body against mine, and the overwhelming, consuming pull between us.
When we finally drew apart, breathless, I rested my forehead against hers. Her eyes were closed, her chest rising and falling rapidly. I could feel the echo of her heart beneath my palm, and it struck me how completely she had claimed me, even in this brief moment.
"You are… incredible," I whispered. "And I… I cannot stay away from you any longer."
Her lips curved into a tired but triumphant smile. "Nor I from you," she murmured.
And for the first time since she had arrived in my life, I allowed myself to believe that perhaps, at last, we were not bound by duty alone—but by something far more dangerous, far more intoxicating: desire, trust, and the undeniable power of what we had just begun to explore.