Chapter 14 CHAPTER 14
Elowen began to realize that loving Darius wasn’t something she did.
It was something she lived.
It showed up in the smallest things—like the way she automatically set aside the darker cloak for him on colder mornings, or how he shifted his pace to match hers without conscious thought. The bond no longer flared when they were apart for short stretches; it trusted the return.
That trust felt sacred.
She found him in the stables one afternoon, brushing down his horse with quiet focus. The animal leaned into his touch, eyes half-lidded in contentment.
“You spoil him,” Elowen said, stepping closer.
“He carries me into battle,” Darius replied. “I think that earns a little care.”
She reached out, letting the horse sniff her hand before stroking its neck. “You’re good with creatures that don’t speak.”
He glanced at her. “You think wolves are better at words?”
She laughed softly. “Point taken.”
He handed her a brush without asking. She took it easily, falling into rhythm beside him. Their shoulders brushed, comfortable and familiar.
“You know,” she said, “when I was younger, I thought love would be loud.”
“And now?”
“Now I think it’s quiet,” she said. “It sounds like this.”
The brush strokes. The animal’s breathing. Their shared presence.
Darius’s gaze softened. “I like the quiet version.”
Later, they sat on the steps outside the stables, sharing a single apple between them. Elowen took a bite and passed it back; Darius followed suit.
“You’re going to start rumors,” he said lightly.
“Already have,” she replied. “Half the pack thinks I’ve enchanted you.”
He raised a brow. “Have you?”
She leaned closer, voice playful. “If I had, would you mind?”
He pretended to consider it. “Depends. Do I still get moments like this?”
“Yes.”
“Then no,” he said. “Enchant away.”
She laughed, bumping her knee against his.
That night, they cooked together again—this time more successfully.
Darius chopped vegetables with exaggerated seriousness while Elowen supervised, offering unsolicited advice.
“You don’t need to glare at the onions,” she said. “They won’t surrender.”
“They know what they did,” he muttered.
She giggled, unable to stop herself.
He looked up. “You enjoy this.”
“I enjoy you being normal,” she teased. “It’s refreshing.”
He set the knife down and turned toward her fully. “You make it easy to be.”
Her heart softened at that.
After dinner, they settled near the fire. Elowen lay on her stomach, elbows propped, while Darius stretched out beside her. He traced slow circles on the rug absentmindedly, close enough that their hands brushed.
“You’ve started doing that,” she said.
“Doing what?”
“Touching without thinking.”
He glanced at their hands, then laced his fingers through hers deliberately. “Is that a complaint?”
She smiled. “Not even a little.”
The bond responded—deep, content, untroubled.
As the fire burned low, Elowen rested her head against his shoulder.
“I don’t feel like I have to explain myself with you,” she murmured.
He shifted slightly to make her more comfortable. “Good.”
“Why?”
“Because neither do I.”
They stayed like that, listening to the crackle of embers, the distant sounds of the pack settling for the night.
When sleep finally claimed them, it wasn’t dramatic or intense.
It was gentle.
Earned.
Like home.
There came a point when Elowen stopped being surprised by how often Darius was simply… there.
Not looming. Not commanding. Just present.
She noticed it one morning while sorting dried herbs in the small apothecary room near the inner courtyard. Sunlight spilled through the narrow window, catching dust motes in the air. She was halfway through labeling a bundle of chamomile when she felt the bond stir—not sharply, not urgently.
Just awareness.
She didn’t turn right away.
“You’re hovering,” she said.
A pause. Then the soft sound of boots stopping behind her.
“I’m observing,” Darius replied.
She smiled. “That’s what I said when you accused me of staring.”
He stepped closer, close enough that his presence warmed her back. “You set a precedent.”
She finished tying the bundle before turning to face him. “Did you need something?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Then why are you here?”
He considered the question, brow furrowing slightly—as if it truly deserved thought.
“Because this is where you are.”
Something in her chest loosened, soft and deep.
“Well,” she said lightly, “if you’re going to linger, you might as well be useful.”
He raised a brow. “I knew there was a trap.”
She handed him a basket. “These need to be sorted by scent. Don’t mix the calming ones with the stimulants.”
He sniffed one experimentally. “This smells like grass.”
“That narrows it down not at all.”
He smiled faintly. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I am,” she admitted. “You’re very serious about baskets.”
“Leadership training,” he said gravely.
She laughed, the sound warm and unguarded.
They worked in companionable silence for a while, the kind that didn’t demand conversation. The bond rested easily between them, no longer tugging for attention—just present, like a shared heartbeat.
At one point, Darius handed her a bundle she hadn’t asked for.
“That one goes with the others,” he said.
She blinked. “How did you know?”
He shrugged. “It smells like the tea you make when I can’t sleep.”
Her fingers stilled.
“You noticed that?”
He nodded. “You hum when you brew it. Softly.”
Her throat tightened just a little. “I didn’t realize.”
“I notice things,” he said gently. “About you.”
She reached for his hand without thinking, giving it a small squeeze. He returned it, thumb brushing over her knuckles in an absent, familiar way.
That afternoon, they walked the inner corridors together, discussing nothing of consequence.
“Do you always frown when you’re thinking?” Elowen asked.
“Yes.”
“No, you also do it when you’re confused.”
“I am rarely confused.”
She stopped walking and faced him. “You tried to open the wrong door three times yesterday.”
He winced. “That was… an isolated incident.”
She grinned. “You’re endearing.”
“I am formidable.”
“You are both,” she said easily.
He exhaled a laugh, shaking his head. “You ruin my reputation.”
“Happy to help.”
As evening settled, they found themselves once again sharing a meal—simple, unremarkable, perfect.
Elowen reached across the table to wipe a smear of sauce from his thumb without thinking. Darius froze for half a second, then relaxed, letting the touch linger.
“Sorry,” she said, suddenly aware.
“Don’t be,” he replied quietly. “I like when you forget to be careful with me.”
She met his gaze, something warm and steady passing between them.