Private Tales The Calm

Vivien’s muscles eased despite herself as he straightened again, though she made certain to release a quiet, petulant huff, as if displeased by the necessity of it rather than the fact that she was being handled with such infuriating competence. Her ear pressed against his chest, and that low rumble of his voice, like boulders grinding together deep within him, vibrated through her bones, settling somewhere in her chest, slowing her pulse..

Then he moved, and it kicked up again.

She tensed instantly as he sat, her breath catching. Her eyes blinked, wide and bright, cheeks already warming anew.

“Oh what are you doing now?” she hissed, teeth chittering even as she did so.

She was sitting in his lap. Curled there like some damned cat, knees tucked up, cloak wrapped tight around her, in a public - if mercifully empty - street.

Oh, he was doing this on purpose. He had to be. This was his retaliation. His way of unsettling her, of proving some silent point. Infuriating, granite-willed man that he was.

And worse?
He was warm..
So warm..

She inhaled without meaning to, breath hitching as his scent filled her senses. Earth and rain and something ..grounding. Real.. It slipped into her lungs and quieted something frantic inside her, like the way the maids sprinkled lavender water over her pillows at night. Like it went straight to her mind and told the world to be still.

Traitorous.

She sighed softly before she could stop herself, fingers curling into the fabric at his chest as her eyes slid shut, partly from exhaustion, partly from sheer self-preservation. She could not look at him like this. She could not meet his gaze while allowing herself to accept… this.

This was practical. Necessary. Nothing more.

Her shivering eased, dwindling to the occasional involuntary shudder, and her voice dropped, muffled against him, far quieter than it had been all evening.

“My... reputation is at stake,” she murmured. No longer icy, simply honest. “If you speak of this…”

She hesitated, pride warring briefly with something far more vulnerable before she exhaled and finished softly,

“You must promise me… please.” she frowned, the word slipped out before she could catch it.

Vivien felt her heart answer his before she could stop it, an instinctive, treacherous thing, and then it outright stumbled as he lowered his head. She was not blind. His handsomeness was not some subtle quality to be debated in quiet corners; it was evident, undeniable. Chiselled strength, those intense, watchful eyes, the raw, untamed edge of him. Any woman or man who claimed otherwise was lying - to themselves most of all.

She was sure he too, was quite aware of the effect he had. It was the very reason that females batted their lashes and why men like Carsan felt intimidated enough to make a show of trying to drag him down.

What frightened her was not the awareness of him, but the awareness of herself in that moment. How absurdly easy it would have been to let him close that final distance. How her gaze lingered on his mouth as it dipped nearer, how warmth bloomed through her, sinking low and traitorous in her belly. The thought alone was enough to make her breath hitch.

Then he nodded. He looked away. And her skin felt as though it had been set alight.

Dear gods, Vivien.

“Thank you,” she said too quickly, the words tripping over themselves, a faint tremor betraying her despite all her careful control. She hated that. Hated how flustered she felt. Hated how foreign this sort of comfort felt to her that she was holding onto it for dear life. If she hadn't any pride left at all, she might have cried, but she would not. Not here. Not in his arms. Gods would anything have been more pathetic?

The ache in her throat burned, her eyes stung with the threat of something dangerously close to tears, but she forced it down, breathing through it, mastering herself as she always did. She sighed, long and slow, her head resting briefly against him before she caught herself and straightened just enough to reclaim some semblance of distance.

“Yes… I’m sure you’ve far more important things to do than tend to me,” she said quietly, swallowing past the knot of embarrassment. What a spectacle she must seem. Rain-soaked, injured, clutched to his chest like something fragile he’d rescued from the roadside.

Such a fuss she had caused. Enough that he had followed her. Her gaze drifted down the street..

“I’m sure a carriage will pass,” she added, though there was little conviction in it. The road was deserted. Still, she shifted, "I can't keep you any longer, Ser." she said, formality returning to her tone as she reminded herself of her propriety.

Vivien stilled at his swift refusal, the single word cutting through her protest with such certainty. For a heartbeat she remained rigid, braced for something sharper to follow, but as he continued, that tension ebbed, her body easing back into the warmth he offered.


Blessed be the Gods. Was she… swooning?

She found herself looking up at him now, truly looking, studying the lines of his face as firelight warmed him and softened the angles. She half-expected to find some trace of jest, some smug satisfaction at having unsettled her so thoroughly, but there was none. Only sincerity. Tired, steady, and unguarded in a way that made her chest ache.

Her fingers twitched at his chest, an instinctive, dangerous urge to reach up, to trace the line of his jaw and draw his gaze back to hers. She did not. She could not. Instead she swallowed, seizing back her restraint..

No one had ever spoken to her like that. Carsan’s compliments were polished and public, spoken because they were required, never because he felt them. She knew and had always known, that he did not truly enjoy her company. Kindness for its own sake was not a language he spoke.

And yet this stranger, this man, had shown it several time in the span of a single night.

“Thank you,” she murmured, the words quieter now, as though admitting something she should not, that did not fully understand herself. She tucked her chin, retreating just a fraction, and then allowed herself to settle against him once more, cheek brushing the solid warmth of his chest.

“Perhaps… a little while longer, then,” she added, a faint sigh slipping free as her body finally surrendered to the heat, to the stillness, to the unfamiliar safety of being held without expectation. She pushed the thought of her inevitable return home out of her mind for now.

"What is your first name?.. I'm afraid I don't know it.."

Goodness.. The way his gaze lowered to her, the way the world seemed to narrow until there was only the firelight, the rain, and him. When his fingers brushed her cheek, when his thumb traced the curve of her lower lip with that infuriating gentleness, her blood turned molten.

Arctus... The sound of his name settled into her chest like a brand.

Her breath slipped softly free against his thumb, a shudder running through her that had nothing at all to do with the cold. Gods above, he was beautiful. Not polished beauty, not the rehearsed charm of court, but something rugged and real. For one reckless, terrifying heartbeat, she wondered if she was imagining it, if exhaustion and chill had conjured him entirely, or she'd hit her head when she'd slipped. This had to be illusion or some brand.

She didn't hear the carriage, not until the instant he drew his hand away and she jolted, sitting up sharply, her gaze snapping toward the sound of it. The sight should have brought relief. Instead, it hollowed her chest.

Was it so wrong to have wanted to stay? To remain tucked beneath that awning, wrapped in warmth and quiet and the steady rhythm of his pulse beneath her ear?

Yes. Of course it was. Want had never been a luxury afforded to her. She was Lady Damaris. Soon to be Lady Sahar. She knew her place as surely as she knew how to school her expression, how to stand, how to endure.

He lifted her again and she clutched at him instinctively, dreading the loss of warmth, the return of the rain and the ache in her ankle. When he told her he would have to let her go, she looked up at him and nodded too quickly, a breathless little thing.

“Yes… that would be wise,” she whispered, fingers still fisted in his cloak as he lowered her carefully to the ground.

That smile of his, as faint as it was, burned through her, somehow making her legs feel unsteady before her feet even touched stone. She swallowed, her cheeks flushing. His warning coaxed a smirk from her lips before she could stop it, though she quickly smoothed it away. Don’t tempt me, she might have said, had this not all been so dangerously improper.

The little awning had been a world unto itself, a brief, impossible pocket of warmth where a stranger held her as though it were the most natural thing in existence, where kind words and gentle touches existed without cost. Stepping beyond it felt like waking from a dream she would never be permitted to keep.

She wondered, foolishly, whether she would ever forget the earthy scent of him, the deep rumble of his voice, the molten gold of his eyes, or the way he made her heart stumble and her lips tingle.

She would have to try.

“Thank you, Arctus,” she said softly, lifting her gaze to his once more. “For caring for me.”

She raised a hand to signal the carriage, the cold biting instantly as she let go of him. Her chest ached as she stepped back into the rain, limping carefully as her ankle protested each movement. From the carriage door, she looked back at him, standing there in the downpour..

A sad smile curved her lips as she dipped her chin in farewell. Vivien pressed her fingertips to her mouth, chasing the ghost of his touch. A single tear slipped free, lost to the rivulets of rain.