Prophecy and Tension

They lay together in the quiet aftermath, their limbs entwined, hearts still echoing the rhythm they had just shared. The room was bathed in a soft glow from the dying fire, the crackling embers casting slow, flickering shadows on the walls.

Camilla rested her head on Thane’s chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart beneath her cheek. His arm wrapped around her securely, his hand tracing lazy patterns along her back, neither of them needing to speak. The silence was full—not empty—but sacred.

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Sleep, love,” he whispered. “You’ve earned it.”

She smiled against his skin, her body sinking deeper into his warmth. “Only if you don’t let go,” she murmured.

“Never,” he promised.

Outside, the wind whispered through the trees, but inside, the world had quieted. The weight of the day melted away in each other’s arms.