Location: Oslo Keep – Private Sitting Room
Time: Night of Day 365 After Alec's Arrival (continued)
Picking Up Threads
The fire in the hearth had dulled to quiet embers, casting long shadows across the chamber walls — warm, golden flickers that danced between silence and thought. Elira hadn't moved in several minutes. Her wine sat untouched on the table beside her, gathering a ring of condensation on the polished wood. The flames didn't crackle anymore. They whispered.
Across from her, Alec remained seated — perfectly composed, his hands resting in calculated stillness on his thighs, his posture soldier-straight yet not tense. He wasn't watching her. He was studying the fire again, as if it held some ancient formula he had yet to solve.
And in a way, it did.
Because Elira wasn't just a woman now.
She was something unquantified.
And Alec Alenia had no metrics for longing.
They hadn't moved.
Alec still sat across from her, posture perfect but eyes too still — as if running silent calculations in the dark.
And Elira?
Elira didn't know whether to keep speaking… or hold her breath and wait for him to break the silence first.
"I still don't understand," Alec said finally. "Why people allow themselves to feel things that weaken their judgment."
She tilted her head.
"Who told you that emotions weaken judgment?"
"I've read enough. Political leaders destroyed by love. Commanders undone by jealousy. Monarchs who fell for lust."
"And none who ruled better because they cared?"
He paused.
"…I'm sure they exist. But I was trained to mitigate risk. Feelings create unpredictable outcomes."
She leaned forward, resting her elbow on her knee.
"Then maybe unpredictable isn't the enemy you think it is."
He looked at her again.
Eyes steady. Unblinking.
And something in her chest tightened.
Understanding Desire Without Knowing It
"What would you say you're feeling right now?" she asked softly.
Alec's brow furrowed — as if the question were a riddle.
"Focused," he said.
"That's not a feeling. That's a state."
"Warm," he added after a pause.
"Closer."
He looked slightly downward. His voice dropped in volume — not out of shame, but analysis.
"…Conflicted," he said finally.
"About what?"
"You."
Her breath caught.
He didn't notice. Or maybe he did, but wasn't ready to acknowledge it.
"You're… symmetrical. Not by perfect standard, but in the way the human eye prefers. My attention returns to you even when I try to review other information. You smell different from most people — faint lavender and salt."
Elira blinked.
"That's not how most men describe attraction."
"I don't know what most men feel," Alec admitted. "Only what I've observed."
"And what are you observing now?"
"You," he said. "Not as a pattern. But as a possibility. And I don't know what to do with that."
She closed her eyes for a moment.
Gods.
He wasn't flirting.
He wasn't mimicking.
He was feeling something for the first time and didn't know the language for it.
And it made her want to take his hand.
Not for seduction.
Just to be the first skin he touched that wasn't combat or measurement.
"You smell like lavender," he added. "And salt. A trace of iron. Your scent changes slightly after dusk. Slightly warmer. Like skin just out of bathwater."
Elira flushed.
"Do you know what desire is, Alec?"
"I understand the term. Not the… internal sensation."
Temptation By Inches
Elira stood.
Walked slowly toward him.
He didn't shift, didn't flinch — but his pupils tracked her the way a hawk might track a falling leaf.
She stopped just a breath away.
So close she could hear how evenly he breathed. How composed he stayed even when his body, surely, was trying to signal something beneath all that control.
"If I touched you right now," she said quietly, "would you allow it?"
Alec didn't answer.
He only looked at her hand.
And then at her mouth.
And then back to her eyes.
"I don't know what it would mean," he whispered.
"That's okay."
Only his eyes shifted — tracing the line of her jaw, the curl of hair resting just above her collarbone, the slow rise and fall of her breath.
"If I touched you right now," she said quietly, "would you let me?"
Alec stared at her hand.
Then her lips.
Then her eyes.
"I don't know what it would mean," he admitted.
His voice had dropped. It wasn't calm now. It was uncertain.
Unshielded.
"That's okay," she said gently. "Not everything has to mean something yet."
She reached up — but didn't touch him. Just hovered her fingers near his cheek, the space where warmth meets skin without contact. She watched his chest rise.
A faint tremor. Barely perceptible.
But real.
She smiled.
And let her hand fall.
She lifted her hand.
Stopped just before his jawline.
Fingers hovered.
And she saw it — just barely — a shiver.
Not from fear.
From data overload. Newness. Uncertainty.
She smiled sadly.
And lowered her hand.
A Lesson in Restraint
"Not tonight," she said, stepping back.
He blinked. "Because I'm not ready?"
"No," Elira replied. "Because you matter too much for me to teach you with the wrong intention."
He stood then.
They faced each other.
No touch. No kiss. Just breath between them.
She looked up at him and saw the question in his eyes. Not confusion — not exactly.
Hope.
"Will there be a right time?" he asked.
She smiled — wistful, wise.
"There will be a true time. That's better than right."
He didn't know what to do with that.
But he nodded.
The Farewell Without Goodbye
He turned toward the door — then hesitated.
"Elira," he said.
"Yes?"
He looked at her like she was something newly discovered and entirely indescribable.
"Thank you… for seeing me."
She inhaled softly.
"You make it hard not to."
He left quietly.
Didn't look back.
Didn't need to.
Because she was still standing there long after the door closed.
One hand over her chest.
The other — still tingling.
The one that almost touched his face.
The one that would, someday.
But not tonight.
Tonight, they'd come right to the edge of something vast.
And neither had fallen.
Yet.