Closer

>>Aelin

The food smelled better than I remembered. Or maybe that was just because of how nervous I was.

I sat across from Draegon at the small round guest table near the window, steam curling from the bowl of spiced stew in front of me. The golden glow of the lanterns cast soft shadows on the walls, flickering gently as if the room itself was holding its breath.

He hadn't spoken much after we sat down—just a polite thank you to the maid, and a murmur of gratitude when I handed him his spoon.

Now he sat across from me, his dark hair falling slightly into his eyes as he looked at his steak once before lifting the meat stabbed fork to his lips. I caught the subtle sigh he gave after the first bite, almost inaudible, but real.

"You like it?" I asked before I could overthink it. My voice was small, unsure.

He looked up. His eyes met mine—warm and unwavering. "I do. Very much."