Chapter 40 The Bed Is Not Big Enough

Chapter 40 The Bed Is Not Big Enough
🌋 Elias 🌋

Seraphina made her appreciation known for the great taste she just devoured. Her love for the food was so evident…so easy to appease.

Her voice was soft, almost shy, it was the kind she rarely ever used. “Thank you for the meal. Truly.”

She had used that kind of tone when conversing with the innkeeper. I wonder what would be left of that innkeeper. Every place we've stepped into, seemed to destroy at our exit.

The elderly woman nodded, the beads in her hair clicking gently. “Rest now,” she said. “Night walks fast in our land, and tomorrow waits for no weary feet. Return to your room, children.”

Children.

That word again.

But I held my tongue. There was no malice in her tone—only certainty, as though she had known us long before the meet at the desert, long before the lamp, long before our journey even began.

I hated that feeling it gave me. It seemed to give me away, it feels like every movement I take is known to these people even before I think of it.

These witchcraft. Are they Fae's also?

Seraphina rose, smoothing her clothes with quick, nervous hands. I followed, offering a stiff bow out of politeness. Garin grinned, Liora waved, the children whispered something about “the funny strangers,” and then we stepped out of the warm-lit room and into the dim hallway.

The moment our door came into view, Seraphina walked faster.

Too fast.

As if racing me.

By the time I stepped inside, she was already on the bed—no, she had claimed the bed, sprawled diagonally like she meant to take over every inch of it.

I snorted under my breath. “Really?”

Who cares about who takes over the bed? But as the king, I possess the right to the bed. She had raced up to claim the bed. Such childish behavior from her, and she expects me to take her actions for it.

She jolted upright, glaring at me with the intensity of a cornered cat. “What?”

“You think I’m sleeping on the floor?” I asked, closing the door behind us.

“It’s— it’s a small bed,” she said, lifting her chin. “Smaller than the one at the inn. I just… got here first.”

“By sprinting,” I muttered.

“I didn’t sprint.”

“Seraphina, I saw you.”

She huffed and turned her back to me dramatically, hugging the thin blanket like it was a shield blessed by ancient gods. The lamp sat on the stool beside her, glowing faintly—almost approvingly.

I walked to the bed at an unhurried pace on purpose.

Her shoulders tensed.

Good.

I sat on the edge, and the wooden frame dipped under my weight.

Seraphina sat up instantly. “Elias! What are you doing?”

“Trying to sleep,” I replied simply.

“We can’t— this bed is too small. I’ll fall off.”

“You won’t,” I said, sliding back another inch.

She pushed at my shoulder, indignant. “Elias, I got here first!”

“And I got here second,” I answered, more amused than I should’ve been. “There’s space.”

“No, there isn’t. Look—look at it!”

“I have eyes,” I said flatly. “And a functioning brain. Well… most days.”

Her mouth dropped open slightly in offense. “Is that supposed to be funny?”

“Yes.”

I moved again, this time lowering myself fully onto the mattress. The bed creaked—loudly—but held. Seraphina scooted backward automatically, her back brushing the wall.

“Elias!” she whispered harshly. “You can’t just— just lie down!”

“I just did.”

“This is unreasonable.”

“You’ll live.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’ve been told.”

She slapped the pillow in frustration and lay down too, though aggressively, like she wanted the bed to know she was unhappy about sharing it.

I closed my eyes.

I shouldn’t have. Not yet.

Because the moment I did, she started.

“You could’ve stayed on the edge.”

“Mhm.”

“There are two sides to a bed. Two. You could’ve picked literally any other direction.”

“Mhm.”

“And you didn’t even ask. You just— just swooped in like the bed was waiting specifically for you.”

“Mhm.”

“And you elbowed me—”

This fae over here thinks I'd bend like I did during our stay at the inn, thinking back I realized something must have gone wrong with my brain and thinking. Because why had I let her have the bed, while I had to live with muscle pain

“That was accidental.”

“It was not!” She fumed, her frustration blown.

“It was a little accidental.”

She groaned. “Elias.”

I kept my eyes closed. “Seraphina.”

“This isn’t funny!”

“It’s a little funny.”

“Elias!”

Her voice was right next to my ear now, warm, irritated, stubborn—very Seraphina.

I meant to reply. I really did.

But the weight of the day slammed into me at once—the desert, the spirit, the temple horizon, the impossible duplication of Garin’s family, the food that tasted like memory, the quiet fear that this place wasn’t new at all…

And the bed was warm. And she wasn’t shoving me off it anymore.

Her complaints grew softer, trailing into half-formed mutters, then into breaths.

Then it turned to silence.

My last thought before sleep dragged me under was simple and strangely heavy:

This bed is too small for our distance…
and too big for our closeness.

And then everything went dark.

🌞 SERAPHINA 🌞

The first thing that pulled me out of sleep was a low, strained groan.

It wasn’t loud, but it was close … Very, too close enough to slice through the last threads of my dreams and send a cold rush of fear racing down my spine. In the haze of half-consciousness, my mind spun through every frightening possibility at once. Has someone gotten into the room? Was Elias hurt? Was something happening in the village?

My breath caught, and I forced my eyes open.

What I saw almost made me scream again.

Elias was on the floor — not collapsed, not injured — but moving. Lowering his body and pushing himself back up in a steady, powerful rhythm.

Push-ups!

My brain took a moment to understand. Another moment to process. And another to realize he was doing them with his bare upper body exposed, the early morning light painted sharp lines across his skin.

His muscles moved like they were carved from something solid — each motion slow, controlled, deliberate. His shoulders flexed with every push; his arms tightened and released in a perfect, disciplined pattern. Even the faint sheen of sweat on his skin caught the dim light, tracing along his collarbone and sliding down the curve of his chest.

That was when my scream finally escaped me.

It was involuntary, sharp, a mixture of shock and—
Well… definitely not just shock.

Elias froze mid-movement, his arms straightening as he lifted his head and stared at me. His brows pulled together in the flattest, most unimpressed look I had ever seen on a human being — as if I was the one being ridiculous.

But I couldn’t help it.

My eyes were glued to him.