But she had already steadied herself.
The dim moonlight spilled through the arches, catching the soft curves of her frozen form. The faint glow traced the contours of her face, the slope of her neck, the rise and fall of her breath, the delicate collarbone peeking beneath the embroidered edge of her gown.
Zaymir swallowed. His jaw tightened.
His hand hovered near her waist—so close that if she shifted even slightly, the warmth of her skin would meet his palm.
A temptation. A sin waiting to be committed.
But she had already steadied herself before his fingers could brush her, yet her pulse quickened. And Zaymir? He noticed that, too.
His fingers twitched, hesitating, as if even the ghost of a touch would brand him.
Beyond the arched colonnade, the night stretched on—quiet and waiting.
He exhaled sharply, pulled back, curled his fingers into a loose fist at his side, and stepped away.
She straightened, lowering her gaze—in modesty, and in something else too. Something unspoken
He said nothing, only watched as she stood bathed in silver, smoothing her hands down her dress as if to erase the moment.
She noticed. And so did he.
The ghost of a touch lingered between them.
They continued in silence, their footsteps trailing softly through the dim corridor.
As they walked, Zaymir spoke—
This time in her native tongue. Just a single phrase, low and thoughtful.
She stiffened, clearly startled.
"You understand, don't you?" His voice was smooth, even.
She nodded hesitantly. "A little."
Zéphir gave him a sidelong glance but said nothing.
Zaymir continued, switching effortlessly between languages. "Does he allow you to speak your own tongue, or only his?"
Silence.
Then, barely above a whisper— "Only his."
Zaymir exhaled through his nose. Of course. It was just like Zéphir—to mold something into his own image, to strip away what did not suit him.
They continued in silence, walking.
The silence was heavy with something unspoken. He was too aware of her presence beside him—the way she stayed close, but not too close.
When they arrived at the chamber, she reached for the door at the same time Zaymir did, and for the briefest moment, her hand brushed against his.
Soft.
Small.
A fleeting, unintentional touch.
She pulled away immediately, fingers curling inward, almost as if burned. Her breath hitched, but she said nothing.
The air thickened between them, heavy with something unspoken.
His jaw tensed. He did not look at her, did not acknowledge the moment.
Instead, he stepped back smoothly, as if it had never happened.
But Zaymir, too, had frozen for half a second—just a fraction of hesitation—but it was enough. He was not a man who noticed such things. He had held many women, had touched them boldly, without hesitation.
But this felt different.
Because she was different.
Because she wasn't his.
Then, finally, she spoke.
"...Thank you."
It was barely a whisper, but it carried something else—relief.
Zaymir clenched his jaw. He wasn't sure which angered him more—that she had to thank him for basic kindness... or that Zéphir, who might be sleeping inside the chamber, had never given her any.
"Rest," he said. He turned away before he could say something he shouldn't. And without another glance, he disappeared into the night.
But the scent of her—faint, unfamiliar, yet strangely lingering—stayed with him long after.
And yet, as he walked into the cool night air, his palm still tingled with the ghost of her touch.
She was still there—beneath his skin.
He had managed... no, they had managed.
Through every step, every turn, every moment that should have brought them too close—they had kept their distance. Even when she stumbled, even when his hand hovered near her waist, they had resisted. A breath away, but never touching.
But now—over something as trivial as reaching for the same door—their hands brushed.
Not in urgency, not in necessity, but in the most ridiculously mundane way possible.
For all their careful restraint, all their silent, measured distance—this was how they lost.
What in God's name was happening?
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