The air outside felt different from the moment Freya stepped into it.
Cooler.
For a moment, she just stood there.
Behind her, Soren followed without urgency.
He didn't reach for her.
Didn't direct her.
That alone felt like a change.
Freya glanced back at him briefly.
"…You're quiet."
Soren's gaze settled on her.
"I don't need to speak for you to move."
That earned the faintest huff from her.
"…You assume I move because of you."
Soren stepped closer.
Not enough to trap her.
Just enough to be felt.
"You do," he said simply.
Freya turned away before she could react to that.
Because arguing it suddenly felt… less certain than it used to.
The path down toward the shoreline stretched ahead of them.
Freya started walking.
Slowly at first.
Just one step.
Closer to the water.
And then—
she stopped.
It was subtle at first.
A slight shift in her balance.
A tightening in her expression.
Soren noticed immediately.
"…Problem?" he asked.
Freya exhaled slowly, as if she could will her body to cooperate through sheer stubbornness alone.
"…No."
She took another step.
That was a mistake.
The movement pulled sharply through her, the lingering soreness from the night before catching up with her all at once.
Her breath hitched—
and she faltered.
Soren was already moving before she could recover.
His hand caught her arm, steadying her before she could fully lose her balance.
Freya stiffened instantly.
"…I'm fine."
Soren didn't let go.
His gaze dropped briefly, assessing.
Then lifted back to her face.
"…You're not," he said calmly.
Freya pulled slightly against his grip.
"…It's nothing."
Soren's expression didn't change.
If anything—
it sharpened.
"…You can barely walk," he said.
That landed.
Harder than she expected.
Freya looked away quickly, jaw tightening.
"…I can walk."
Soren released her arm.
For half a second—
it looked like he might let her try.
Freya took another step.
Careful this time.
And still—
she faltered again.
That was enough.
Soren exhaled once, quiet and controlled.
Then—
without asking—
he moved.
His hand slid behind her back, the other under her knees—
and he lifted her cleanly off the ground.
Freya startled, her hands instinctively catching against his shoulders.
"…Soren—!"
He didn't stop.
Just adjusted her weight easily, as if it required no effort at all.
"…You're not walking like this," he said.
Freya stared at him, caught somewhere between irritation and something far more complicated.
"…Put me down."
"No."
The answer was immediate.
Freya frowned.
"…You're insufferable."
Soren glanced down at her briefly.
"…And you're injured," he replied.
She opened her mouth to argue—
then stopped.
Because arguing felt weaker than the position she was already in.
"…This is unnecessary," she muttered instead.
Soren's grip didn't change.
If anything, it settled more securely.
"…No," he said.
"…It isn't."
Freya exhaled slowly, her fingers tightening slightly against his shoulder before she realized what she was doing.
Soren noticed.
He didn't comment.
But something in his expression shifted.
Subtle.
"…You're not even embarrassed," she said after a moment.
That earned the faintest hint of something from him.
Not quite a smile.
"…Should I be?" he asked.
Freya narrowed her eyes.
"…I am."
Soren looked at her then.
Really looked.
"…Good," he said quietly.
Freya blinked.
"…Good?"
Soren's gaze held hers.
"…It means you're aware of what you let happen," he said.
That—
she didn't have an answer for.
Freya looked away first.
"…You're impossible."
Soren adjusted her slightly in his arms, steady and deliberate.
Freya didn't argue that this time.
Instead—
she let herself stay exactly where she was.
And Soren—
didn't put her down.
Soren adjusted her slightly in his arms, steady and deliberate.
Freya shifted, clearly aware now of how easily he carried her.
"…This is unnecessary," she muttered again.
Soren's gaze flicked down to her, something faintly amused in it.
"…Is it?" he asked.
Freya frowned.
"…Yes."
A pause.
Then—
"…Though," Soren added, his tone shifting just slightly, "…I suppose I could have gone easier on you."
Freya froze.
"…What?"
Soren's expression didn't change.
But there was something unmistakably teasing beneath it now.
"The last few nights," he clarified.
Freya's face warmed instantly.
"…You're unbelievable."
Soren continued walking as if the reaction didn't interest him at all.
Even though it clearly did.
"…You didn't seem particularly concerned at the time," he said.
Freya looked away sharply.
"…I wasn't exactly in a position to argue."
"That's not what I recall," he replied.
That made her glance back at him.
"…You're enjoying this."
Soren met her gaze evenly.
"…A little."
Freya exhaled, somewhere between frustration and something far more complicated.
"…You're insufferable."
Soren's grip shifted slightly—secure, controlled.
"…And yet," he said quietly, "…you didn't ask me to stop."
That—
hit differently.
Freya's breath caught, just for a second.
"…That doesn't mean—" she started.
Then stopped.
Because she didn't have a clean way to finish that.
Soren didn't push further.
Not this time.
But the faint trace of that teasing edge remained in his voice when he added—
"…Next time, I'll be more considerate."
Freya stared at him.
"…There won't be a next time."
Soren didn't even hesitate.
"…There will," he said.
And the certainty in it—
felt far more dangerous than the teasing had been.
Soren didn't put her down immediately.
Even as they left the shoreline, even as the path leveled into the edges of the village—
he kept her exactly where she was.
Freya shifted slightly in his arms.
"…You can put me down now."
"No."
She frowned.
"…People are staring."
Soren didn't even glance around.
"…Let them."
That—
didn't help.
Freya exhaled sharply, trying—and failing—not to notice the looks they were getting as they passed.
"…You're doing this on purpose," she muttered.
Soren's gaze flicked down to her briefly.
"…Yes."
Freya stared at him.
"…You're insufferable."
"And you're not walking," he replied.
She opened her mouth to argue—
then stopped.
Because he wasn't wrong.
A few more steps.
Then finally—
he lowered her.
Carefully.
Freya steadied herself, testing her weight again.
Still sore.
Still… aware.
Soren watched her the entire time.
"…Better?" he asked.
Freya straightened slightly.
"…Enough."
That was apparently acceptable.
Because he didn't pick her back up.
Instead, he stepped slightly closer—just enough to remain within reach.
"…Try not to fall," he said.
Freya gave him a look.
"…Try not to be insufferable."
"That's less likely," he replied.
Despite herself—
she almost smiled.
The village stretched around them now in full daylight.
Small shops lined the path, their doors open, fabrics shifting in the sea breeze. The scent of salt mixed with spices, wood, and something faintly sweet.
It felt… alive.
Freya slowed.
Not because she had to.
Because she wanted to look.
Soren noticed immediately.
"…You're curious," he said.
Freya didn't deny it this time.
"…It's different."
"From what?" he asked.
She glanced around.
"…From everything."
Soren didn't respond to that.
But he stayed beside her.
They moved slowly through the market, stopping briefly at a few stalls. Freya reached toward a piece of fabric once, then stopped herself.
Soren noticed that too.
"…Take it," he said.
Freya glanced at him.
"…I wasn't—"
"You were," he cut in.
She hesitated.
Then shook her head slightly.
"…I don't need it."
Soren didn't argue.
But he didn't forget it either.
They moved on.
And then—
"Now that's a sight I wasn't expecting."
The voice came from their right.
Confident.
Freya turned slightly.
A man stood near one of the stalls, leaning casually against the wooden frame, his gaze already fixed on her.
Not shy.
Not subtle.
"…Don't think I've seen anyone like you around here before," he added, a faint smile pulling at his mouth.
Freya blinked once, caught off guard.
"…we are just visiting."
"That so?" he said, pushing off the stall slightly.
"…Shame. Town could use something like that."
Freya frowned faintly.
"…Something like what?"
His gaze didn't leave her.
"…Someone that pretty."
The words landed.
Clear.
Unfiltered.
Freya opened her mouth—
then paused.
Because—
Soren had gone very still beside her.
Not visibly tense.
Not outwardly reactive.
But the air around him—
shifted.
Dangerously.
Soren stepped forward just enough to close the space between them.
Not touching her.
But claiming the space anyway.
"…Careful," he said.
His voice was low.
The man's gaze flicked to him for the first time.
Taking him in.
"…Didn't mean any harm," he said easily.
"…Just giving a compliment."
Soren didn't look away.
"…Then give it elsewhere," he replied.
A pause.
"…My wife isn't interested."
The word dropped between them.
Heavy.
Unmistakable.
Freya stilled.
The man blinked once—just enough to register the shift.
Then his posture eased back, the confidence thinning into something more cautious.
"…Didn't realize," he said, lifting his hands slightly.
"…No offense meant."
Soren held his gaze a moment longer.
Then gave the slightest nod.
"…None taken," he said.
Though it didn't sound entirely true.
The man gave Freya one last glance—quieter now.
"…Enjoy your stay," he said.
Then turned away.
Silence settled again.
Freya exhaled slowly.
"…That was unnecessary."
Soren didn't look at her immediately.
"…No," he said.
"…It wasn't."
Freya turned toward him.
"…You didn't have to say that."
Now he looked at her.
"…It's true," he said.
Freya's breath caught—just slightly.
"…You say it like that makes it simple."
Soren stepped a fraction closer.
"…It does," he replied.
Freya held his gaze for a second longer.
Then looked away first.
"…You're insufferable."
Soren's voice lowered.
"…And you didn't correct me."
That—
she didn't answer.
Because she hadn't.