Chapter 14: A Forbidden Kiss

The river whispered in the dark, its currents stirring against the banks like a restless breath. Mist clung to the surface, thick and unyielding, swallowing the moon's reflection in shifting tendrils. Joren stood at the edge of the water, his fingers flexing at his sides, his pulse a steady drum in his ears. Somewhere beyond the trees, the distant echo of war drums still lingered in his mind—faint, but never truly gone. 

He shouldn't be here. 

Footsteps barely disturbed the damp earth behind him. He knew before he turned. 

Lyria emerged from the shadows, moving with the quiet grace of someone who had long learned to step lightly where she did not belong. Her dark hair caught the silver light, the edges of it shimmering as she stopped a few paces away. 

Joren exhaled sharply. "We shouldn't be here." 

Lyria's gaze met his, steady despite the quiet turmoil in her eyes. "Then why did you come?" She really wondered why Joren would ask her that kind of question , knowing very well why. Was Joren being sarcastic? 

The river lapped at the shore, filling the silence between them. Joren's fingers curled into a fist at his side, nails pressing into his palm. He should have an answer, something firm, something logical. But logic had nothing to do with why his feet had carried him here in the dead of night. 

"Why did you?" he asked instead, his voice lower than he intended. He felt guilty more than she did, because it was always Lyria questioning herself whether whatever they did was ever worth the trouble.

Lyria's lips parted slightly, then closed. A breath passed between them. Her hesitation wasn't uncertainty—it was something else. Finally, she shook her head, a rueful smile barely touching her mouth. 

"You already know." They always knew why they came out here but neither of them wanted to admit it. But maybe today they would, they knew how they felt about each other, it was only a matter of time before that spark between them, blossomed in the very night they stole glances at.

Joren turned his gaze back to the water, unable to look at her for too long without feeling the weight of it—this thing between them, unnamed and undeniable. 

"This is a mistake," he said, voice taut. 

"Probably." There was no conviction in her voice. 

He let out a slow breath, shaking his head. "You and I… we're supposed to be on opposite sides." Yet they always found time to see each other everyday for no reason.

Lyria took a step closer, her voice softer now, but no less certain. "Supposed to be." She paused, her expression unreadable. "Then why don't I feel like your enemy?" 

Joren swallowed, the words hitting somewhere too deep, too raw. He had spent his life seeing the world in simple terms—Caldris and Velmora. Us and them. But standing here, with her, the lines blurred into something he could no longer define. 

A breeze lifted between them, stirring the reeds, tangling a loose strand of Lyria's hair across her cheek. Before he could think better of it, Joren reached up, brushing it away. 

Lyria's breath hitched and it was barely audible from the close contact of Joren.. 

The air between them was different now, charged with something neither of them dared name. 

Joren let his hand linger at her cheek, the warmth of her skin beneath his fingertips making his pulse pound. "Tell me to stop," he murmured. 

Lyria's lashes fluttered. "Don't ask me that." 

He swallowed hard, his resolve unraveling thread by thread. "Then tell me to leave." 

She didn't. 

Instead, her gaze dropped—just for a second—to his lips. Staring intently at them as her cheeks were flushed with embarrassment. Was she really about to do it again?

It was enough. 

Joren leaned in, slow, hesitant, every movement laced with restraint he no longer believed in. For a breath, they hovered there, the space between them vanishing, and then— 

Her lips met his. 

A quiet sigh escaped her, and the sound of it sent heat curling through him. He deepened the kiss, his fingers threading into her hair, pulling her closer, until there was no more distance, no more hesitation, only the press of her body against his, the way she fit against him as if this moment had always been waiting. 

The world beyond them ceased to exist. The river hummed its approval, the wind wrapped around them, carrying the scent of rain and earth and something softer—something that belonged to her alone. 

For a moment, centuries of hatred meant nothing. 

Lyria's hands curled into the fabric of his shirt, as if anchoring herself, as if afraid to let go. 

And yet, it was she who pulled away first. 

Her lips were parted, her breath uneven. "What have we done?" 

Joren didn't answer. He couldn't. His forehead rested against hers, his pulse still racing, still catching up to the weight of what had just happened. 

Something we can't take back, he almost said. 

But before the words could leave his mouth, a sound disrupted the silence. 

A twig snapped. 

Lyria stiffened. Joren's head snapped up, his grip tightening on her wrist as he turned toward the trees. 

Another step, that was slow and deliberate.

Joren's hand went to his dagger. He was ready for whatever he was about to face coming out of that darkness, he wasn't afraid anymore because now, he had one person to protect and that was Lyria.

They weren't alone. 

The shadows beyond the tree line moved, something just beyond their sight. Watching. Waiting. 

Lyria's breath was fast, uneven. "Joren—" 

"I know," he murmured. 

A hush fell over the riverbank, thick and suffocating. The mist swirled, and the wind carried a whisper that did not belong to either of them. 

Joren's fingers tightened around his blade, his heart hammering. 

The night no longer belonged to them. For the longest time, they had ignored the thought of someone actually following their tracks, but today their ignorance caught up to them.