The farther they walked from the center of Lysara, the quieter everything became.
The crowded market streets slowly faded into narrower coastal paths lined with weathered fences, wildflowers, and homes softened by sea wind and salt air.
Freya found herself slowing often.
Not because she was tired.
Because there was too much to look at.
The ocean stretched endlessly beside the village, glittering beneath pale afternoon light while gulls circled overhead.
It felt different from the capital.
Different from the castle.
Less suffocating.
Soren walked beside her without rushing her.
Watching quietly as her attention drifted from one small thing to another.
The colorful fabrics hanging from windows.
Children running barefoot down the paths.
Lanterns swaying gently outside shops.
"You're staring again," Soren said calmly.
Freya glanced at him.
"…I'm observing."
"That's a prettier word for it."
She narrowed her eyes slightly.
"You enjoy hearing yourself talk far too much."
"And you enjoy pretending you aren't impressed."
Freya scoffed softly.
"…I never said I was impressed."
Soren's gaze drifted briefly toward the ocean.
"No," he replied.
"You just keep looking at everything like you've discovered another world."
That—
she didn't answer.
Because maybe she had.
They continued farther down the coast until the path opened near a lower stretch of beach.
And that was where Freya noticed them.
A family.
Small enough that it should have been forgettable.
Two young children racing recklessly through the wet sand while their parents followed behind them laughing.
The younger girl stumbled when a wave reached her ankles too quickly.
Her father caught her immediately, lifting her easily before she could fall.
The little girl shrieked with laughter.
The mother smiled as she brushed wet hair away from the child's face before letting her run again.
Careless in a way Freya had never really understood before.
Her steps slowed unconsciously.
Then stopped.
His gaze shifted toward her.
"…What?"
Freya didn't answer right away.
She kept watching the family below.
The children clinging to their parents without hesitation.
The ease between them.
The softness.
Something about it settled strangely in her chest.
Unfamiliar.
Almost uncomfortable.
"…Nothing," she said quietly.
A lie.
Soren stepped beside her near the edge of the path overlooking the shore below.
"They look happy," Freya admitted after a moment.
Soren followed her gaze.
"Yes."
The answer came simply.
Like happiness wasn't some fragile impossible thing.
Freya swallowed faintly.
Because she had never really thought about children before.
Never seriously.
Her life had never allowed room for thoughts like that.
Survival didn't leave space for softness.
For futures.
For imagining small hands reaching for her or laughter filling quiet rooms.
But standing there now—
watching that family together beneath the open sky—
she realized something unsettling.
For the first time in her life…
she could almost picture it.
And worse—
a dangerous part of her imagined dark hair and sharp eyes looking back at her.
Soren's eyes.
The thought startled her badly enough that she looked away immediately.
"…That seems dangerous," she muttered.
Soren glanced at her.
"What does?"
Freya crossed her arms lightly.
"…Being that happy."
Soren studied her for a moment longer than necessary.
"Why?"
Freya frowned faintly.
Because the answer felt too honest.
"…Because people lose things like that," she said quietly.
The wind shifted around them.
Soren's gaze lingered on her carefully.
"…People lose everything eventually," he said.
Freya exhaled softly.
"That's not comforting."
"No," he agreed.
"It's true."
Silence settled between them again.
But it wasn't cold.
Freya looked back toward the beach one last time before finally turning away.
And Soren—
Soren watched her with something dangerously close to understanding.
The storm hit not long after.
The sky darkened rapidly overhead, clouds rolling across the ocean in thick silver layers while the wind picked up hard enough to whip Freya's hair across her face.
She looked upward.
"…Is it going to rain?"
"Yes," Soren replied calmly.
A pause.
"You have about thirty seconds."
Freya frowned.
"…Thirty—"
The sky opened instantly.
Rain crashed down in violent sheets so suddenly that Freya gasped aloud as cold water drenched her from head to toe.
"Soren—!"
That was all she managed before he caught her wrist firmly and pulled her forward.
"Move."
Freya stumbled after him through the rain, laughing despite herself.
The sound escaped before she could stop it.
And Soren—
slowed slightly beside her.
Because he had never heard that sound from her before.
Not like this.
Freya pulled against his grip slightly as they hurried down the coastal path.
"You knew it was going to rain!"
"Yes."
"And you said thirty seconds!"
"It was approximately thirty seconds."
Freya laughed again, rain soaking through her clothes while seawater and storm wind blurred together around them.
"That was not thirty seconds!"
Soren looked at her then.
Completely drenched.
Hair clinging to her face.
Eyes bright with life instead of caution.
And smiling.
Openly.
Without fear.
Something sharp tightened in his chest.
Because this version of Freya—
unguarded and alive—
was becoming far too important to him.
---
By the time they returned to the inn, both of them were completely soaked.
Rainwater clung to Freya's clothes, her hair, her skin.
Every step through the hallway left faint damp footprints behind them.
Freya pushed wet strands of hair away from her face with visible irritation.
"…I blame you for this."
Soren closed the door behind them calmly.
"You were the one arguing with the weather."
Freya shot him a look.
"You said thirty seconds."
"It was close enough."
Freya let out a soft, disbelieving laugh under her breath.
And Soren—
stilled slightly at the sound again.
Because she was doing it more now.
Living without immediately looking over her shoulder afterward.
That realization settled somewhere deep and dangerous inside him.
Freya moved farther into the room, wringing water from the ends of her hair.
The lighter fabric of her clothes clung embarrassingly close to her skin now, outlining the shape of her body in ways that made Soren's gaze darken briefly before he deliberately looked away.
"…You're staring again," she said without turning.
Soren loosened the damp collar of his shirt slightly.
"…You noticed."
Freya glanced at him over her shoulder.
"…You're not subtle."
"No," he agreed easily.
That should not have affected her as much as it did.
Freya exhaled quietly and moved toward the adjoining bathing room.
Steam already curled faintly from the large stone bath where hot water had been prepared earlier for the evening.
The warmth hit her immediately.
Inviting after the cold rain.
Freya stepped farther into the room, beginning to pull the soaked outer layer of clothing from her shoulders with obvious relief.
The wet fabric slid heavily down her arms before falling to the floor.
Soren stepped closer slowly.
Just near enough that she became aware of the warmth coming off him beneath the lingering chill of the rain.
"You're beautiful," he said simply.
The honesty in it caught her completely off guard.
Freya looked away first.
"…That's a dangerous thing to say."
"Why?"
Because it made something in her chest ache strangely.
Because she liked hearing it from him far more than she should have.
Freya swallowed faintly.
"…Because you sound serious."
"I am serious."
The room fell quiet for a moment outside the soft sound of water and distant rain still tapping against the windows.
Then Soren reached for the fastening near her shoulder.
Slowly.
Giving her time to stop him.
Freya's breath caught slightly as his fingers brushed damp skin.
But she didn't pull away.
Didn't stop him.
The rest of the soaked fabric loosened carefully beneath his hands.
Soren's gaze lowered briefly.
That somehow felt far more dangerous.
Freya folded her arms instinctively.
"…Don't."
Soren looked back up at her immediately.
"Don't what?"
"…Look at me like that."
His expression softened slightly.
"Like what?"
Freya hated that question.
Because she didn't know how to answer it.
Like he wanted more than her body.
Like he was already too attached.
Soren stepped closer again, close enough now that she could feel lingering warmth from his skin beneath the damp fabric of his shirt.
"You're thinking too much again," he murmured.
Freya let out a soft breath.
"…Someone has to."
That earned the faintest hint of amusement from him.
Then—
gently—
he brushed rainwater from beneath her jaw with his thumb.
The touch was careful enough to make her chest tighten unexpectedly.
And somehow that felt more dangerous than all the other versions of him.
Soren studied her for another second before finally stepping back slightly.
"Get in the bath before you freeze."
Freya blinked once.
"…That's it?"
A faint smirk touched the corner of his mouth.
"For now."
Freya narrowed her eyes.
"…You enjoy keeping me uncertain."
"Yes."
At least he was honest.
Freya shook her head softly under her breath before glancing toward the steaming bath again.
Then, quieter—
"…You could just join me."
Soren stilled.
Completely.
Freya immediately realized what she had said.
And somehow that felt significantly more dangerous than the storm outside ever had.
She tried to recover first.
"I mean—"
But Soren was already looking at her differently now.
Not teasing.
Not amused.
Caught off guard.
Which almost never happened.
Freya crossed her arms tighter instinctively.
"…We're both freezing," she muttered defensively.
"And there's enough room."
Soren said nothing for a moment.
That alone unsettled her.
Because Soren always had something to say.
Then slowly—
very slowly—
the corner of his mouth curved faintly.
"…Freya."
The way he said her name made heat rise immediately to her face.
"It was a practical suggestion," she said quickly.
"Of course it was."
She narrowed her eyes.
"…Stop looking at me like that."
"Like what?"
"That."
Soren exhaled softly, something quieter than laughter beneath it.
But there was warmth in it now.
Real warmth.
Something dangerously genuine.
And somehow—
that affected Freya far more than flirting ever had.
Soren stepped toward the bath at last, beginning to remove the damp layers of his clothing more slowly this time.
Freya very deliberately looked away.
Which only made his amusement deepen slightly.
"You invited me," he murmured.
"I'm beginning to regret it."
Freya glared at him immediately.
"I am not embarrassed."
"You absolutely are."
That only made her more flustered.
Soren noticed every second of it.
And the terrifying part—
was that he looked pleased by it in a way that felt far too fond.
Freya rolled her eyes despite herself.
But when Soren finally stepped into the bath across from her—
the tension in the room shifted again.
Quieter now.
More dangerous in an entirely different way.
Because neither of them were pretending distance still existed between them anymore.