The apothecary smelled faintly of crushed herbs and warm honey — soothing, grounding, and vaguely medicinal in a way that always reminded Lyra of Chayne himself. It was a quiet evening in Kilima, golden light spilling through the windows and dappling the worn wooden floorboards. A kettle clicked softly in the corner, warming on the iron stove.

Lyra sat cross-legged on a woven mat, hands resting loosely in her lap. She could hear Hassian behind her, shifting as he paced a slow circuit around the room. He wasn’t visibly nervous, but she knew the signs — the way his jaw flexed when he overthought, the habitual rub at the back of his neck. She’d learned his storms before they broke.

Chayne folded himself onto the floor across from her with practiced ease and poured two mugs of tea, offering one to Lyra and then to Hassian, who finally settled beside her with a low grunt that suggested reluctant compliance rather than comfort.

“You know,” Chayne said mildly, blowing across the surface of his tea, “you’re not the first couple I’ve had to track down and bribe with honey cakes to show up to one of these sessions.”

“You said there’d be snacks,” Hassian muttered. “And she ran.”

Chayne’s eyes twinkled. “I admire her priorities.”

The light teasing faded into a softer quiet, broken only by the creak of wood and the faint sounds of Tau rummaging somewhere in the back room — likely continuing his personal crusade for treats.

“Well,” Chayne said at last, setting his mug aside. “We’ve already covered the practical matters. Today’s focus is more… internal. Marriage is more than cooperation. You’ve been living together a while now. Tell me — do either of you see potential problems that could impact your relationship? Big or small. Now is the time to name them.”

Lyra and Hassian exchanged a glance, the kind that carried more history than words.

“Well,” Hassian began, voice roughened by reluctance. “Something happened recently that shook us both, it hit on our biggest fears. We’ve talked about it, but I don’t think either of us feels… past it.” He reached for Lyra’s hand, and she threaded her fingers through his without hesitation.

“Then it’s worth exploring,” Chayne said gently. “Lyra, would you like to tell me what happened?”

Her smile was faint. “I’d love to — but I can’t.”

“You’re safe here,” Chayne assured her. “Nothing spoken leaves this room.”

“No, she truly can’t,” Hassian cut in, jaw tightening. “I’ll explain.”

He spoke carefully, voice controlled but tight with old fury as he recounted the incident — Subira’s assignment, the cave in the Elderwood, the curse, the cruel words, the fear of waiting and not knowing if Lyra would come home. His thumb brushed over the back of her hand as he spoke, as if grounding both of them in the present.

Chayne listened without interruption, his expression grave. “And what, precisely, was said to her?”

Hassian’s grip tightened. “Enough to twist every insecurity she already had.” He exhaled sharply. “She told her I followed her like a lovesick puppy, that I hunted her the way I hunt prey. That I begged to wear my pin and to marry me. Said Lyra isn’t my type — that I like it rough. Said told her slept with her the same day we met.” Hassian exhaled slowly. "she put a curse on Lyra, so she can't say anything bad about her... even if it's true. I found a way around it. I had her write it all down."

Chayne’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “A familiar tactic. Poison the roots and the tree will wither.”

Lyra shifted nervously, fingers tracing the edge of her skirt. “I need to be honest,” she murmured. “I’ve always had issues with jealousy. I don’t like seeing other women look at Hassian. Maybe that’s from my former life… I don’t know.” Hassian’s hand slid to the small of her back, slow and steady.

“But… I’ve been jealous of her the most,” she went on quietly. “Because I was told about how hard it hit you when it ended. And I kept wondering if there was still something left.”

Her voice trembled. “Hearing how fast things moved with her — compared to how long it took you to even look at me — it made me doubt myself. And the things she described… they didn’t sound like the man I know. It made me wonder if you were holding back with me.”

"No,” he said immediately. Fierce. Certain.

Her eyes shimmered. “If maybe you weren’t doing what you really like.”

He pulled her closer without hesitation, forehead resting briefly against her hair. “No, Lyra.”

Chayne rose quietly. “I believe this is a moment for privacy.” His hand squeezed Hassian’s shoulder once before he stepped out, leaving the room in tender silence.

Hassian gathered her in, he rested his brow against hers, breath slow, steadying.

“I didn’t intend to fall for you,” he admitted quietly. “When we first met, I noticed you — of course I did. You were beautiful. Too kind for your own good. You treated Tau like he was already family.” A faint breath of a laugh. “And that should’ve meant something to me. It did. I just refused to listen to it.”

His thumb traced the curve of her cheek.

“I told myself I was being careful. That you were human. That wanting you would only end the same way as before. So I ignored it. Fought it. Pretended it was nothing.”

A pause. Honest. Heavy.

“But there came a point where I realised if I didn’t take the chance — if I didn’t at least try — it would be the biggest regret of my life.”

His eyes softened, but the certainty in them didn’t waver.

“And when I finally chose you… I wanted to do it right. Not rushed. Not driven by impulse or pride. I wanted to honour you. Honour what we could become. Follow our traditions. Let it grow.”

His thumb brushed gently under her eye.

“The way we touch, the way we love — that isn’t restraint. That’s choice. Every single moment. I’m not holding back from you, Lyra. I’m giving you the deepest, truest part of myself.”

A low murmur, meant only for her.

“What I moved too fast with before was confusion. What I move slowly with now… is because it matters. Because you matter.”

Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry you have to keep reassuring me.”

“I’ll do it as many times as it takes,” he murmured. “Until you believe it in your bones.”

Hassian pulled her closer, gently rocking her. Quietly praying she'd understand she wasn't just a part of his world.... she was his world.

When Chayne returned, the atmosphere had shifted — fragile still, but steadier.

Chayne’s gaze shifted to Hassian, steady and unyielding. “As for you… your fear will be harder to quiet. Lyra could sit here all night and swear she isn’t going anywhere, and still it would not soothe you. You must convince yourself that Lyra is not Taylin. You must learn to let her live, and trust that she will return to you. It will not be easy. But until you do, peace will remain just out of reach.”

Hassian’s jaw tightened, his thumb brushing slowly over Lyra’s knuckles. “I do believe her,” he said quietly, eyes lifting to meet Chayne’s. “It's not Lyra I worry about.” His gaze drifted briefly, as if toward memories he despised. “It's the world. It has never been gentle with the things I care for.”

Chayne studied him a moment longer, then gave a small nod, as if acknowledging the truth in that pain.

The words settled between them like stones — heavy, but deliberate. Not meant to crush, but to support. A foundation laid in truth.

At last, Chayne leaned back. “You have both done good work tonight.”

They rose together, the weight of the conversation still clinging to them, yet somehow lighter now that it had been spoken aloud. As they stepped into the cool night air, Lyra turned and wrapped her arms around him, holding him close.

“I trust you’ll always be faithful to me,” she murmured against his shoulder.

His hands came up around her without hesitation. “Always, baby,” he replied softly. After a heartbeat, his voice lowered further, more vulnerable. “And I trust you’ll always choose to come home to me.”

She tipped her head back just enough to meet his eyes. “Always.”

The village lay hushed, the stars scattered bright overhead. For a long moment, neither spoke — only breathed — their foreheads resting lightly together, the world kept at bay by nothing more than shared promise.Side by side, they turned and began the walk home.

What I Like

They didn’t speak much on the walk home. They didn’t need to. The night air carried enough quiet understanding between them that words would have only cluttered it.

Inside the conservatory, starlight spilled through the open roof, silvering the floor and the edges of the bed. Hassian tugged off his boots, setting his bow aside with practiced care. Lyra followed suit, her own movements slower, thoughtful — like she was still wrapped in the echoes of everything that had been said.

When she straightened, he was already close.

“Hassian?” she murmured, as if surprised to find him there.

His hands came to her waist, warm and steady. He didn’t rush. He never did with her. His thumb brushed over the line of her hip, grounding — almost reverent.

“Be with me tonight, baby,” he said quietly, forehead resting against hers. “Let me show you what I like. show you what’s real.”

Her hands slid up his chest, fingers curling gently into the fabric of his shirt. “I’ll be with you whenever you want,” she whispered, eyes soft but unwavering. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Something in his expression shifted — not hunger alone, but relief. Like someone finally setting down a burden he’d carried too long.

“And I will always choose you,” he murmured, brushing his lips to her temple. “Every night. Every morning. Every lifetime—you'll have me.”

Hassian leaned in capturing her lips. Slowly at first then deepening, longingly.

Lyra melted against him, feeling the hard planes of his body pressing against her softness. His hands tangled in her hair, pulling her deeper into him. Igniting every part of her being.

He reached for the hem of her shirt, fingers brushing against her skin as he pulled it over her head. She shivered as the sensation of the cool air meeting her warmth. She saw the fire in his eyes as he took in the sight of her.

She returned the favor undoing the clasps of his shirt revealing the sculpted lines of his chest.

His lips found her neck. Hands explored familiar territory as clothing was shed. Without a word Hassian swept her up into his arms, effortlessly carrying her to the bed. He laid her down gently and climbed in beside her.

Slowly he moved his hands over her body. Starting with her thighs, moving up to her hips, her waist over her breast. Finally resting cupping her face, thumb running over her cheek. "Let me show you," he repeated.

His hand lingered against her cheek, thumb brushing softly along her jaw as he looked down at her — not with urgency, but with a slow, deliberate want that made her breath hitch long before he touched her again.

“This,” he murmured, lips brushing near her ear, voice a low confession, “is what I like. You. Us. Just like this.”

He shifted over her, body fitting to hers with practiced familiarity, the heat of his skin seeping into her own. When he kissed her again it was unhurried, deep, tasting of comfort and need intertwined — as though he wasn’t chasing release, but savoring connection.

When he guided himself to her, the moment stretched, breath held between them. He entered her slowly, letting her feel every part of him, the fullness, the warmth, the quiet intimacy of it. A soft sound left her as her hands tightened against his back, taking him in, welcoming him as if he belonged nowhere else.

A shudder moved through him at the way her body responded, and his forehead dropped to hers, lips brushing her temple as he began to move — a steady, familiar rhythm, deep and controlled, built not just for pleasure but for closeness. Every motion felt intentional. Every breath shared.

“Just like this…” he breathed, as though reminding her — or himself — that this was what he wanted. What grounded him. What made him feel whole.

The tension built slow and steady, spreading through her like warmth, coiling tighter with every movement, every quiet sound they shared. Her name left his lips like a prayer as he drove a little deeper, a little firmer, before the sensation overtook them both.

When he unraveled, it was with his face buried in her shoulder, breath breaking, arms tightening around her as though instinct demanded he keep her close — like if he held her tight enough, the world could never take her from him.

He stayed there long after the wave had passed, heart still racing, fingers tracing gentle paths along her back while their breathing softened together.

Finally, he lifted his head just enough to look at her, thumb brushing her cheek again — tender now, vulnerable.

“All I want,” he murmured, voice softened with truth, “is exactly how you make me feel. Loved. Wanted. Home.”

His forehead rested against hers.

And his arms refused to let her go.