Location: Oslo Keep – Elira's Private Sitting Room
Time: Night of Day 366 After Alec's Arrival
The Walls Finally Crack
Elira had sent for wine, but hadn't touched it.
The bottle stood unopened beside the hearth, its deep red catching glimmers of firelight. Her hair was undone, the pins discarded onto a nearby tray. She wore no jewels. No outer gown. Just a simple shift beneath a loose robe belted at the waist. Her skin was still warm from a bath — not steaming, not scented — just clean.
Across from her, Alec stood by the fire — arms crossed behind his back, gaze locked on the flames like they might reveal some unspoken pattern.
"Do you know how long he's been like this?" she asked finally.
"Dain?" Alec turned. "Approximately how long he's been obsessed with you? I have guesses. You'll tell me the truth."
She gave a hollow laugh. "Since my wedding night."
He said nothing.
Elira took a breath.
"He never said anything outright. Too clever for that. But he'd hover. Offer help I never asked for. Always found an excuse to speak with me in private. And when my husband died…"
Her hand clenched in her lap, knuckles blanching.
"He came to my chambers the next week. Told me I didn't need to sleep alone anymore. Said my body must be aching for comfort."
Alec's voice, when it came, was steady. "Why didn't you exile him?"
"Because exiling a brother of a noble house without cause would've made him a martyr. I thought I could keep him manageable."
"And now?"
"I still can," she said. "But I don't want to do it alone anymore."
He stepped closer.
"You won't."
She looked up. Slowly.
He wasn't posturing. Wasn't offering comfort for comfort's sake.
He was promising.
"I will make sure he never has leverage over you or your daughter again," Alec said. "I will help you build something so immovable, men like him will choke on their envy."
Elira swallowed.
Hard.
No one had ever said that to her.
Not even her late husband.
A Shift in the Conversation
Alec turned toward the fire again. Then, as if recalling a detail on a schematic:
"Marriage. What does it require? I've studied customs, contracts, noble dowry terms. But the actual… function of the arrangement confuses me."
Elira blinked. "Function?"
"Emotionally," he clarified. "Romantically. Physically. What do married people do that others don't?"
She stared. "…Everything."
He didn't flinch.
She stood, walked slowly toward him. Not as a seductress. Not even as a woman teasing power.
Just curious.
"Do you mean what they share in terms of affection? Household responsibilities? Or are you asking about sexual intimacy?"
"Yes," he said. "All of it. I understand the mechanics of intercourse. But from how people refer to it, it… transcends simple function."
She smiled, confused and intrigued.
"You've never had a lover."
"No."
"Not even once?"
"No."
"You've never kissed someone?"
"No."
"You've never wanted to?"
He paused. "I'm not sure I know what it means to want something that cannot be measured."
She just looked at him.
The anger she'd carried since Dain's arrival dissolved.
And something gentler began to fill the space.
Awe.
This man — this frighteningly brilliant strategist, reformer, innovator — had never been touched.
Never held.
"You've been taught so many things," she said softly. "But not this."
He sat, finally, across from her.
"I wasn't raised for it. I was created for outcomes. Optimized function. Strategic expansion."
"Not desire."
"Correct."
She tilted her head.
"Then how do you know you've never felt it?"
He met her gaze.
Quietly, almost like an admission: "Because when I look at you, sometimes… I forget what I was supposed to say next."
One Final Question — and the Age Reveal
She tried not to react.
Tried not to let the warmth curling low in her abdomen reach her voice.
"You speak like a man," she said. "But… how old are you really?"
He looked only mildly puzzled. "Chronologically or physiologically?"
"Chronologically, Alec."
"Nineteen."
Her mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.
"You're—" She blinked. "You're seven years younger than me?"
"Yes."
"You don't look nineteen."
"My cellular decay is stabilized. My age expression was tailored to avoid weakness signals."
"I age slowly" He added for clarification.
She was silent for a while.
"That's not reassuring," she muttered.
"Why?" He asked, confused.
She rose, slowly — then walked over and knelt before him.
Looked up.
"You look like a man. But you're a boy who's never had a woman in his arms."
"Is that… important?"
She reached up, touched his wrist.
"No," she whispered. "But it's real. And it means the first person who touches you… really touches you… will matter."
He didn't move.
Didn't answer.
But his eyes — so often cool and calculating — looked almost afraid.
Not of her.
But of what he was beginning to feel.
And Elira wasn't sure if she wanted to protect that look.
Or be the one to make it unravel.