Episode 4: Two Months of Silence
Two months passed.
The seasons changed, but inside their small home, time moved slowly—softly.
Eva and Kyel shared a bed.
But not a kiss.
Not a wedding night.
Not even a moment when hands dared to wander past comfort.
And yet… he never looked at her with impatience. Never reached for more than she gave. Never asked.
Just held her, sometimes, when her dreams turned cold. And in the mornings, made tea without asking how she slept.
---
Eva folded herbs by the window. The breeze brought in the scent of thyme and rain.
Kyel stood in the yard, chopping wood shirtless under the sun. His muscles moved like waves beneath skin, but his expression stayed gentle—distant.
He smiled when he caught her watching.
She looked away.
"I'm not afraid of him," she thought.
But it wasn't true. Not entirely.
She was afraid of what closeness meant.
Of what memory might steal from her, even now.
---
At night, when the world quieted, Kyel would pull the blanket over both of them and whisper:
"Goodnight, princess."
And Eva would murmur it back.
But neither one reached across the space between them.
They shared the warmth of each other's bodies—but not the flame.
---
"Maybe I'm broken," Eva thought one evening, curled beside him.
She didn't realize she'd spoken aloud until Kyel stirred beside her.
"You're not broken," he said.
His voice was calm. Certain.
"You're still healing."
She stared at the ceiling.
"You don't want more from me?"
"I want whatever you're willing to give."
"And if I never can?"
Kyel was quiet for a long time.
Then: "Then I'll still be here."
That night, Eva didn't cry. But her fingers found his under the blanket.
And held on.
---
It was the third market day of spring.
The sun hung lazily in the sky, and the streets bustled with chatter and color. Stalls overflowed with fruit, cloth, spices. Children weaved through carts. Farmers haggled.
Eva walked beside Kyel, her hand lightly brushing his sleeve.
They hadn't kissed. They hadn't touched beyond comfort.
But this—walking through a crowd, side by side—felt like something close to normal.
Kyel was saying something about wild honey when he suddenly stopped.
His body stiffened. Eyes locked on something across the square.
"Eva," he said quietly. "Wait here."
"What? Why—?"
"I'll be back. Just wait. Don't follow me."
There was something sharp in his voice. Not angry. Not cruel. Just... alert.
She frowned. "Kyel?"
But he was already walking away, melting into the crowd like a shadow swallowed by sunlight.
Eva stood near a basket stall, uncertain.
And then—
A man sidled up beside her.
Greasy. Tall. Smile too wide. Breath like old wine.
"Well now," he said, eyes scanning her dress, "you lost, little dove?"
She stepped back. "I'm waiting for someone."
"Oh, I see," he chuckled. "Pretty thing like you shouldn't be alone. Bad things happen in crowded places."
She turned to leave.
He grabbed her wrist.
"I said—"
Before she could scream, his hand was wrenched away with a crack.
Kyel stood behind him, eyes dark, grip unrelenting.
He said nothing.
Just twisted the thug's arm further until the man howled—and let go.
Kyel let him fall to the ground.
The man scurried off, cursing.
Eva stared. Kyel's jaw was tight. His breath steady.
Not like someone who panicked.
Like someone who had done this before.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, voice low.
She shook her head. "No. I'm fine."
Kyel exhaled and looked at her again—really looked—and the softness returned.
"Let's go home," he said.
---
That night, long after she had fallen asleep, Eva stirred to find the bed cold beside her.
Kyel wasn't there.
And from the woods behind the village, a low wolf's howl echoed under the moonlight.
---
The next morning, the sun spilled through the windows in golden strands.
Eva yawned as she stretched under the covers. She could already hear the soft clatter of dishes and the scent of toasted bread drifting from the small kitchen.
She stepped out of the bedroom to find Kyel at the stove, sleeves rolled up, his hair still damp from washing.
He turned and smiled when he saw her.
"Good morning, princess."
Eva blinked sleepily. "You're up early."
"I wanted to talk to you," Kyel said, setting a warm plate in front of her. "I found a new job. It pays better."
"A new job?"
He nodded. "But I'll have to be away for a few days. Five, maybe six."
"Will you be alright here, alone?" he asked.
Eva gave a small smile. "Of course. I'm not a porcelain doll."
His gaze softened. "No. You're stronger than anyone I know."
Then she looked up, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes.
"You know," she said between bites, "I really want to eat pancakes."
Kyel arched a brow. "Now?"
She shrugged, feigning innocence. "It's been a long time."
He chuckled. "Princess, when I return—I'll make you pancakes. As many as you want."
"Even if I ask for a hundred?"
"I'll make a thousand."
Eva smiled.
But somewhere behind that smile, something unsettled lingered.
---
The forest grew darker as Kyel walked.
Eventually, through the trees, a black imperial carriage came into view.
Polished. Quiet. Surrounded by knights.
The seal of the empire shone on its side: a rising sun encircled by stars.
As Kyel approached, the knights moved to attention.
One stepped forward and struck his chestplate with his fist.
"To the Sun and the Glory of the Empire—long live the Emperor!"
Kyel raised a hand.
In one motion, his illusion vanished—his black hair faded to shimmering silver, his simple clothes replaced by a long, dark coat stitched in silver thread.
His once-brown eyes now glowed a piercing icy blue.
"Did you get the man?" he asked.
The knight bowed. "Yes, Your Highness."
Kyel nodded and turned toward the carriage.
But just before he stepped inside, another knight murmured:
"Welcome back, Emperor Eyan."
Kyel—Eyan—paused.
Then climbed into the carriage without a word.
The wheels turned.
And the truth rode away with him—hidden from the only woman who had ever called him Kyel.