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Chapter 51

IRIS

Aspen lived in a beautiful log cabin, nestled just before the edge of the woods leading to the Tundra. Smoke billowed from the chimney, and the sunflares in the windows flickered like the first stars of the evening.

We stopped by the kitchens first, eating dinner in the garden outside the palace steps before Aspen used his signet ring to whisk us to his home. The wood groaned as he opened the front door, his hand warm on my back as he led me inside.

It was perfect.

In contrast to the ever-present white marble of the palace, the walls were a warm cedar, the scent prickling my nose. To the right, a large wooden fireplace burned beside a wall taken up entirely by floor-to-ceiling bookshelves. Tattered tomes filled them—worn and loved—yet methodically organized and diligently placed. Two large armchairs flanked the fireplace, a sunflare nestled between them, while a chaise sprawled across the other side of the sitting room, where Mochi lay curled up asleep in a blanket.

To the left, a spacious eat-in kitchen stretched out, with a small wooden table tucked into the corner. Aspen’s home was warm, inviting—lived in. It was also meticulously tidy. Blankets expertly folded, not a speck of dust in sight, not a book or mug out of place.

This was the Aspen I knew.

I had never seen him so wary. Timid, even. His shoulders didn’t slouch and his hands didn’t tremble, but his eyes were waiting. Unsure.

“It’s beautiful,” I breathed through a smile, my gaze still roaming, drinking it in.

“The chaise is rather comfortable. I’ll be sleeping there, and the bedroom and bathing chamber are—” H gestured to a hallway at the back of the house.

I sprinted in the direction he indicated, my curiosity at seeing his bedroom winning out over any sense of decorum.

He sighed, trudging after me as I gasped.

Of course, his bedroom was as exquisite as the rest of his house. A dark mahogany desk stood in one corner, another fireplace framed by armchairs in another. A single bookcase, which I suspected housed his favorites, rose along the wall beside a circular cushion fitted into what looked like a tiny sleigh bed. For Mochi, I assumed. An elegant four-poster bed loomed at the center, dressed in light blue silken sheets eerily similar to my own at the palace. An intricately carved nightstand stood beside it, its two drawers topped with a sunflare and a worn black leather sketchbook. At the foot of the bed sat a large wooden chest with brass handles.

But what took my breath away was the ceiling.

“It’s a skylight,” he explained, pointing to the glass panels covering most of the ceiling, to the moonlight pouring in, to the sprinkling of stars against the night sky. “The panels are enchanted to keep snow from accumulating. They’re connected to a system of enchanted pulleys that allow it to open on clear nights. A ward was placed above it to let in fresh air while keeping the snow out. I haven’t used it yet, but we can try it if you’d like.”

At some point, I had climbed onto his bed and now stood barefoot atop it, staring up in awe.

A grin split my face as I brought a hand to my mouth. “Is this house new?”

“No, I’ve lived here for six years.”

I let out a breathy laugh, turning to where he stood in the doorway. “Leave it to you to purchase something this extravagant and forget to use it.”

“The cabin isn’t new.” He shifted on his feet, tucking his hands into his pockets. “The skylight, however, is.” His eyes flicked up to meet mine. “It was finished a week ago. It’s not as open as the forest, but I thought it might help.”

“You—”

“I know it was bold of me to presume,” he said quickly, words spilling out in a rush. “It was just… in case you ever wanted—needed, I mean—to stay here. It’s one less wall.”

I could see the entire expanse of night above me. A way to keep my eyes on the sky.

I sat down, scooting toward the edge of the bed. My own words echoed back from what felt like ages ago. It clears my head. I had never mentioned my issue with walls specifically, but somehow, he had known. He always seemed to know.

Why?

Had I been wrong? Why had he built this and never asked me to stay? Why had it taken a nightmare to bring us here?

“You should’ve asked,” I crossed my arms as I looked up at the skylight again.

“I understand that installing it without your permission was presumptuous, but it is my home?—”

“You should have asked me to stay here.”

He stared out the window past me, into the forest beyond. “Would it be foolish of me to admit I was afraid you would say no?”

There it was.

“Yes.” I pushed off the bed and walked to him, sticking out my hand. He eyed my outstretched pinky with suspicion.

I nudged it closer, brushing against his shirt. “Start asking for what you want, Aspen.”

His gaze flicked down as he swallowed. I watched his throat bob, watched him stare at my pinky, hesitate—then lock his own around it.

And then, in one swift movement, he used that connection to drag my body to his.

His other hand came up behind my head, fingers tangling in my hair as his lips crashed onto mine.

There he was.

Finally.

My boy from the woods.

My lips parted immediately, and he kissed me as though I were a forgotten memory he was desperate to catch before it floated away. His tongue slid against mine, warm and insistent, flicking over my teeth. He let go of my pinky only to splay his hand across my back, pulling me closer until every inch of us was pressed together.

A shaky breath left him as he pulled away, his head dipping slightly as he muttered?—

“I will.”

* * *

Aspen’s bathing chamber was opulent.

White marble and silver gilding and every imaginable scent of soap.

I drew a bath, marveling at the enchanted knobs. They ran through the floor into the earth, drawing back water that was warm and clean.

No, I definitely didn’t regret putting every single expense on Kacidon’s tab.

The familiar light green bar—lavender and eucalyptus, Aspen’s scent—was the first thing I searched for. As I scrubbed away the remnants of the day and covered my body in him, my mind drifted to the way his hand had pressed against my back, the feel of his tongue against my teeth.

The reminder did nothing to ease the tension in my shoulders. If anything, it only made the ache in me sharper. Heat licked at my skin, my nerve endings alight. I needed to relax. I needed to quell this hunger if I was going to sleep in his bed without tormenting myself. Visions of Aspen’s long fingers danced in my mind as one of my hands slipped beneath the soapy water, the other pressing over my lips to silence the moan of his name.

By the time I stepped back into the sitting room, my limbs were heavy with exhaustion.

Aspen sat by the fireplace, ankle propped on his knee, a book in hand. At my yawn, he raised a brow.

“Bed,” he said, pointing to the room I had just left.

His tone set my teeth on edge, and on any other night, I might have fought him on it. But I yawned again, and this time, I relented.

A gust of wind dried the strands of my hair as I climbed into the massive four-poster, burrowing into the silky depths of the blankets. Aspen smiled softly, leaning down to press a kiss to my forehead before extinguishing the sunflare on the nightstand.

“Goodnight, Sunbeam.”

It hit me.

He had mentioned the settee earlier.

He was going to leave.

The events of the night sent the question I’d almost asked too many times tumbling out before I could stop it.

“Will you stay?”

He halted at the door, not turning to face me. “I sleep on the settee often. There's no need for guilt—it doesn’t bother me.”

“Please,” I sat up, sheets pooling at my waist.

He turned then, cautious optimism flickering in his eyes. I let it show on my face—how much I wanted him here. How much I wanted all of it.

“Stay.”

He glanced between the door and where I sat. Apprehension curled tight in my gut when he moved—not toward the bed, but toward the bathing chamber.

“One moment.”

I sucked in a breath when he stepped back into the room, freshly bathed, a loose pair of grey sleep trousers hanging low on his hips. Droplets of water still gleamed across his chest, catching the moonlight, before another gust of wind wicked them away. His white strands ruffled, wild and windswept.

It was obscene, really, for someone to look like that.

He slipped into bed as I lay back, staring up at the skylight. His breath evened out as he turned to his side. I counted the stars, trying to make sense of the last few hours, trying to piece it all together.

“I can practically hear that brain of yours whirring again, Virlana,” he muttered sleepily. “It's rather distracting.”

“I—I know I asked you to stay.”

He tensed beside me, every muscle in his back going rigid.

“And I want you to,” I continued. His shoulders eased, just barely. “It's just… this is a bed, Aspen.”

“Well spotted.”

I swatted his shoulder.

He rolled onto his back, joining me in watching the sky. “It was a bed when we both climbed into it some time ago.” he chuckled. “It hasn't magically transformed since then.”

I gestured vaguely at the drapes around us. “I only mean… in the Tundra, it was the floor of a tent. Sometimes we didn’t even touch?—”

“And sometimes I couldn’t tell where my body stopped and yours began,” he interrupted, and I knew without looking that one of his eyebrows was raised. Several beats passed before he added, “Does it bother you?”

“No.” I weighed my next words, careful not to spook him.

Divine, we were like two wounded animals, circling each other. Afraid the other was about the strike.

“But since we've returned, things have been… different,” I added. “We've established that you invited me here because you wanted to, but I don’t want you to feel obligated to share this bed with me simply because of the nightmares. A bed is something different.”

“I don’t allow others in my bed. If I didn’t want you here, I would’ve offered to stay with you at the palace instead.”

I mulled over this, considering the assumptions I hadn’t entirely let go of. It was popular chatter throughout Altaerra that the Kacidon Heir had his fair share of lovers, yet… he didn’t allow others in his bed?

“But I thought?—”

“That I had a very active sex life? Yes, I’m aware. Most of Altaerra does, and they aren’t incorrect. But finding pleasure and finding comfort are two different things for me. At least… they have been. I separate them, put them into boxes.”

His hands folded over his stomach, and I watched him from the corner of my eye, trying to read every shift of his body language.

“I don’t like the crossing of the boxes. It’s not in my nature. So yes, my escapades, as the Altaerran gossip mill calls them, are frequent. But they’re for pleasure, and all parties agree to that—always. My home, my bed, however, has always been my place for comfort. Separate.”

“Always?” I finally turned my head toward him.

“No one else has ever slept in this bed, if that’s what you’re asking.”

I fiddled with the blanket, running the soft material between my fingers. Which did he want from me, then? Pleasure or comfort?

“Let me assure you, however,” he smirked, “I don't leave a partner wanting. I just prefer to be the one giving. I’m not uncaring—I’ve just never sought out more. Preferred not to be touched more than necessary.”

He stilled the moving blanket with a hand, continuing.

“Loving caresses blur the lines too much. Don't mistake my own preferences for a lack of attention to my partner. I know it’s not conventional, and some may not be comfortable with how I am. I am extremely diligent that there is always a mutual understanding between all parties about what the intent is. They don’t want anything more either.”

I swallowed, thinking of all the times I’d mindlessly brushed hair from his face or grabbed his arm—how he had tensed at the contact. Worry crept in, but I remembered how that had changed.

How he had started to melt into the touch.

How he had started to be the one to seek it out.

How he had moaned into my mouth when I twisted my fingers in his hair, how his hands had gripped my waist when I clawed at his back.

He interrupted my spiraling thoughts, as if sensing the war raging in my mind. “It’s different with you. Before you ask, I have no idea why.”

My eyes widened. “Did I… have I made you uncomfortable?”

“No. Never.”

He rolled to his side, propping his head on one hand while brushing his fingers over my cheek with the other.

“I didn’t realize it could be like that,” he murmured. “How it is with you. But the point stands—that is how I have always been. Or… was.”

“And me?” I asked into the dark, unable to look at him, terrified to see the answer written across his face. “Which box?”

He huffed a quiet sigh before slipping an arm around my waist, pulling me flush against him. I melted into his touch, finally allowing myself to relax. He pressed a kiss to the top of my shoulder, his thumb tracing slow, lazy circles over the bare skin revealed by my shifting nightshirt.

“I think you may be both.”

The dark settled around us, and although my body eased, my mind still spun.

I wasn't a stranger to asking for what I wanted. If necessary, I was skilled enough to talk my way into getting almost anything. But my endless slew of questions, my uncertainty, made me feel childish. Thought after thought circled the chambers of my mind, unable to settle.

I wanted him. In every way I could think of.

He didn’t know that I always looked for the cracks in his facade. That I saw the glint in his eyes when I bit back at him, the quiet hope when I asked him to stay. He was unaware that I analyzed the way his hands tangled in my hair, the way he kissed me as if trying to carve the memory into his bones, the way he held me like he might never have to let go.

I looked, and I searched, and I saw what he tried to hide.

And I thought—maybe, even if it was just a fraction of what I wanted—he wanted me, too.

I had to know. Had to make sure I wasn’t the only one free-falling.

Before, I had teetered on the edge of the cliff, refusing to let hope sink its claws into me.

Now?

Now, I was diving headfirst into the abyss, with no wings to save me from whatever lay at the bottom.

“You're still thinking. I can hear it,” Aspen murmured against my neck.

“Why did… this,” I scraped my nails gently along his forearm, indicating the way his hand roamed, “stop after we returned?”

I shifted closer, hoping he'd understand just how much I had missed this part of him. “Why did things change?”

“I was trying to do the right thing.” His voice was quiet. Resigned.

“And now?” I whispered.

“Now, I think…” He paused, fingers stilling as he pressed another kiss to the racing pulse at my neck. “I think we’re both in trouble.”