Page 33

After a long moment, I pry my feet from the ground, retrieving my wooden sword.

My guard steps forward, concern etched on his face, but I wave him off.

“I’m fine,” I whisper, voice shaky. I store the weapon in silence, then leave the courtyard.

My mind remains in chaos. Each corridor I pass feels suffocating, as if the fortress walls close in on me.

I detour to the southwestern storeroom, hoping to bury myself in logs.

When I arrive, I find it dimly lit, crates stacked haphazardly.

Perfect. I slump against a crate, pressing my forehead to the cool wood, trying to quell the trembling in my limbs.

I replay the moment: my hand on his horn, his near-surrender, the flash of raw desire in his eyes.

My entire life, I’ve never experienced such a sudden, consuming spark. It frightens me as much as it lures me.

Memories churn, dragging my focus to the sigil carved into my flesh—a claim pressed into me without consent, meant to evoke hate.

And yet… he’s treated me with more care than anyone in years.

I can’t make sense of it. A slow-burning fire crackles inside me, stoked by confusion and want.

I shudder, burying my face in my palm. If Thakur or the Senate catch even a whisper of this—whatever this is—they’ll weaponize it.

A distant clang echoes in the corridor, stirring me from my thoughts.

I straighten, inhaling to calm my nerves.

I have tasks to finish, contraband to watch for, and a fortress full of watchers who’d delight in my downfall.

I can’t let this slip distract me. But no matter how I try, the memory lingers, a burn that won’t fade.

Time crawls as I inspect the storeroom, verifying no new shipments arrived unlogged.

My guard stands near the entrance, occasionally glancing my way.

I mask my turmoil behind a facade of efficiency.

Each crate I open, each item I tick off the list, helps me reclaim some semblance of normalcy.

But the second I stop, my mind returns to that courtyard.

The near-kiss. The heat in his eyes. My heart pounds all over again.

By the time I finish, my throat feels parched.

I set aside the ledger, stepping out to find water.

The corridor’s subdued torchlight illuminates a few passing guards who barely nod at me.

My assigned guard remains silent, dutifully trailing me as I head to a corner station where water is kept for workers.

I scoop a tin cup of water, gulping it down.

My ribs ache, a dull reminder of the physical strain.

Yet the real ache sits in my chest, an unspoken yearning I can’t banish.

I decide to seek a calmer corner for a moment of respite.

The Bastion might be massive, but private nooks are rare.

I recall a small balcony near the eastern wing, mostly overlooked since it leads nowhere significant.

My guard hesitates as I navigate the labyrinth of corridors, but follows when I give no explanation.

Eventually, I find the narrow door that opens onto a modest stone balcony overlooking the fortress wall.

The air is cooler here, swirling with a faint breeze that smells of salt from the distant sea.

I step out, letting the guard remain at the threshold.

Leaning on the stone railing, I gaze at the horizon.

Over the cliffs, the ocean extends, faintly visible.

The late afternoon sky glows with oranges and purples.

My chest tightens at the beauty, a stark contrast to the turmoil inside me.

Everything has changed since I arrived: from forced brand to finding a fragile trust with the Bastion’s Warden.

Yet it’s more than trust. My breath catches as I recall the heat of his body, the swirl of longing that nearly undid us.

I stand there a while, letting the breeze ruffle my hair.

My mind whirls with conflicting thoughts.

I want to be free of any chain, especially one forced upon me.

And yet a part of me can’t resist the slow burn each time Saru stands near, each time our eyes lock in unspoken conversation.

Fear tangles with a desperate craving for his nearness.

I close my eyes, pressing trembling fingers to the raised scar etched into my skin.

Letting him in risks betrayal, heartbreak, and political ruin.

But locking him out means smothering something real. I’m caught in a snare either way.

Eventually, I turn back inside. My guard trails me once more, though he offers no comment. I appreciate his silence. The corridor feels endless as I return to the quartermaster station, logs still waiting. Might as well bury myself in tasks until nightfall, anything to outrun the swirl in my mind.

Hours pass, the hustle of Bastion life surging around me.

I sign off on final distributions, confirm no contraband turned up, and wave off the load of daily complaints from minor disputes.

My guard helps usher a few unruly prisoners to their assigned tasks.

The setting sun’s glow filters through a high window when I finally set down my quill, exhausted but still restless.

I glance at the corridor beyond, debating whether to seek out Saru or simply retreat to my quarters.

A flutter in my stomach warns me I’m not ready to face him yet, not after that near-kiss.

My rational side demands I keep my distance.

Let it pass. But part of me aches to see him, to talk, or do something to ease this tension.

The guard steps forward. “Are you done for the day, quartermaster?”

I nod slowly. “Yes, I’m…” I hesitate, chewing my lip. “I’ll go to my quarters.” He salutes, falling in step behind me. The corridor is dim, torches casting dancing shadows. My body moves automatically, each step echoing. I feel half in a dream, consumed by the memory of his breath so close.

When we reach my room, I pause, hand on the latch. The guard stands quietly, awaiting confirmation. I force a small smile. “Thank you. Good night.”

He nods. “Good night, quartermaster.” Then he turns to stand post a short distance away.

I duck inside, bolting the door. My quarters remain as I left them: a straw mattress, a rough table, the single lantern half-filled with oil.

Letting out a weary sigh, I light the lantern, filling the space with a gentle glow.

My reflection in the metal mirror shows wide eyes, cheeks still flushed.

I push hair off my forehead, annoyed at how everything stirs me.

Sinking onto the bed, I cover my face with my palms. The day had felt ordinary until that brief, jarring moment in the courtyard.

I replay it, each second scorching my thoughts.

My fingers on his horn, the jolt in both of us.

He almost kissed me. My heart clenches, a tremor of longing washing through me again.

I recall the stories of minotaur horns—an extremely sensitive spot, taboo to touch uninvited.

I basically broke all boundaries. And yet, for an instant, he wanted it.

Or I believe he did. He looked at me like I was a miracle and a danger all at once.

A swirl of guilt unfurls. He’s bound to me by brand, I’m bound to him by survival.

It’s not fair to either of us to indulge in something that could complicate everything.

Thakur and the Senate stand ready to swoop in, plus I carry a secret about possible Nullborn heritage.

If that truth surfaces, I’ll be a pawn to the highest bidder.

Letting my guard down with Saru could lead to heartbreak on every side.

I roll onto my side, ignoring the twinge in my ribs.

Sleep might help, but I doubt it comes easily.

My mind churns with conflicting desires.

I see Saru’s fierce expression, the quiet strength he radiates, how he refused to give me up to Thakur.

He’s an anchor in the storm that is the Bastion.

But do I risk letting that anchor pull me under?

Squeezing my eyes shut, I breathe slowly, trying to settle.

My body remains tense, though eventually, exhaustion drags me into uneasy dreams. I dream of the courtyard, except this time, the entire fortress watches us from the pillars, mocking or cheering, I can’t tell.

I reach for Saru’s horn, and he leans closer—until Thakur’s laughter splits the air like a blade.

Fire rips across the mark on my arm. I jolt awake, sweat slicking my spine.

Night deepens outside, the corridor silent.

I remain curled on the bed, heart racing.

A wave of loneliness hits me. I recall how I used to handle fear in the dark elf forges—shut down my emotions, rely on no one.

But the Bastion’s forging something new in me.

My vulnerabilities run deeper now, sharpened by the possibility that I might genuinely…

want him. The thought terrifies me as much as stepping onto a battlefield without armor.

I brush trembling fingers over the brand, the scab mostly healed.

I can’t keep lying to myself. I want him, physically and beyond.

The memory of that near-kiss ignites a throbbing ache in my chest, a mix of longing and alarm.

Because once I let that guard down, there’s no going back to the safe barrier of hostility.

We’ll be entangled in ways neither of us can easily escape.

And with the Senate prowling, any vulnerability could be a fatal flaw.

Eventually, I drift again into a shallow doze, mind spinning.

Dawn finds me just as weary, but I force myself up.

Another day, more chores, and more political maneuvers.

I vow to keep distance from Saru, or at least pretend that close call never happened.

It’s the only way to keep my head above water.

Yet deep down, an ember of yearning remains, stirring every time I think of his calm gaze or the electric jolt of his touch.

I wonder if he feels the same pull. He fled so abruptly, so maybe he’s just as rattled.

The notion both comforts and unnerves me.

Still, I won’t chase him for answers. Let him decide if we address it or pretend it never happened.

Maybe ignoring the spark is best. Maybe.

But my heart refuses to settle on that lie.

Stretching out my sore arms, I dress, ignoring the lingering bruises.

The brand stands out as a silent testament to forced survival, an anchor that might pull me deeper.

I sigh, tying my hair back, preparing for the day.

No matter what roils inside me, the Bastion demands my attention.

Yet each step I take echoes with the memory of a moment we almost gave in to something far more powerful than duty.

And the realization that I might crave that moment again, even if it threatens every wall I built to keep me safe.