Chapter 39 Fragile Morning

The sun rose quietly over the rooftops of the kingdom, casting long golden shafts through the windows of Kai’s home. The light was gentle, but it did little to ease the weight in the girls’ hearts.

---

Skye shifted beneath the covers, her hair falling across her face in a golden sweep that caught the morning light. Her legs stayed curled, wrapped tightly around the pillow pressed between her thighs, as if it could keep her grounded. The blanket she clutched had twisted through the night, but she refused to let go—holding it against her chest like it might shield her from the echo still humming inside her.

Her body ached, but not from strain or fatigue. It was something else—warmer, quieter, more confusing. The kind of ache that crept into the bones when desire refused to fade, even after sleep.

Her cheeks were still warm.

Not just from the mist. Not even from the shame.

It was the after. The part no one warned you about. The part that lingered long after the haze had lifted. The ache of almost. The ache of wanting.

Why did she want to be near him so badly?

Why did it feel safer in his arms—even if she'd never been there?

Why did her breath hitch every time his gaze lingered, even for a second?

She didn’t know what to call it. She didn’t know what it meant.

But it had carved itself into her chest, quiet and deep.

She tucked her face against the pillow and whispered softly, “What… is this?”

---

Fara lay rigid in her bed, staring up at the ceiling through heavy lashes. One arm bent behind her head. The other clenched the edge of her blanket like a lifeline. Her tails—always so poised, so expressive—had curled tight around her, shielding her half-covered form like an instinct. Her breathing was measured, practiced. Controlled. But her chest betrayed her, rising and falling in shallow waves.

Her skin still tingled. Her heartbeat hadn’t returned to normal.

She had nearly stepped past a threshold she could never uncross.

And the truth was—part of her wanted to.

She had almost reached for him. Not in play. Not in jest. In truth.

The words had nearly slipped out. Not just the ones about desire. But the deeper ones—the ones she buried beneath duty and strength and heritage.

Pick me. See me. Want me.

Not because she was a warrior. Not because of her bloodline. But because she was her. Because behind all her power, she was still someone who wanted to be loved.

And he… he had seen it.

Kai had looked her in the eye and stopped her with nothing but kindness. Not shame. Not coldness. Just that same quiet strength that made her both respect him… and hate him for making her feel this.

She growled low into her pillow. “Idiot,” she muttered, voice rough. “I would’ve ruined everything.”

And still, her fists clenched tighter.

Because part of her wished he hadn’t stopped her.

---

Revoli sat upright with her knees pulled to her chest, her tail curled around her toes. Her room—normally vibrant, filled with her scraps and shiny trinkets and half-sung ideas—felt too big this morning. Too still. Even her own breath sounded loud.

She didn’t remember all of it. Not clearly. Just pieces.

The dream had been soft. Bright. She had been happy.

And then she had been in his room.

Her heart twisted.

She wasn’t sure where the line between dream and real had blurred, but she remembered feeling something. A pull. A warmth. Not the kind that burned, but the kind that tried to fill empty places. Old places. Places she didn’t show anyone.

She didn’t chase after him because of lust.

She chased because, for a moment, she thought… maybe… she didn’t have to be alone anymore.

She was always too much. Too loud. Too weird. Too demonic to belong in one world, too soft to belong in the other.

But Kai didn’t flinch when he looked at her.

He didn’t see her as broken. Or burdened.

He just… saw her.

And it scared her more than anything.

She pressed her face into her blanket, whispering just loud enough for the walls to hear, “What if I let myself fall for him?”

---

The floorboards creaked.

All three girls froze.

They sat upright, instantly alert, their blankets falling away in rushed movements. In a quiet panic, they scrambled to fix their robes, tame their hair, and pretend nothing had happened. Pretend their hearts weren’t pounding.

But their silence said everything.

---

Kai stepped into the common room like a ghost. His face, unreadable. His steps, steady. He wore his usual coat—worn canvas and leather—and his batons were already strapped in place. There was no sign of the man who had faced down temptation hours earlier. No trace of unrest or struggle.

Only Kai.

The same quiet strength that made him maddening. And safe.

“Breakfast is on the table,” he said simply. “Eat. Dress. We’re heading to the guild to find out what the hell happened last night.”

His voice was even. His words clipped.

He didn’t ask how they slept.

He didn’t glance at their faces.

He just… was.

Skye nodded quietly, her cheeks glowing with heat she couldn’t control.

Fara gave a silent bow, her lips drawn tight.

Revoli threw up a half-hearted salute, her usual grin a little forced.

None of them said what they were thinking.

Kai didn’t speak of what had happened. Not a word. Not a breath.

And that somehow made it worse.

They gathered at the table in silence.

The bread was warm. The broth steamed. The hearth crackled softly.

But none of them could meet his gaze.

Not even once.

A spoon clattered to the floor. Revoli muttered something as she reached to pick it up—a joke, maybe—but her voice didn’t carry. No one laughed. No one breathed easy.

Kai sat near the wall, legs crossed, adjusting the straps on his boots without looking up.

Maybe he didn’t want to see them.

Or maybe… he couldn’t.

He had stood at the edge of something dangerous. Something beautiful. Something terrifying.

And he had walked away.

But even now, as the sun cast golden light over the remnants of sleep and silence, none of them were sure what would’ve happened if things had lasted one breath longer.

None of them were sure what this new day would bring—but they knew one thing for certain:

Things had changed.