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love-and-monsters · 2 years

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The Warlord and His Lady Pt. 1

M dragonkin X F human, first person, 10689 words.

It’s the fifth birthday on this blog about a week before my birthday, so I decided to be brave and post this story. It’s in first person and present tense, which I think is slightly unusual, but I hope people enjoy regardless! It will be multi-part, with amnesia, mutual pining, caretaking... just stuff I’ve been interested in lately. I can’t promise a consistent uploading schedule, but I’m working on it in my spare time and I’ve been enjoying writing it.

There’s someone knocking at my door. It takes me ten solid, sleep-addled minutes to realize that’s wrong.

The knocking is coming from my bedroom door. First, I don’t sleep with my bedroom door closed. Second, I live alone.

I open my eyes and everything goes sideways very fast.

I’m not in your room. I’m not in your bed. It’s four-poster, covered with a canopy of green and gold blankets. The bed is pillowy beneath me, much softer than my old spring mattress. There are tons of blankets on top of me, enough that it’s an effort to push myself upright. Pillows are stacked around me in a sort of haphazard throne, letting me sit up without any of the effort usually involved.

The knocking comes again, a little louder this time. “Ma’am? Your husband has arrived home. You requested to be told when he was here.”

Add that to the pile of weirdness: I don’t have a husband. Or even a boyfriend.

My first instinct is to stand, but even that goes wrong. As soon as my feet hit the floor, the world slants sideways. I stagger, hit the bed awkwardly, and end up on the floor with a bang.

There is silence for a moment. Then the woman on the other side of the door says, “Er. My lady? Are you all right?”

“Yes!” I yelp. It can’t possibly sound convincing, but the woman doesn’t call again. I’m alone for at least a little bit. It takes a moment of scrambling to get me back on my feet. This time, I’m prepared for the dizziness, so I don’t fall. I just flop over the bed until my knees stop trembling.

Once I orient myself, I take time to look around the room. It’s… a room. Nothing terribly remarkable. There’s a wardrobe, a desk covered in papers and books, a bookshelf that looks wildly disorganized, and a fireplace crackling away in a corner. There are no windows, and the only other partially-ajar door I see leads to a bathroom. There doesn’t seem to be any way to escape. Not that I’m sure I could run if there was a way out. My knees still feel shaky.

Footsteps thud in the hallway outside, growing louder and closer with each step. Before I can come up with a new plan of action, the footsteps are right outside my door. The doorknob twists to one side and the door swings open.

The man who enters has a stormy expression on his face. He’s bulky, with broad shoulders that are only enhanced by the armor he’s wearing. It looks a bit like a roman gladiator, with a chest plate strapped to him with leather and meatal covering his shoulders and arms down to a pair of gauntlets. He’s wearing some sort of cloak around his left shoulder, and cloth wrapped asymmetrically around his waist. Underneath that skirt is more armor, covering his legs and feet. Every step is heavy and loud, metal against stone.

His face is uncovered and he’s frowning, shaking long locks of black hair behind his shoulders. The glower he wears only adds to his intimidating appearance. Just looking at him strikes me with a sudden, piercing anxiety.

This anxiety is only increased when his stern gaze falls firmly on me.

I freeze. It’s always been my reaction to scary situations. It has never felt more fundamentally inadequate than it does right now. He’s staring right at me. He can see me. And it feels like, if I move, the tension in the room will snap and he’ll lunge for me.

It’s him who breaks the tension by turning to push the door shut behind him. He exhales slowly as he does, his shoulders slumping a little. It’s a tiny change in his posture, but it helps. He looks more tired, less intimidating.

Motion catches my eye and my gaze lowers. A shock rolls through me. There’s a green, scaly tail, poking out from his lower back and swaying gently. A real, actual tail. Attached to a human.

My brain feels like a pair of disconnected gears- it’s going very fast, but it’s not making anything happen. I can’t process this. Too much is happening too fast and it doesn’t make any sense,

The man turns back toward me. His frown deepens. “Are you feeling well? Your maid said you didn’t answer the door when she came to fetch you.” He takes several strides toward me. “Did something happen?”

Suddenly, casually, he is right in my personal space. One of his hands is half-raised to touch my face and I’m flinching away before my mind can even comprehend it.

He stares at me, hand still up. “What is it?” His voice is startled, almost irritated.

I open your mouth, but nothing comes out. Speaking under pressure has never been a skill of mine, and fear seems to act as a paralytic for my vocal cords. He continues to stare, looking me up and down as he waits for a response.

“Is everything all right?” he says, his voice a little more cautious. “You’re acting strange. Did you have a nightmare? Did something happen while I was away?”

I swallow, trying to wet my increasingly dry mouth. The initial shock seems to be wearing off. Now a deep, yawning terror fills my chest and stomach. This world is unfamiliar, I have no way to navigate it, and I’m trapped with a strange man people think is your husband. The panic escalates, drawing my muscles stiff and taut.

When he makes to move toward me again, the tension releases. I skitter away from him so quickly that my back slams into one of the heavy bookshelves against the wall. All the books rattle. Several of them topple over. The entire bookcase tilts back, just a little, and then starts to tilt forward. I feel the exact moment it overbalances and starts to fall.

There is one second in which I am absolutely certain I’m going to be crushed, and then hands slam into the shelf on either side of me. With one heave, the man sends it slamming back into place. We both stand still for a moment, me unable to move in the cage of his outstretched arms.

Then, he looks down. “What is the matter with you?”

It’s at times like this that I wish I was more prone to fainting or breaking into tears under stress. It would spare me from the discomfort of having to figure out what to say. But I have no such luck. After a few moments, I hesitantly say, “I don’t know who you are.”

There’s silence. He blinks a few times, rather owlishly. “I’m sorry?”

I swallow hard. There’s no saliva in my mouth, so it’s more of a throat convulsion really. “I don’t, uh. I don’t know who you are.”

There’s another long silence while he searches my face, first with bewilderment, then increasing desperation as he doesn’t find what he’s looking for. His arms slide off the dresser and fall back to his sides. A breath shudders through his chest. Then another.

He spins on his heels, his tail coming within an inch of my leg, and storms to the door. It bangs open and he bellows down the corridor, “Fetch me the physician! Now!”

The physician is an older man with dark skin and hair done into hundreds of tiny braids woven together in one large braid down his back. He takes the memory loss without even a blink, like he sees hundreds of amnesiacs a day. His steady, professional presence is reassuring, even as my apparent husband paces the room.

“No sign of head injuries,” the physician says as he probes at my head. His fingers slide down the back of my neck. “Lymph nodes are slightly swollen. Might be fighting some kind of infection, but I’m not sure if that’s related or not.” He tests my joints, prods at my back and stomach and makes a lot of thoughtful humming noises.

“And you say you don’t remember anything,” he says eventually, sitting back and eyeing me contemplatively.

“It’s hard to explain. I don’t remember any of you, I don’t remember this castle, I don’t remember this place at all, but I can remember my childhood. I remember growing up with my parents, going to school, graduating college. I remember going to sleep last night! It’s not like I have a blank spot in my mind, it’s like I lived my life there and today I just woke up here.” Your voice catches a little. The tailed man stops pacing and stares at you.

“Hm,” the physician says. His voice is calm, but you can see the concern in his eyes. “Physically, I can’t find anything wrong with you. At least, not anything that would account for the memory loss you’re describing.” He stands and looks toward the tailed man. “My thoughts are that this is the result of some kind of curse or other magical ailment.”

The tailed man takes a deep breath. “Get the thaumatist.”

The thaumatist is not the same reassuring presence as the physician. He’s young, with blond hair drifting in a sort of cloud around his head and eyes that perpetually seem to be looking at everything and nothing. It’s not comforting that he also always seems to be looking at a point about an inch above my head.

“Hm.” He looks properly at me for a moment, then his gaze drifts away once more. “Hmm.”

My husband glares. “Well?”

“Well…” The thaumatist tilts his head back and breathes in slowly. “Hm.”

There’s a distinct thump as my husband’s tail smacks into the bed. His arms are already folded over his chest and the corner of his mouth is crawling up into a snarl. “Is she cursed or not?”

“Oh, yes, certainly. I could sense that the instant I stepped into the room. Someone did this intentionally, there’s no doubt.” His voice is breezy, like he’s discussing party decorations. There’s another thump as my husband’s tail swings into the bed.

“Can you fix it?” he says, his voice tinged with a threat.

“Oh,” says the thaumatist, as if he wasn’t expecting that question. “Well, that depends.”

We wait for an answer but the thuamatist just sort of hums to himself. “Depends on what?” my husband sighs.

“On whether it was her mind or her soul that was affected.” The thaumatist fixes me with his gaze for the first time. My back prickles. “Her mind will be easier to fix. Her soul… more difficult.”

My husband draws himself up stiff. I hear his breath catch. “Her soul?”

“Mm. Presumably, the curse was used to replace her memories. If it was used merely to affect her mind, then it may merely take a few sessions to manually remove the obscuring memories. But if they used more complex magic on her soul, then it will be far more difficult to alter.”

“Explain,” my husband states. The thaumatist shrugs, breaking his gaze on me and looking at some point on the hall.

“Memories are complicated. Our minds discard ones they see as unimportant or useless to our daily lives. By implanting new memories into the mind, the old ones are effectively covered up. But it can be reversed fairly easily, even if it does take some time. But memories can also be affected by toying with the soul itself.

“Personally, given the strength of the curse, I think it is more likely that it affects her soul. If her soul was translated across realities, then she will have a set of overlapping memories. The more recent ones will cover up the older ones, and she remembers a different life than the one she lived here.”

“I’m sorry. A different… reality?” my husband says.

“It’s a complicated bit of thaumatic theory. There are alternate realities bordering our own. Given what you remember, and the power of the curse, I suspect whoever cast it was attempting to banish her soul to an alternate reality. Though it did fail, and her soul returned after living out the duration of her life in an alternate world. Hence the memory loss.”

There’s a long pause. My husband, previously fiddling with the straps of his armor, has gone deathly still. Even his tail is no longer moving. “Someone tried to kill her?” His voice is cold, dangerous. I find myself going still as a trapped mouse.

“Oh.” The thaumatist cocks his head to one side. “Well, she would not have died. Her body would have been functional, but her soul would not have been in it. She would have lingered for a while. I expect a few years, before her body finally succumbed.” He smiles absently at me. “Fortunately, the spell was a failure.”

I look between the thaumatist and my husband. My husband is staring at me, eyes wide. His chest heaves up and down with heavy breaths. There’s a tension in the room, growing with each passing second. I can feel it pressing on my back, stretching between him and me.

And then it snaps. “Alert the high guard. Tell them we’re going to the Warren.” The thaumatist rises and exits the room, unhurried. The door closes behind him and my husband moves to the wardrobe.

I sit up while he’s rifling through something on the bottom of the wardrobe. “I, um.” My voice comes out with a bit of a squeak. He doesn’t seem to notice. He grabs a paper-wrapped box and sets it down behind him, then crosses the room to grab a large suitcase from under the bed. “What- what’s going on?”

He pauses and lifts his head to look at me. There’s something harsh and cold in his eyes, but when he catches my gaze, he pauses. He slides the suitcase away and rises to sit on the bed next to me.

“If the thaumatist is correct, then someone has tried to kill you, and nearly succeeded. That’s an assassination attempt. We can’t stay here.” He unlatches the suitcase and glances inside it. “Your medicine and our clothes are sorted.” He glances around the room. “Where’s your cane?”

“I don’t know?” I sputter out. I can’t even remember needing a cane. He glances around a room for a moment, then grabs something from next to the bed, and places it into the suitcase.

“The horses will be ready for travel in twenty minutes,” he says. “Most of our supplies are packed already, and the kitchens can quickly prepare food to take with us. I’ll need to prepare some letters for the generals, in case I’m out of contact- can you-” He looks into my face once more and his expression shifts a little. “No, I suppose not.”

I swallow hard. “I don’t- I don’t know what’s going on.” My voice sounds like it’s verging on frantic, even to me. “I don’t even know who you are.”

He looks at me for a long moment. Slowly, he sits down on the bed again. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay,” I say automatically. He purses his lips.

“This must be scary for you.” There’s a little strain to his voice, like he’s trying hard to keep it steady. “You need to hold on for now, okay? I can explain more when we get to the Warren.”

“I just want to know exactly what’s going on,” I say. My voice is small, and a little shaky. He presses his lips together.

“Someone tried to hurt you,” he says in a slow voice that doesn’t manage to hide his anxiety. “We need to make sure you’re going to be safe. That we’re both going to be safe. So we’re going to a safe house for a little bit. Just to make sure.”

“Okay.” Everything is starting to feel a little floaty. Maybe I am dreaming. Maybe I’ll wake up in a few moments. Things don’t exactly feel real anymore. “I- okay. I, uh. Can I just know your name?”

He blinks a few times. A flicker of something crosses his face, almost like he’s about to cry. Then it’s gone. “Rastek,” he says. “I need to go take care of some things. Stay here. I will get you when we’re ready to leave.”

Just like that, he marches out of the room. The door bangs shut and I am sitting alone.

I thought being along might make it easier to process my thoughts, but it seems to have only made things worse. My brain whirls, churning up questions that I can’t answer. How did this happen? Is this even real? What happened to my home, my family, my pet? Can I reverse this? Should I reverse this? How do I even begin to find anything out?

Distantly, I realize that I’m hyperventilating. The room sways and I’m abruptly on my back, looking at the ceiling. Everything feels strangely far away. I think I’m crying. I’m not sure. There’s a darkened spot on the ceiling and my eyes lock onto it.

After a little while, my breathing calms. The floaty sensation eases, though it doesn’t go away. I feel like I want to sleep for a week. Or just drop off the face of the earth. Am I even on Earth anymore? That thought makes me give a weird little laugh. It doesn’t sound like a laugh.

The door opens. Footsteps cross the room. “Are you awake?” Rastek asks. A hand touches my shoulder. He’s looking down at me, a slight frown creasing his brows. “We need to get going.”

My body feels heavy as rocks, but I heave myself out of bed. It’s difficult to control my body. Like I’m puppeteering it or controlling it by remote. My breathing snags strangely in my chest.

Something catches my shoulder. It takes a second for me to process that it’s a hand. “What’s wrong?” Rastek leans over me, his other hand coming up to tilt my face toward him.

“Um.” I can’t quantify what’s wrong. Everything. Everything is wrong. Rastek peers more intently into my face.

“What’s wrong? What doesn’t feel good?” he presses. Everything. I make a sort of vague gesture with my hand.

“I can’t-” My throat convulses and I nearly sob. I can see Rastek swallow.

“It’s all right. The physician is waiting for us. I can carry you.” Before I even process that, he’s hefting me into his arms with very little effort. It’s quite practiced- he settles me against his chest as if he’s done it hundreds of times before. He snags the suitcase as an afterthought, then takes off at a jog.

From my position, I can’t get a good look at our surroundings. I can just look up at Rastek’s face. His expression is stern, jaw clenched. But there’s a little quiver at the corner of his mouth that makes my heart clench.

It takes only a few moments to exit the building into a sprawling yard. The sun is bright, though there’s a chill in the air. Dirt pathways carve through the green lawn in interesting, though pretty inefficient, landscape.

There’s a gaggle of people and horses toward the center of the lawn and Rastek heads right toward them.

“Sir!” A woman in armor, similar to what Rastek wears, hustles over. “We’re almost ready, just waiting on your signal.”

“Thank you, general. I’ll be along in a moment. Physician! Come.” He walks a small distance away, then kneels and deposits me on the ground. “Lie back,” he says, his voice abruptly softening. “The physician will help.”

“What is the matter?” the physician asks as he comes up behind us.

“She’s unwell,” Rastek says, though he doesn’t take his eyes off me. “She’s been moving strangely, and she can barely speak to me.”

The physician pokes and prods and asks a few questions, simple enough ones that I can answer. Strangely, the experience seems to be helping. By the end, I’m feeling, if not calm, at least more attached to my body.

“She’s in shock,” the physician says. Rastek, who has been pacing, stops and drops down next to me.

“In shock?” He stares at me before whipping his head back toward the physician. “She’s not sick?”

“No. More like what sometimes happens when a soldier experiences a terrible battle. They may be physically unharmed, but they may be mentally struggling. I imagine losing her memories would be a frightening enough event to cause shock." The physician looks steadily at me. “Do you know what I’m saying?” I nod. “Good. Take a deep breath for me, all right?” I inhale slowly. “Let it out.” I exhale. “There we go. Keep breathing just like that.”

The physician leads me in breathing for several moments. His voice is low and soothing, and it’s easy to relax to. “Good. You’re doing very well. How are you feeling now?”

“I don’t know.” My voice is small, but it’s rather steady. “Everything feels wrong. I can’t-” My voice trembles.

“It’s all right,” the physician says. “You’re doing very well. It’s overwhelming. Keep breathing for me, all right?” He takes an exaggerated deep breath. I mimic him. “That’s it. I know it’s scary, but you’re safe. Everything is going to be okay.” I nod. “Okay. We need to move right now. Do you feel comfortable traveling?”

“I think so.” I’m not sure what other answer I could give. The physician offers me his hand and helps me up. Rastek hovers at my side, hands slightly raised like he’s ready to catch me.

“You’re certain she’s safe to travel?” he asks, fixing the physician with a stern look.

“In all honesty, I would prefer that she rest, but it would probably be more dangerous to her health to stay here at the moment.”

Rastek lets out a soft sigh. “Thank you for your assessment.” The physician nods and walks away toward a gathering of servants. “Come. The sooner we leave, the sooner we’ll get there and you can rest.”

He leads me over to a pair of horses. They’re both pitch black and bulkier than I was expecting. I always think horses are going to be smaller than they actually are. Rastek hesitates and turns back toward me. “I would surmise that you no longer remember how to ride?”

“Er…” I technically have ridden a horse before, but given that I was just in the saddle while a handler led the animal around, I don’t think it gave me any useable skills. “No.”

“We’ll ride together, then.” Rastek gestures for me to step closer to the horse, and I eye the saddle. I don’t even remember how to climb onto a horse. As I’m trying to decide the least embarrassing way to attempt it, Rastek seizes me around my waist and hoists me up.

It’s a smooth motion, and I’m in the saddle before I totally process what’s happening. The horse shifts underneath me and I cling to the saddle. Rastek clambers up behind me, making me wobble dangerously. “Careful,” he murmurs. He tugs me back so I’m resting securely against his chest, his other hand reaching around me to hold the reins.

Oh, god. I am way too aware of how much he’s touching me. His fingers tickling gently at my stomach where his hand rests. The warmth of his chest behind my head, shifting slightly with his breathing. The way his legs are pressed up against me. My heart is hammering and I feel vaguely tingly all over.

“Into formation!” Rastek barks. I shrink down a little from his booming voice. “Move out!”

We drop into a practiced formation as we ride, a couple of heavily-armored people in front of us, our horse in the middle, and more armored guards and servants bringing up the rear. Every now and then, the guards will switch positions or come into line with Rastek to give him an update. One of Rastek’s arms stays around me the whole time, rubbing absentminded circles on my stomach.

Riding a horse, as it turns out, is a bit like you took the worst parts of riding in a car and made them more uncomfortable. Looking at the scenery can only keep me occupied for so long, and I can’t sleep because about twenty percent of my attention is focused on not falling off the horse. It’s much more effort than I remember- even with Rastek holding onto me, my thighs burn with the effort of keeping myself upright.

The day is warm, even as we travel through shaded areas. Sweat slides along the back of my neck and sticks my clothes to my body. The horses seem to be slowing down too, lather gathering on their hides. We end up coming to a stop near a shallow brook.

Rastek swings down off the horse and tugs it toward the water. “Do you need help coming down?” he asks.

I hesitate- I definitely do need help, but I’m afraid that if I move, I’ll get tangled in the reins or straps of the saddle and fall. “Uh. I think so.”

Rastek looks at me patiently, then slightly more impatiently when I don’t move. “Lift the leg on the other side of the horse and bring it around so you’re facing me.”

That seems easier said than done. As soon as I lean to one side to swing my leg around, my entire body tilts in that direction, threatening to overbalance. My stomach gives that terrifying drop and I seize the horse’s neck, practically throwing myself flat against its back. Rastek huffs out a sigh. My face burns.

“Here.” He lifts his arms toward me. “Try again. I will catch you if you fall.”

He’s still wearing metal, so it doesn’t look like the most comfortable landing, but I don’t want to stay on the horse for the rest of my life. Hesitantly, I lift my leg again.

This time, I have a better sense of balance. Moving quickly is the solution here- if I swing my leg around and lean back against the movement at the same moment, I can keep my balance. Once turned, I’m sitting more or less side-saddle, facing Rastek.

“Good,” he says, arms still raised. “Now just slide forward. I will catch you.”

I brace my arms against the horse and, after a moment, I slide forward. There’s a moment of surprise as I start to fall. Then, Rastek’s hands close around my waist.

He holds me only for a moment before he sets me on the ground, but I can still feel his hands even after he releases me. It lingers for several moments.

“Are you feeling all right?” Rastek asks.

“I think so.” My legs are sore and shaky, and I think I have blistered on the inside of my thighs, which is possibly one of the worse sensations I’ve ever experienced. “I’m just tired, I think.”

Rastek makes a little ‘tch’ noise. “No surprise.” He touches your forehead with the back of his hand. The feeling is so gentle that your breath actually catches in your throat. “You’re still a touch feverish.” His eyes narrow just a little. “I wish you could have a little medicine, but it’s going to make you tired.”

“I’m all right,” I say automatically. “It’s fine.”

“Hm,” he murmurs. “Rest here for a bit. I’m going to discuss our travels with the others.”

I sit down on a nearby log and watch as Rastek joins a gathering of guards around a map. Their speaking is loud enough that I can hear different voices, but I can’t tell what they’re saying.

After a few minutes of waiting, I slide closer to the creek. I have to hike up my skirts and slide off my shoes to stand at the edge of the water. It’s cold against my toes. A tiny fish darts through the shallows, nearly colliding with my feet before changing direction and vanishing into shadowed water.

It’s been a while since I’ve been in a creek. There’s one near my house, but I found it harder and harder to get out. There are so many things to do, so many things to focus on other than being outside. The creek looks a lot like mine. Tiny fish, smooth stones in the shallows, green grass and reeds partially submerged in the water. If it weren’t for the clothes I’m wearing, I could almost imagine that I’m in my creek again.

A flicker of motion catches my eye. A tiny orange-brown salamander crawls from the shallows up onto a half-sunken stick. I freeze. It tilts its head to one side, sides moving with its quick little breaths.

I watch it for a while, as it sits and suns itself. Slowly as I can, I stretch out a finger until I’m just hovering above it. I reach out with the lightest of touches and rest my finger on its head.

The salamander doesn’t move. I did this with my sister, once. We dared each other to catch the amphibians in the creek. She was always more skilled at it than I was- once she caught three in an hour. I never managed to get more than one.

When I stretch my hand out to touch the salamander once more. Before I can make contact, it darts off the stick and plunges into the water with barely a splash. It’s gone within a second. I stare at the spot where it vanished, a strange sense of loss stirring in my chest.

“We’re almost ready to go.” I spin around, skirts dropping into the water as I drop them. Rastek is standing on the shore, eyes fixed on me. “Would you like to eat before we go?”

I hesitate. I’m not particularly hungry, despite it having been a while since I’ve eating. My anxiety has settled firmly in my stomach and I don’t have much of an appetite. Rastek frowns as I shake my head.

“Are you feeling nauseated?” he asks as I step out of the water and try to shake my skirts off.

“No, I just don’t have an appetite,” I say. Rastek frowns more, his tail swinging back and forth.

“You should eat a little something.” He pulls a cloth bag from our horse and rummages through it for a few seconds before retracting a peach. It looks slightly bruised, probably from being banged around by riding, but after a moment of inspection, Rastek holds it out to me.

I take it, holding it in the palm of my hand. The fuzz on its body tickles a little. It feels dense. Juicy. More out of habit than any desire to eat, I lift it to my mouth and bite.

It’s delicious. The soft flesh gives under my teeth, spilling juice down my chin and through my mouth. It tastes sweet and honeyed and almost spiced. If there was crust, it would be an exact replica for my mom’s peach pie, the one she makes for her birthday every summer. With the warmth in the air and the creek babbling behind me, I could be there. It feels like I’m there…

And then I open my eyes. I hadn’t even realized I’d closed them. Rastek is in front of me, hand still slightly extended.

My heart sinks like a weight, dragging my stomach down with it. The peach juice goes acidic in my mouth. I cough, spitting some of the partially chewed fruit onto the ground. I’m not home. I don’t know how to get home. I don’t know if I can.

I’m never going to eat my mom’s peach pie or hunt for amphibians with my sister. I’m stuck here, in a world I don’t remember and don’t understand.

My breath whistles in my chest and my vision slides out of focus. Fuck. Not again. I can’t be doing this again. I have to stop collapsing, I have to pull myself together.

“Are you all right?” Rastek’s voice is closer now. Because he’s closer. One of his hands reaches for me, stops, remains hovering just out of touching distance. He glances over his shoulder like he’s considering calling the physician.

“I’m fine.” My voice comes out weird- too strained and too flat at the same time. “I. Choked. On the juice.”

Rastek looks at me. “You choked.”

“Yes.” The strangled feeling is passing, moving on toward numbness. Good. If I can just not feel for a while, maybe I can have a breakdown in private. Just not here. Not again. Not with people looking at me.

Rastek looks highly unconvinced. His tail swishes back and forth over the ground. I keep my eyes focused on it. The movement is hypnotic. Kind of soothing. It’s at least preventing me from bawling my eyes out.

He’s just drawing in a breath to say something when one of the guards calls out, “My lord?" Rastek pauses, looks over his shoulder in her direction. “We should get going. We’ve already lingered here too long.”

Rastek huffs out a sigh. “Very well. We can move on.” He turns back toward me. “Can you manage for a while longer? We should have some dried fruit you can eat as we go-”

“I’m fine.” The remnants of peach juice in my mouth are turning my stomach. “I can keep going.”

Rastek keeps looking at me, arms folded. “At least drink something,” he says, removing a waterskin from the saddle. He holds it out to me and I take a few gulps. The water is at least more tolerable than food. It’s surprisingly cold, for having traveled so far with us, and there’s almost a mild sweetness to it. I must be thirstier than I thought.

“Up you get,” Rastek mutters as he swings me up onto the horse. He takes the waterskin, reattaches it, then swings himself up behind me. One of his hands settles around my stomach, anchoring me against him while the other takes the reins. With a quick signal to the guards, we’re off again.

My thighs burn with the effort of staying on the horse and with the friction of riding, and our brief break didn’t help much. I end up leaning more against Rastek, though that’s uncomfortable in its own way. I’m way too aware of the constant shift of his breathing and how close his hips are to me.

The sun starts to sink and we keep riding. One group of guards splits off from us as we go, heading in a different direction. Then another group. The ones remaining close rank, tightening our formation. Rastek shifts in the saddle. His tail snakes around me, holding me securely by the waist. Every now and then, he rubs my back or murmurs something reassuring to me. “We’ll be there soon. You’ll be all right.” It would be more comforting if I couldn’t hear the tension in his voice.

It’s as the last bits of sunlight finally drop below the horizon that I see a building on the horizon. Rastek spurs his horse onward, leaning forward and against me in an effort to get there faster. “Just a little longer,” he huffs into my hair. “We’re almost there.”

The building is made of stone and fairly large, though not as big as where we’re coming from. It’s larger than my house at home, that’s for sure. My skin tingles as we trot past the low, wrought iron fence that surrounds the property and into the generous yard.

“Unsaddle the horses,” Rastek says to one of the guards. “Physician, come with me. The rest of you, ensure that the kitchens are stocked and get some rest in the servant’s quarters. I will bring my wife to her room.”

He slips off the horse and turns toward me, arms lifted. This time, when I reach for him, instead of placing me on the ground, he pulls me against his chest. His arms come around me with ease, holding me tightly but not aggressively, one hand supporting my head. Despite being in a very droppable position, I feel secure.

A guard walks into the house ahead of us, along with the thaumatist. The thaumatist stops, turns in a slow circle in the middle of the entranceway.

“Well?” Rastek says. The hand supporting my head moves absently, rubbing back and forth. His nails scrape against my scalp.

“Seems safe enough,” the thaumatist says. His expression is dreamy and unconcerned.

“Safe enough?” Rastek repeats. The thaumatist shrugs.

“I detect no magic here other than what I would expect from the internal systems. But nothing’s ever one hundred percent. Theoretically, there’s a chance someone could insert a spell that disguised itself as a part of internal systems. It would be difficult, but possibly manageable.”

“Is it likely?” Rastek asks, terse. The thaumatist shrugs again.

“Not particularly. It would be a lot of effort, and it would have a high chance of failure.” The thaumatist waves a hand vaguely. I can’t tell if he’s trying to gesture or trying to swat a fly. “It is an interesting concept, though.”

Rastek lets out an enormous sigh. “Then I am going to let me wife rest.” He waves off the guard and heads down a hallway, up a few sets of stairs, and into a small room.

It looks sort of like a room you might see a character in a fantasy movie stay in overnight. A bed, a dresser, a few lamps on the walls, a dusty-looking green rug on the floor. Actually, the entire room looked dusty. Rastek wrinkles his nose and makes a noise like a choked-off sneeze. “This room will need to be cleaned again,” he sighs. “In the morning, perhaps, unless you need it now?”

It takes a moment to realize he’s looking at me expectantly. Given how rarely I actually bothered to dust my room in my own home, this place isn’t that bad. Though it does have that slightly musty, stale smell of disuse.

Rastek walks over to the bed and hesitates. “Would you like to get changed?” he asks. “I can call one of the servants to bathe you, as well.”

I’m sweaty and sort of grimy and the idea of soaking in warm water feels like a luxury. On the other hand, I’m not keen on having a servant there to bathe me.

“I can bathe myself,” I offer. Something happens on Rastek’s face for a moment. It’s hard to read his expression, but it scrunches up oddly before relaxing back into his standard frown.

“Are you certain? You must be exhausted.”

“I’m not too tired to bathe myself,” I protest. Rastek shifts his weight, his tail waving back and forth behind him.

“I’ll get someone to bring some soap,” he finally says. “Don’t bother with your hair tonight, we can have someone help you with that in the morning.” He walks over to a door that I didn’t notice before and swings up open, shifting me to one arm to free his hand. Despite only being supported by one arm, I don’t feel any less secure.

The room beyond the door is really small. By which I mean there’s about two feet of walking space between the toilet, the tub, and the sink. Rastek actually growls, a sound I feel more against his chest than hear.

“It would have been nice to have more space,” he sighs. I almost tell him I don’t mind before the gentle thunk of his tail against the doorframe reminds me that not only is he bigger, but he’s got more limbs. It’s a tight standing space for me. With his tail, I’m not sure he can actually move all that much.

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask. “Maybe we can try another room? I-”

“I’ll be fine,” he reassures me. “It’s tight, but I’ll survive.” He looks around, considering his options for where to put me. There aren’t many. After a few seconds he carefully crouches and places me into the tub. “I’ll get a servant to fetch some soap. Rest.” He pats my head and sweeps out of the room.

I sit up in the tub. I’m along again. For the first time since this morning. I’m not sure I like it. There’s too much space to think about things I don’t want to think about. I sit up and fiddle with the faucets, then look over at the toilet and sink. There appears to be indoor plumbing, which is something of a relief. Given the weird ‘medieval fantasy’ vibe everything seems to give off, I was worried about chamber pots. There are also lights, now that I think about it, though they are weird. I’ve never seen anyone light them or even flick on a switch, but they always seem to be on whenever we enter a room.

Just as I’m about to crawl up and take a closer look at one of the lights, someone knocks on the bathroom door. “My lady? The lord requested I bring you soap. And he asked for me to set some nightclothes out on your bed.”

“Oh! Um. Thank you. Thank you very much.” How are you supposed to respond to a servant? Do I need to dismiss her? That seems rude.

“Can I help you with anything else, my lady?”

“No, no, I’m all right. Thank you.” There’s the sound of retreating footsteps and I carefully move to open the door. The servant is already gone, and in their wake is a small pile of towels with some cream-colored soap resting on top. I gather them up and step back into the bathroom.

While I’m waiting for the tub to fill, I struggle out of my clothes. It’s laced up the back and it takes a lot of stretching to undo it enough to ease it off.

The water is warm and luxurious and focusing on the motions of washing helps me not think about what’s happened to my life. I stay in until the water is cold and my skin is practically raw from scrubbing before forcing myself to get out.

My nightclothes turn out to be a cream-colored nightgown and stockings. I slide them on and all but collapse into bed. The lights are still on, but I don’t know how to turn them off and I don’t care. I’m not getting back up. I’m sore. I’m exhausted. I have no idea what’s going on. I need to sleep.

I do not sleep.

My brain won’t shut up. I can’t even pin down one thought that’s bugging me. It’s just this horrible, nebulous anxiety that makes my stomach turn and my breath come in sharp little gasps.

The room has no windows, so the only way to tell time is to stare at the clock on the wall. The second tick by with horrific slowness. It doesn’t even have the decency to make a little noise; the entire house is oppressively silent.

Eventually, the restlessness crawling under my skin gets the better of me. I slip out of bed and open my bedroom door.

The rest of the house is silent and dark. There’s just enough light to make out the vague shapes of furniture. I rest one of my hands on the wall to help guide me down the hall.

I’m not sure where I’m going, but the restlessness compels me to walk. It’s only after I’ve turned down a few hallways and the light of my room is lost behind me that I realize I don’t know the house’s layout enough to navigate my way back in the dark. Whatever. I wasn’t sleeping anyway, and if I really need to, I can sleep on the ground.

There’s something comforting about walking around in the darkness. Everything is quiet, peaceful. I can’t see anything more than a few inches in front of my face. It’s sort of freeing. Like nothing else exists except for me.

And then my foot catches on something soft and warm and alive in the darkness and I pitch forward.

Whatever I just tripped on grabs my ankle as I fall. The restriction of my leg stops me from correcting my balance. I topple sideways, cracking my hip against a piece of furniture as I do. “Ow! Shit!”

The hand on my ankle loosens. “Dear one?” The voice, rough with sleep, is familiar.

“Rastek?” There’s a fumbling noise and the hand at my ankle vanishes. I sit upright, blinking helplessly in the dark. I can’t see him at all, but I can hear him shuffling into a sitting position.

“What are you doing here?” His voice comes closer, like he’s leaning over me. “It’s late. You should be sleeping.”

“Why are you here?” I whisper back. “Are you sleeping on the ground?”

Rastek snorts. “I’ve slept in far worse conditions on the battlefield.”

“But it’s not like there aren’t beds,” I say. “You could just sleep in one of those.”

There’s a pause. “There’s only one bedroom on this floor of the house and it was expected that we would share it,” he says after a moment. “The guest rooms are not fully set up and I assumed you would prefer to spend the night alone.” I hear him shift and his warmth moves away from me as he stands. “The servants’ quarters would likely have extra beds, but they likely would not appreciate having their lord there when they just want to rest.”

“If you want the bed, you can have it,” I mutter, rubbing my hand over my head. “I’m hardly using it.”

“I noticed,” Rastek says. There might be a hint of amusement in his voice, but it’s hard to tell. “Here, let’s sit on the couch. You can’t see very well, can you?”

“I can’t really see anything,” I admit.

“I can never remember exactly how poor human night vision is,” Rastek says. “Here, I’m going to take your arm…” A hand closes around my upper arm and tugs lightly to my feet. “And back a few steps, that’s it.” The backs of my legs bump against the couch and I half fall, half sit down. “There. Now, we’ve discussed why I’m here.” The couch sinks a little as Rastek sits next to me. “Why are you still awake?”

“No real reason. I just couldn’t sleep.” Rastek’s not quite touching me, but I still feel aware of how close to me he is. There can’t be more than an inch, maybe two inches between us. The space feels electric. Sometimes I can feel the slightest touch of his body against mine when he breathes in.

“Not tired enough?” he asks, gently teasing, but also probing. I huff out a little laugh.

“I’m exhausted. I just can’t- I can’t sleep. It just won’t happen.”

Rastek takes a deep breath in. It’s almost deliberate, like he’s making sure I can hear and follow his inhales. “Your mind won’t settle.”

“No. I’m exhausted and I just can’t sleep. I thought maybe getting up and walking around would help, but I just still feel… restless.”

“Is there anything you feel like would help? There are a few servants still up. I’m certain I could have them fetch you anything you would need.”

“I don’t know. I don’t know what would help. I barely know where I am or what’s going on and I’m exhausted.” I slump forward, elbows on my knees. “I’m sorry, I just- I don’t know what to do.”

Something brushes against my shoulder, tentative. The touch stops, then returns, firmer this time. Rastek’s hand moves up and down my back. “I know. I know this is all so much for you. I can’t even imagine. But you’re safe, okay? I’ll make sure you’re safe.”

He shifts just a little closer and I bury my face in his chest. I can’t even bring myself to feel embarrassed about how I’m clinging to him. I’m tired and scared and his warmth is comforting. I need something comforting, more than I need anything else.

At some point, I can feel myself starting to drift off. Rastek shifts his weight a little with a groan, but as soon as I move, he freezes like a statue. “It’s okay. Shh. Relax.” He only moves again once I go completely still.

He stands, adjusts me so I don’t jostle when he walks, then sets off toward my room. It only takes him a few minutes to get there, and even with my eyes closed, I can tell when we cross the threshold because the lights are still on. Rastek mumbles something and the lights dim back to acceptable levels.

“Good night,” Rastek murmurs as he sets me into bed. “Get some sleep, now.” He fusses with the covers for a moment, tucking them around me. For a moment, I can feel him leaning over me, hesitating. Then he steps back and the floor creaks as he walks away from me.

I fall asleep within minutes. It’s the sort of thick, heavy sleep that fogs your brain and merges dreams and reality. When I wake, it feels like I’ve been sleeping for years and also five minutes. My brain swims as I stare up at the ceiling. That’s not my bedroom ceiling. Why isn’t it? Where the fuck am I?

And then everything comes flooding back. Oh. Oh, fuck.

I push myself up, ignoring the stretch and soreness in my legs. My head’s pounding too. I feel a little bit like I’ve been hit by a truck. Or spent several hours riding a horse through a forest. Either or.

Someone knocks on the door and I jump. “My lady?” I think I recognize the voice. It’s the thaumatist. “Would you mind letting me in? I’d like to give a quick examination.”

“Um. The door’s open?” I call. There’s a pause, then the door swings open. The thaumatist drifts in, looking dreamily unfocused. He pauses, blinking in the dark like he hadn’t realized the lights weren’t on for a few steps.

“Will the lights bother your head if I turn them on?” he asks.

I stare at him. “How’d you know I had a headache?”

“These curses always have some effect that will do your head in.” The lights flicker on and I groan automatically, pressing my hands over my eyes. My head throbs, as a corresponding spike of nausea jolts upward from my stomach. “You may keep your eyes closed for the examination, if that would help.” The thaumatist offers. “Oh. Hello, your lordship. I thought you were not spending the night here.”

I open my eyes and look across the room. Rastek is there, sitting against a wall with his cloak partially wrapped around his body. He groans, half lifting a hand to his eyes.

“Have you been in here all night?” I ask. The thaumatist glances sideways at me, eyebrows lifted, but he doesn’t say anything. Rastek stands, cracking his back as he does so. I wince at the noise. “That can’t have been comfortable.”

“I wanted to make sure you got to sleep all right,” he says. “I wasn’t intending to fall asleep here.” He turns to the thaumatist. “An examination?”

“Yes, your lordship.” The thaumatist turns toward me again, reaching his hands out. “Hold still.”

My head tingles momentarily and I sway. “Hmm,” the thaumatist murmurs. “Hmm.” He tilts his head to one side, gaze distant. “Hmmmm.”

It’s nearly a full minute before he takes his hands back. “The magic around you is still agitated. Your soul is… mm. Unsettled.”

Your stomach twists. “That sounds, uh. Kind of bad.”

“Yes, it can be,” the thaumstist says. He sounds more thoughtful than concerned. “Souls are more easily manipulated when not properly in their own bodies. And they can have a tendency to drift.”

“To drift?” Rastek repeats. He’s still standing near the wall, his body a line of tension.

“To wander, to slip away from the body. When the soul is detached from the body, the link between soul and body weakens. It can cause slips, where the body and soul separate from each other. Most often, during sleep, but at other occasions as well. Souls that wander are uniquely vulnerable. They can be captured or injured with greater ease. Or simply have their connection to their body severed.”

“What happens if the connection is severed?” I ask. My voice comes out sort of strangled; I hardly recognize it leaving my mouth.

“Typically, the body dies and the soul moves on or fades,” the thaumatist says. “I can create a personal ward for you that will help tether your soul more firmly in place, but I cannot guarantee anything. Soul magic is difficult.”

“Create the ward as soon as possible, then,” Rastek says. “How long will it take?”

“Oh...” The thaumatist pauses for a minute. Then another minute. Then another. I glance at Rastek just as he turns his head toward me. Our eyes lock for just a moment and I catch a flicker of incredulity, like ‘can you believe this guy?’ written across his face. Then he seems to catch himself and turns his head away. Something in my chest twinges, an odd sense of loss.

“How long?” Rastek repeats, terse. The thuamatist blinks like he’s just registered that he is speaking with other people.

“I’m not sure. All wards are different. A few days, perhaps?”

“Then she’ll be vulnerable for a few days more,” Rastek says. His voice is still tense, but the thaumatist barely seems to register it.

“Yes. I can create something simpler by tonight, something that will detect if her soul is drifting. A shock will return her soul to her body.” The thaumatist tilts his head to one side. “She probably shouldn’t sleep. It weakens the connection.”

Rastek’s tail swishes back and forth. “Very well. And her memories?”

“The memories can be difficult to recover. I can perform some spells that may help. Or they may not. The memories may return on their own. Or they may not return ever. Souls are complex and ill-understood.”

There is silence for a moment. I can see Rastek’s shoulders set tight, barely rising and falling with his breathing. His head is turned away, but I can catch just the unhappy line of his mouth. “Do you want the spells?”

It takes a second to realize he’s talking to me. “Wh- what?”

“The spells to help you recover your memory. Do you want them?” This time he looks fully at me. I can’t read his expression. It’s stern, revealing nothing of his thoughts.

“I- I think so.” I can’t think of any reason to refuse them. If I’m hallucinating, I can’t imagine they’ll do anything and I this is real… then I do want to remember. If I’m supposed to be here, I want to know.

Rastek nods toward the thaumatist. “Then start the treatment.”

The thaumatist turns back toward me and I feel a flicker of nervousness, like I’m about to have a dental procedure. “This won’t hurt,” he says, looking marginally more focused than I’ve ever seen him, “but it will make you woozy.” He extends his hands and rests them on either side of my face. His fingertips press against my cheekbones.

There’s nothing for a moment. Just the thaumatist’s face uncomfortably close to mine. And then, an intense sense of vertigo.

My head spins like I’m somersaulting. I can’t get my eyes to focus. The world looks like a kaleidoscope- just colors spinning and blurring together. I squeeze my eyes shut, which helps the vertigo, but makes the weird sensations in my body all the more obvious. My back burns like I’m lying out in the sun, one of my arms breaks out in goosebumps, my legs tingle with pins and needles, and a sense of pressure rests on my chest. The feelings are intense and disorienting- I can’t get a sense of time or place. It could have been hours since the thaumatist started, or seconds. I could not have moved an inch or I could be somewhere entirely different. I can’t get a sense of where my body is in space.

Finally, it stops. The sensations taper off until I can get a sense of my surroundings again. There are soft sheets at my back, a lightly cool air on my face and the sensation of my nightclothes against my skin.

I open my eyes slowly. I’m still in my bedroom. The thaumatist is sitting back on the bed, looking at me with a curious expression.

“Your soul is complex. And guarded,” he says. “I will be back later with the charm.” He stands and drifts out of the room.

I watch him go before cautiously turning my gaze toward Rastek. He shifts in place, folding his arms over his chest. “Are you feeling all right?”

“I think so,” I say. “It was, uh. Pretty weird.”

His brows pinch. “You were crying out.”

“I- was I?

“Yes. The thaumatist said it was normal.” Rastek closes his eyes for a moment. “He said you might be… experiencing something.”

“Mostly, I think I just felt weird. Not bad, just kind of weird. It didn’t feel like I was doing anything.” Rastek looks neither reassured or concerned by what I’ve said. He just looks at me for a long moment.

“I’m glad you weren’t distressed, then,” he says finally. “I expect you’ll want to get dressed. I can call a servant to assist you.”

“No, I think I can get dressed on my own,” I say hurriedly. The idea of having someone trying to tug me into clothes like a toddler is humiliating. I swing my legs around, stretching in preparation to get up. Rastek turns his head away, stifling a yawn with his hand, and I really look at his clothes for the first time. They’re the same ones he was wearing on our ride, significantly rumpled from sleeping on the ground. His hair looks oddly limp and a bit tangled, and when he turns his head back toward me, his eyes look puffy.

“Hey, uh.” He fixes his gaze on me and I waver for a moment before continuing. “Maybe you should, uh. Get changed too? Maybe take a bath? You must be exhausted. Might help you feel better.”

Rastek stares at me, then looks down at himself. Did he even realize he hadn’t changed his clothes? “Yes. I should. I’ve been… somewhat preoccupied.” He passes a hand over his face. “I’ll have a servant stay near your room. Just shout for them if you need anything. Anything at all.” His expression grows stern. Well, sterner. “Make sure you’re taking care of yourself.”

“I will,” I say. His voice makes butterflies dance in my stomach. I hurriedly beat the sensation away. “Make sure you’re taking care of yourself too, okay?”

He blinks twice in rapid succession. For a moment, he looks almost startled. Then he gives a quick little nod and hurries out of the room.

As it turns out, getting dresses it a little harder than I was anticipating. I can get into my underclothes, a sort of long linen dress, just fine, but the outer dress proves stubborn. The fabric is thick, making it difficult to move once my arms are in the sleeves. There’s also lacing in the back, which I can reach, but I can’t move my arms enough to pull it taut. Every time I get it tight enough, the slack I have to put into the bindings to make it possible to tie it just loosens the entire thing again. Not to mention that moving in the wrong position makes my back and arms throb with pain.

I wrestle for a while between the desire to do it myself and the desire to actually be able to get dressed. I almost open the door at least three times, but can’t manage to actually go through with it. The idea of asking for help from a stranger because I can’t do up a simple dress is mortifying.

All too soon, there’s a knock at the door. “Are you all ready? You must be starving.” Rastek’s voice is gentle, comforting, and completely unwanted. “You need to eat and take your medicine, still.”

“Um.” My voice comes out way too high pitched. “Can you just- um, I need- uh. I- ow!” I stretch one of my arms back too far and something stings with a sharp, unsettling pain.

“Are you all right?” Rastek’s voice sharpens. “Are you hurt?”

“No, no, I’m all right.” I fumble to lace up my dress and fail once more. “God dammit!”

Rastek is silent for a moment. “Can I come in?”

I fumble a little. “Um. I- I’m not totally…” I trail off. “I’m… uh.”

Rastek waits for another moment. “Are you certain you’re all right? I can send in a servant if you’re not-”

“No! No, I-” I trail off, then slump over in defeat. “I can’t get the dress on. I can’t lace up the back.”

There’s a pause, then a hear the doorknob slowly turn behind me. The door opens one cautious inch at a time, like he’s giving me an opportunity to stop him. “Do you want some help?”

I sag back, sitting gently on the edge of the bed. “Yes.”

Rastek crosses the room and sinks onto the bed behind me. His fingers brush against my back as he gathers the laces. “Were you trying to do this on your own?” he asks. I nod. “The whole time?” I nod again. “Your shoulders must hurt.”

“Yeah.” Rastek tugs the laces until the dress is comfortably snug on me. When he reaches in to tie the laces securely, his fingertips brush against my spine. I shiver.

“It’s not easy to do this on your own. I thought you would ask a servant for help,” he says.

"I... don’t like asking people for help,” I mumble. Rastek makes a strange, almost strangled noise. His hands still and I feel him shaking behind me. After a second, I realize he’s laughing, soft, huffing laughter.

“I should have thought. You really are just the same.” His voice is saturated with warmth. It makes my stomach flip. I swallow hard. “There you are. Laced up.”

“Thank you,” I sigh. Rastek moves his hands up my back, around my shoulder and I freeze.

“Tell me if this is too painful,” he murmurs. His thumbs dig in and the muscle protests for a moment before the feelings settles into the strange pain-relief of a massage.

“It’s always right here that you pull,” he murmurs, almost to himself. “We can put a warm compress on it later, but this should at least help the initial pain.”

After a few minutes, he sits back, his hands sliding off my back. I feel oddly cold in his wake. “Breakfast should be ready now,” he says as he stands. “I’m afraid there’s not much- we have provisions, but they’re limited.”

“I don’t eat much for breakfast usually,” I say, not really thinking. “Just some toast is fine.” At home, breakfast was usually toast or dry cereal, eaten as fast as possible, and yogurt if I was feeling fancy. It’s a fair sight better than most people I know, who are pleased if their breakfast isn’t a cup of coffee.

Rastek stares at me. “You need to eat more than just a slide of toast. You’ll make yourself ill if you don’t.” He extends a hand toward me. “At least try to eat something, all right? You need something in your stomach before your medicine.”

I tentatively lift my hand, my fingers hovering over his. I can feel the warmth of his skin, even without touching it. It’s surprisingly intimate, considering that I spent most of yesterday clinging to his back. My fingers close around his hand and his thumb brushes against my knuckles. A shiver crawls along my spine.

“Let’s go.” Rastek’s hand squeezes around mine, then he gives a gentle tug and leads me out into the hall.

Part 2 is here

#exophilia #dragon husband #dragon boyfriend #dragon lover #monster romance #monster lover #male monster #male dragon

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