Chapter nine: Nudging pull
1060 Words
Garrett did not come to see me.
At first, I told myself it was temporary. A strategic pause. A necessary distance after everything that had been said—and everything that hadn’t.
By the third night, it felt deliberate.
My quarters were tucked deep within the inner wing, far from the council chambers and even farther from the training grounds where Garrett spent most of his nights. The wards surrounding the room hummed constantly—layers of magic woven so tightly I could feel them in my bones.
Safety had never felt so much like exile.
The bond remained.
That was the cruelest part.
I felt Garrett constantly—his wakefulness in the late hours, the controlled burn of his power as he trained long past exhaustion, the way tension settled into him like armor he never removed. Sometimes his focus sharpened suddenly, as if danger had brushed too close. Other times, there was nothing but restraint so intense it made my chest ache.
He was near.
Always near.
But never with me.
During the day, I wandered the rooms I was permitted to enter, feeling like a guest in my own existence. Servants bowed without truly seeing me. Guards passed with their gazes sliding away, attention bent by the spell that kept me hidden.
Even the sunlight felt altered—filtered, muted, as if the magic dulled the world along with me.
By the fourth evening, loneliness settled deep enough to hurt.
I sat by the window as dusk bled across the gardens below, shadows stretching long and slow across the stone paths. Somewhere beyond the walls, Garrett moved through his world of power and politics and bloodlines—while I remained wrapped in silk and silence.
Is this what protection costs? I wondered.
That night, sleep came slowly.
When it finally claimed me, it carried me straight into him.
I stood in a long, empty corridor washed in moonlight. The stone beneath my feet was cool, the air hushed—as if the castle itself held its breath.
Garrett stood at the far end.
He was dressed simply, dark hair loose, his expression unreadable. No crown. No guards. Just the man behind the legend.
I took a step toward him.
He didn’t move.
“You shouldn’t be here,” he said softly.
“I never seem to be where I should,” I replied.
The distance between us felt intentional—measured, controlled.
I closed it anyway.
With each step, the bond grew warmer, tighter, humming like a living thing between us. When I stopped just short of touching him, my breath came shallow.
“So close,” I murmured.
Garrett’s jaw tightened.
“That’s the problem,” he said.
His hand lifted, hovering near my shoulder—hesitant, restrained. The tension in his fingers betrayed him more than words ever could.
“Then why come to me at all?” I asked.
His gaze flicked to my lips for a fraction of a second.
“I don’t,” he said quietly. “You come to me.”
The dream dissolved before I could answer.
I woke with my heart pounding, the bond pulsing sharply, as if it too had been denied something it desperately wanted.
The days blurred together after that.
Sometimes I caught sight of Garrett across the great hall—his profile sharp, his attention fixed on matters of state. Once, I saw Seraphine standing near him, speaking softly, her hand gesturing just a little too freely.
Garrett didn’t touch her.
But he didn’t leave either.
The bond reacted—uneasy, unsettled—feeding my thoughts until jealousy curled quietly in my chest, unwelcome and persistent.
That night, the visions returned.
I wasn’t asleep this time.
I was sitting on the edge of my bed when the bond flared suddenly, heat rushing through me without warning.
My breath caught as the room around me faded.
Garrett stood in his chambers, his back to me, shoulders tense. Candlelight flickered across bare stone walls, illuminating the discarded crown resting on the table beside him.
He looked… tired.
Worn in a way no one else ever saw.
His hands were braced against the wall, head bowed, as if holding himself together by sheer force of will.
“Harmony,” he murmured.
Hearing my name like that—raw, unguarded—sent a tremor through me.
He straightened slowly.
For a moment, our gazes locked across the impossible distance of the vision. His eyes darkened—not with desire, but with something heavier.
Need.
Longing.
Regret.
His hand lifted, fingers flexing as if he wanted to reach through the space between us.
Instead, he dropped it.
The restraint shattered me.
The vision broke abruptly, leaving me gasping, my hand pressed to my chest as the bond simmered painfully.
Even when he was alone…
He still refused to cross that line.
A soft knock came at the door later that night.
Hope flared—brief and foolish.
But it was only a servant, delivering a folded parchment.
Garrett’s handwriting was neat, precise.
Remain within the wards tonight. There has been unrest near the eastern gates.
No warmth.
No explanation.
Yet the bond whispered what the words did not.
Be safe.
I lay awake long after the candles burned low.
When sleep finally claimed me, the dream was gentler—and far more dangerous.
Garrett stood before me, closer than ever before. The world around us was blurred, indistinct, as if nothing else mattered.
He leaned forward until our foreheads touched.
The contact was light.
Intimate.
Unbearably restrained.
“I am trying not to break you,” he whispered.
I lifted my hand, stopping just short of his chest.
“I am not as fragile as you think,” I said.
His breath brushed my cheek, warm and unsteady.
“I know,” he replied. “That’s what frightens me.”
His fingers hovered near my jaw, trembling with restraint.
Never touching.
Always stopping.
The bond glowed between us—bright, aching, unresolved.
When I woke, my eyes were wet and my heart felt too full for my chest.
Distance had not cooled what lay between us.
It had sharpened it.
And somewhere deep inside, I knew the truth neither of us was ready to admit yet—
When Garrett finally stopped holding himself back,
dreams would no longer be enough.
- Writer
