Chapter 13: The weight of her Longing

That night, the mountain slept.

Even the runes in the Healing Sanctum pulsed slower, dimmer—mirroring the heartbeat of its slumbering wards. The frost-kissed winds whispered low through the crystal hollows of Therion'Vael, the chamber of Velastra for healing.

Orion had left, returning to his personal study in the upper halls, confident she was too weak to stand. He had applied the salves himself, seen her wince, heard her breath catch—he thought she will be pinned by her pain.

And yet...

The moment he left, Velastra moved.

Not with haste, but with practiced grace, like a shadow remembering how to breathe.

She had already stolen what she needed—a small vial of draught for the bleeding, a warming salve, and a veil to cover the lashes still visible near her collar.

Her armor, she did not bring. Only a traveling cloak, dark and nondescript. No crest of Irithiel marked her, and no whisper of her presence stirred the air.

Not even the guarding runes sensed her passing. She had once helped shape the bindings of this sanctum; now, she unraveled them with a whisper and a kiss of her fingers on the old stone. They did not resist her.

And so, Velastra vanished.

---

The world below the mountain was darker, colder.

By the time she reached the road to the eastern quarter of Irithiel, the stars had shifted, and the moon rode lower in the sky. Her breath fogged before her as she passed through outer gates, unchallenged by any watchman who might've seen only a silent traveler in the cloak of night.

The city was asleep, but not entirely. Faint fires still flickered in the windows of some homes. 

Velastra stood for a moment at the gate.

She did not knock.

She simply touched the small bracelet on her wrist—the one he had made—and let the ache in her chest decide for her.

Then, she entered, guards letting her, silently, obediently.

Velastra passed the final corridor of the east wing, her steps soundless against the moonlit stone. The guards at the entrance didn't speak. They only straightened, hands to their hearts, nodding once as she passed—an unspoken oath shared between soldier and sovereign.

The east wing had changed since the last time she entered by night. Soft lights glowed from wall-lanterns, and herbs—lavender, star-anise, dreamroot—hung from bundles near the upper beams, their scent calming and steady.

It smelled like home, she realized. Like healing.

She reached Cael's door.

It wasn't locked as if they are waiting for her.

She opened it gently, pushing through the weight of memory more than wood. Inside, the room was cloaked in calm: the window slightly open, the curtains billowing like sighs; the hearth low, casting flickers against the stone; and in the center, laid across soft linen—

CAEL.

Asleep.

His face was turned slightly toward the door, his breathing even, lashes unmoving against pale cheeks. One hand lay above the covers, fingers slightly curled, and near the table stood a clay bowl of lavender water—his mother's doing, she thought. He smelled of it.

Peace.

He was surrounded by peace.

And something in her chest ached for it.

She stepped to the side of his bed, kneeling down slowly, letting herself look at him up close. His hair was longer now. The tension in his brow had faded, no furrow of pain there tonight.

She leaned closer. Her voice, when it came, was barely a breath.

"Wake up…"

No response.

He only sighed, as if dreaming of something quiet.

She tilted her head, eyes glinting with a touch of mischief beneath the moonlight.

"Still disobedient, even in sleep…"

Then she leaned down, closer still, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear—

And bit.

Not harshly. Not cruelly. But firm—just enough to make him flinch.

Cael jolted, eyes flying open, and for a half-second, he stared at her as if dreaming.

"Velastra…?"

Her eyes were dim and golden, her lips curved in the faintest echo of a smirk.

"Finally."

He sat up too fast. She caught his shoulder before he could stand.

"You're too late," he murmured, still half in a daze.

She answered softly, "than never."

He looked at her—really looked—and saw the faint trembling in her limbs, the tightness in her jaw she tried to hide, the sheen of weariness in her eyes.

"You are hurt."

Velastra said nothing.

She only looked at him.

A look deep enough to unearth memories. There was something raw in her eyes, something starved, something tethered to him across too many silent nights and too many longings denied.

And then—she bit his lower lip.

Soft at first. Testing. Not of pain, but possession. A mark not of claim, but of memory.

Then, she kissed him.

It was not gentle.

It was not rushed.

It was a storm swallowed in silence.

She leaned in, pressing her mouth to his with a desperate reverence—a kiss drawn from unspoken ache. Her lips moved slowly, each motion dragging time with it, as though she were trying to carve the shape of him into her own breath.

Her hands found his shoulders, steadying herself and him.

She deepened the kiss, and still Cael didn't move.

He sat frozen, eyes open in stunned disbelief. This was not the warrior he once feared nor the sovereign everyone obeyed—this was his owner, Velastra.

She felt the shocked in him.

And still she kissed him.

Longer.

Like the world might end and she wanted this to be her last taste of peace.

Only after long, suspended moments—when her breath hitched, when her lips slowed, when her body leaned more into his than she meant to—did Cael finally move.

His hand reached up, hesitant at first, then sure, sliding to the curve of her waist. He closed his eyes and kissed her back, not with fire, but with recognition.

When their mouths finally parted, breath mingling between them, Velastra spoke his name—a whisper that trembled with all the weight she had carried.

"Cael…"

And before he could answer, she kissed him again.

This time deeper. Fiercer. Tongue slipping past parted lips with the kind of hunger born not from desire alone, but from love long withheld. Her tongue moved with practiced slowness, then urgency—exploring him, seeking him, tasting him like a vow she would never allow to go unspoken.

Cael's breath hitched. His body reacted before his thoughts could form, pulled under the tide of her, grounding her with his arms even as he was being unmoored.

She kissed him like it is her cure.

And he kissed her back like he couldn't bear to lose her.