Kael didn't knock when he entered Lyra's chamber.
He didn't have to.
The door creaked open on its own as if recognizing him. The firelight inside cast long golden stripes across the floor, illuminating the faint shimmer of Lyra's silken nightdress as she stood by the arched window, staring out into the storm-laced night. Her hair, loose and wild, moved slightly in the breeze curling through the crack in the window.
"You're late," she said without turning.
Kael closed the door behind him. The silence between them stretched taut like a bowstring.
"I wasn't sure I should come." His voice was quieter than usual, rougher.
"Liar."
Her reply landed like a challenge. She turned to face him now, violet eyes glinting with restrained fire. "You were always going to come."
Kael crossed the room in three long strides.
"I told myself this was dangerous," he muttered, gaze locked on hers. "That you are dangerous."
"And yet..." she murmured, "here you are."
The tension was combustible. The war outside these walls, the shaky alliance that insisted they remain apart, and the stirring of something sinister and holy that drew them together nonetheless all weighed heavily on them.
"I'm not sure I care about the danger anymore," Kael admitted, reaching for her wrist.
Lyra didn't pull away.
His fingers slid over her skin, slow and reverent. The softest part of her inner arm. Her breath hitched as his hand traced upward, slipping beneath the strap of her nightdress. Her heart pounded, loud enough that he could hear it when he leaned in close.
"You shouldn't be here," she whispered, lips brushing his.
"Then tell me to leave."
She didn't.
Her fingers curled into the front of his shirt, dragging him closer. Their mouths met—soft at first, tasting, testing. Then a crash of thunder cracked across the sky and Kael pressed her against the cold stone wall.
The kiss deepened.
Hungry.
Claiming.
His hands roamed her sides, memorizing the shape of her like he was afraid he'd forget in the morning. Lyra arched into him, her body seeking more, gasping when his mouth left her lips to trace the delicate curve of her neck.
She tilted her head back. "If I asked you to stop…"
"I'd try," he said, his voice hoarse. "I just might fail."
Lyra exhaled, breathless. "Then don't stop."
Kael lifted her effortlessly, her legs winding around his waist. He carried her to the bed, laying her down like she was made of moonlight and flame. They did not talk for a while; the room was filled with the sound of rustling fabric, heavy moans, and panting sighs, which conveyed an image of unbridled, unadulterated desire.
It was messy.
Perfectly imperfect.
Nothing practiced. Nothing refined.
Just them.
Real and wanting.
When their bodies finally settled, entwined in sweat-slicked limbs and tangled sheets, Kael rested his forehead against hers, still catching his breath.
Lyra reached up, running her thumb across the curve of his jaw.
"You keep pretending you're all steel and shadows," she murmured, "but you burn just as bright."
Kael chuckled softly, brushing her silver-blonde hair from her cheek.
"You make me forget who I'm supposed to be," he whispered.
"Good," she whispered back. "Because I think who we're supposed to be… might just be a lie."
He pulled her closer, her head resting on his chest. The sound of his heartbeat soothed her, even as war raged beyond the castle walls.
They had no promises.
No tomorrows.
But they had this.
And perhaps, just perhaps, that was sufficient.