Soren did not sleep.
He sat in the dark hallway outside Elena's chamber, back straight, hands resting on his knees, as motionless as stone.
A Sentinel stood guard fifty paces away.
Soren didn't need him.
He was not here as a prince. He was here because Elena had whispered his name with a sound that did not belong to nightmares.
And he was not recovering from it. Not even close.
He replayed it. Not the sound exactly—he couldn't, he would break—but the quality of it.
Soft. Pleading. Too intimate to mistake.
Her voice had wrapped around his name like a hand pulling him closer, drawing something raw and violent from the center of his chest.
He had gone to her room instantly.
No hesitation. No thought. Just movement.
And when he found her— tangled in sheets, breath shallow, cheeks flushed—
He had felt heat hit him like a struck nerve.
Her dream was not a nightmare.
He had asked gently, carefully. She had answered honestly.
And he had nearly lost control on the spot.
Soren's jaw tightened in the darkness.
He had suspected her attraction. Felt hints of it—in the way she looked away too quickly, in the way she stuttered when he leaned close, in the way her pulse jumped when he touched her wrist.
But a dream?
A dream where she called for him?
That was different. That crossed a threshold he had sworn not to approach.
She wasn't ready. He wasn't trusted enough.
And yet…
And yet.
When she'd looked at him—eyes heavy from sleep, still dazed, still warm—something in him had cracked.
Not broken. Cracked.
He had seen her vulnerability. More dangerous by far—he had seen her want.
And gods help him, he had wanted to answer it.
He rubbed a hand over his face.
He had come closer than he meant.
Her lips were parted. Her breath uneven. Her skin warm beneath his fingers.
When she had whispered, "We are alone,"it had nearly undone him.
He could have kissed her. He had wanted to.
But he had not. Control had cost him. And it still did.
A soft sound came from her room—only shifting blankets, nothing more.
He listened anyway.
His entire body went rigid, alert.
He hated it—how easily one slip of her voice could command him.
How deeply she had lodged herself under his armor.
How close he had come to losing himself at her bedside.
He ran a breath through his teeth.
"This cannot continue," he murmured to the empty hall.
It was a lie.
He would not stop it. He couldn't.
Not when she looked at him like that. Not when she dreamed of him. Not when she said his name the way she had—with need, not fear.
Footsteps approached.
Kael.
Only Kael would dare come close while Soren felt like this.
"You left the war council," Kael said quietly.
"I had reason."
Kael's gaze flicked to Elena's door.
"I heard."
Soren's eyes narrowed. "You heard nothing."
Kael did not argue. He never argued when Soren spoke like that. But his silence said everything.
After a moment, Kael murmured, "What will you do?"
Soren stared at the floor, jaw set.
"Nothing," he said.
Kael blinked, surprised.
Soren continued, voice low and precise:
"She is still healing. She does not understand the weight of what she dreams. And if I take even one step toward that path before she is ready—" His hands curled slowly into fists. "I will lose her."
Kael considered him. Then nodded once, understanding far more than Soren wished he did.
"You care for her," he said quietly.
"I protect her," Soren corrected.
Kael almost smiled. Almost.
"You always redefine the words that frighten you."
Soren looked away. He would not answer that. Could not.
Kael left him in silence. Hours passed.
The torches burned low. Soren did not move except to breathe.
Every time Elena shifted in sleep, he listened. Every sigh, every quiet breath, every heartbeat that wasn't racing from fear— He catalogued all of it with the vigilance of a man guarding the only thing he could not replace.
Just before dawn, when the citadel was silent and the world hushed with frost, he leaned his head back against the wall and allowed himself one whispered truth.
Just one.
"Elena…"
He exhaled slowly, painfully.
"…I fear you more than my enemies."