Chapter 17 Under One Roof
1227 Words
They gave us the eastern wing.
Not because it was welcoming—but because it was defensible.
Stone walls thick enough to resist tremors. Windows narrow and high. A single bedchamber prepared hastily with ceremonial linens that smelled faintly of smoke and unfamiliar herbs—sandalwood, dried sampaguita, something darker underneath.
No one asked whether we wanted it.
Marriage, even in name, came with assumptions.
Kael entered first.
He surveyed the room with a soldier’s eye, noting exits, shadows, corners. I stood just inside the doorway, suddenly unsure where I belonged in a space that was supposed to be ours.
“I’ll take the floor,” he said without looking at me.
I blinked. “That won’t be necessary.”
“It’s simpler,” he replied.
“For whom?”
He finally turned, expression carefully neutral. “For both of us.”
That stung.
I crossed the room and set my satchel down beside the bed deliberately. “We’re married,” I said quietly. “Whether either of us likes it or not. Sleeping on the floor won’t make that less true.”
His jaw tightened.
“I won’t touch you,” he said flatly.
“I didn’t ask you to.”
Silence settled between us like frost.
He removed his cloak and folded it with excessive care, laying it on the chair rather than the bed. Every movement was controlled. Contained.
I sat on the edge of the mattress, hands clenched in my lap.
The forest stirred faintly outside.
Neither of us spoke.
⸻
Night deepened.
The air cooled.
Eventually, Kael sat against the far wall, back straight, arms folded, eyes open.
“You’re not sleeping,” I observed.
“I will.”
“When?”
“When my body decides it’s safe.”
I hesitated. “You don’t think it’s safe with me?”
He looked at me sharply.
“That’s not what I said.”
“But it’s what you meant.”
He exhaled slowly. “Tala… please don’t do this.”
“Do what?”
“Turn this into something it can’t be.”
I stood abruptly, anger flaring. “You mean real?”
He didn’t answer.
The floor shifted beneath my feet.
Just slightly.
The forest’s reminder.
Kael noticed immediately. His posture changed—alert, tense.
“It’s reacting,” he muttered.
“To what?” I demanded.
“To us being under the same roof.”
A bitter laugh escaped me. “Even the forest wants more than you’re willing to give.”
That was unfair.
I knew it.
But I didn’t stop myself.
His eyes darkened. “You think this is restraint? You think I’m doing this because I don’t want you?”
My breath caught.
“Then why?” I whispered.
He closed his eyes briefly.
When he opened them, his voice was rough. “Because if I let myself have even a moment—just one—I won’t be able to give you back.”
The words hit harder than any confession.
The forest surged.
The walls creaked.
The bed trembled beneath my hand.
Kael was on his feet instantly, crossing the room in two strides. He caught my wrist as the floor tilted, steadying me with an iron grip.
“Don’t move,” he said sharply.
“I wasn’t—”
The ground bucked again.
Instinct took over.
I clutched his tunic, fingers digging in.
For a heartbeat, neither of us breathed.
Then—slowly—he loosened his grip.
Not letting go.
Just… adjusting.
His hand slid from my wrist to my palm, fingers threading through mine without permission, without ceremony.
The forest stilled.
We both noticed.
Kael swallowed.
“So that’s how it wants it,” he murmured.
I looked up at him. “How?”
“Connection,” he said quietly. “Not possession.”
My heart pounded.
He should have stepped away.
He didn’t.
Instead, his thumb brushed across my knuckles—barely there, but intentional.
My breath caught.
“This doesn’t change anything,” he said.
“I know.”
“This doesn’t mean—”
“I know.”
His hand slid to my waist, resting there as if testing whether the world would break.
It didn’t.
The forest hummed—low, satisfied.
I leaned into him before I could talk myself out of it.
Just slightly.
Enough to feel his warmth.
Enough to feel the tension coil tight between us.
Kael’s breath stuttered.
His forehead rested against mine.
“Don’t,” he whispered.
“Then stop,” I whispered back.
He didn’t.
His mouth found mine — slow at first, almost hesitant, then deeper, hungrier. His kiss was careful and consuming all at once, like he was finally allowing himself to taste what he'd denied for so long. I melted into him, arms winding around his neck, fingers threading into his hair.
His hands slid up my back, pulling me closer until our bodies pressed flush. He kissed me like a man who had been holding his breath for years — long, slow, reverent. When his lips left mine to trail along my jaw, then down the sensitive line of my throat, I shivered, a soft sound escaping me.
He paused there, breath warm against my skin.
"You're trembling," he murmured.
"So are you."
His hand moved to my waist again, fingers splaying wide, holding me steady. Then — one hand slipped lower, tracing the curve of my hip, the edge of my thigh. He hesitated, waiting.
I nodded against his shoulder.
His touch grew bolder — sliding beneath the hem of my skirt, skimming the bare skin of my inner thigh. When his fingers brushed higher, finding me already warm and wanting, he exhaled roughly against my neck.
I gasped as he stroked me gently — slow circles, teasing at first, then firmer, more deliberate. My hips moved instinctively, seeking more, and he gave it — sliding one finger inside me, then two, curling them just right until pleasure sparked sharp and bright.
I clung to him, breathing his name like a prayer.
He kissed me again — deeper this time —swallowing every soft sound I made as he worked me higher, thumb circling the sensitive peak above while his fingers moved inside me in steady rhythm. The tension coiled tight, tighter, until I shattered against his hand — quiet, trembling, clinging to him as waves of pleasure rolled through me.
He held me through it, lips brushing my temple, my cheek, murmuring my name like it was something sacred.
When my breathing steadied, he eased his hand away, resting his forehead against mine.
"We shouldn't and this doesn't change anything," he said hoarsely.
I nodded, chest aching. "I know."
His arms lingered around me a moment longer — warm, steady — then fell away.
He stepped back.
Cold returned instantly.
He turned toward the wall, shoulders rigid.
"I'll take the floor," he said, voice flat again.
I watched him walk away.
The forest was quiet.
Satisfied.
As if it had taken what it wanted.
I lay awoke long after, staring at the ceiling, warmth still blooming where he had touched me.
Behind me, Kael did not move.
Did not sleep.
Did not come back.
By morning, the space between us was colder than before.
And somehow —
That hurt more than the night ever could.
- Writer
