Private Tales The Price of Defiance

[Nikolai]

Nikolai dozed, barely tethered to sleep, his body still and heavy while his mind drifted along the edges of unconsciousness. But even in rest, he felt her.

Her scent filtered through the space between them like a breeze, subtle and sure. He could hear the delicate rhythm of her pulse. The shift of breath through her lungs. Every little flutter of movement as her body settled.

The thread in his chest, that strange invisible thing that always seemed to strain in her absence, loosened. The weight eased. His own breath deepened. She was near. Safe.

His eyes flickered open.

The room was quiet, wrapped in the hush and darkness, the fire and orb lights in his room having gone out, but Nikolai was not a creature who needed light or sound to see. He turned his head toward the bed automatically, expecting to find her curled into one of the endless pillows like some tired bird with her wings tucked in sleep.

But she wasn’t there. His brows drew together, and slowly, he rose. Barefoot and soundless, a living shadow, he moved around the edge of the massive bed. His gaze swept the room—sharp, cutting—and then landed on her.

There, beside the dais. Hidden from sight. Curled like some discarded thing on the cold floor. Like a pet.

He should have been amused by it, but the flicker of heat that passed through him wasn’t amusement. It was anger. Not the wild, vicious kind that spurred him to violence. No, this was quieter. Sharper. More precise. It twisted beneath his ribs like a blade and lodged somewhere deep in his chest.

How dare she. How dare she think herself so little. So unworthy. So beneath the comfort of a bed that would never deny her space. He dragged a hand down his face with a low, tired exhale, kneeling beside her, then, careful not to wake her, he slipped an arm beneath her knees, the other behind the nape of her neck. She was all fragile bones and sleeping warmth and weightless exhaustion wrapped in blanket and tension. Still, she didn’t stir, not even when he lifted her.

He carried her the short distance like she was made of spun glass, and when he laid her down in the bed, it was with a gentleness that surprised even him. She looked so small against the expanse of it. And still not fully relaxed.

Nikolai undressed without sound, casting off his layers until only loose linen shorts hung against the pale lines of his skin. Then he climbed in on the opposite side of the bed, careful to leave space between them, though every part of him was aware of her now—aware in a way that hummed through his blood like a second pulse.

He didn’t touch her. He didn’t speak. But his gaze lingered for a long time, before he forced himself to turn around and let his eyes close again.

 

[Sadie]

Sadie hadn't stirred when he lifted her.

Hadn't awoken when her head lulled against his chest. Not when the blankets slipped loose from her small frame. Not even when he laid her down on bedding more lavish than anything she had every known, anything she had ever deserved.

But her stillness didn't mean peace.

Even in sleep, her brows remained faintly drawn together. Her fingers curled into tight little fists clutching nothing near her chest. Her breath came in slow, but uneven. It was the kind of breathing one learned to do after weeks or months of being forced to sleep with one ear open. Ready to flee.

Nikolai would see it all. Feel it in the thread that bound them so tightly, even now while she lingered in a land of dreams.

She didn't move when the bed dipped low beneath his weight. Didn't flinch when the coldness of his body infiltrated the same space as hers. But once he turned, slowly and deliberately, adjusting how he lay to give her space...

She moved.

It wasn't a sharp movement. It wasn't coordinated or done with panic even. It was done slowly, an unconscious desperation of someone who had only ever known safety when it was fleeting.

She shifted across the bed, her body curling towards his as if she'd done it a thousand times before. One arm slipped across his ribs, delicate pale fingers resting on his torso. Her cheek pressed lightly between his shoulder blades. Breath ghosted along the bare skin of his back.

And finally, that tension that had been as taut as a bowstring ready to snap, had eased.

It wasn't gone, not completely. But her body slackened. Her jaw unclenched. The pain that had been etched between her eyebrows softened. A sigh slipped past her lips, quiet and thin. But she didn't speak. Didn't wake. But her grip on him tightened, ignoring the cold of his skin entirely. Her heartbeat slowed. And then, only then, did she sleep.