The Light of Warm Hands

Morning came softly.

The light slipped through the cracks in the wooden shutters, catching in the dust that floated above the small table. The air smelled faintly of mint, pine resin, and warm oil; the kind of scent that lingered in the skin, that felt like safety and healing all the same time.

Lia was already awake.

Her sleeves were rolled to the elbows, a small bowl cradled between her knees as she worked the pestle in slow, practiced circles. The rhythmic grind of herbs filled the quiet cabin, mingling with the soft breath of the wind outside. She muttered to herself as she worked, counting measures, testing texture with the tip of her finger, dipping it into the bowl, then adjusting again.

Behind her, the bed creaked faintly.

Lia paused, glancing over her shoulder. Kate stirred, a quiet groan escaping her throat as she turned beneath the blankets. Her hair, a tangle of copper and gold, fell over her face. The motion made her wince, one hand instinctively moving to her side.

“Good morning,” Lia said, voice low but teasing. “Try not to reopen anything before breakfast.”

Kate blinked, half asleep, squinting toward the sound.

“You’re always awake before the sun…” She muttered, her voice rough from sleep.

“I could say the same about you.”

“Difference is,” Kate said, stretching carefully, “I’m usually preparing for battle, not… making soup out of weeds.”

Lia gasped in mock offense.

“Herbs! Not weeds. And for your information, this is medicine.”

Kate’s mouth curved into a sleepy smirk.

“For my wounds?”

Lia nodded, turning back to her work.

“And your attitude.”

The knight laughed quietly - a rare sound, light and unguarded - before sitting up fully. Her expression softened as she watched Lia move between the table and the window, the sunlight catching in her hair, turning it almost amber.

Kate leaned against the headboard, watching in silent for a couple more minutes, partly because she liked the peace, partly because the sight before her was… Unexpectedly grounding. Lia, brow furrowed in focus, lips moving silently as if whispering to the plants themselves.

“What’s that one?” Kate finally asked.

Lia didn’t look up.

“Comfrey root. Helps with bruising and old wounds. The kind you refuse to let heal properly.”

Kate huffed a laugh.

“I heal fine.”

“You heal eventually,” Lia corrected, tilting the bowl toward the light. The paste inside shimmered faintly green. “There’s a difference. Don’t think I’ve never seen you limping around the castle walls, Kate.”

The knightess thinks for a second, her brow furrowing.

“You enjoy bossing me around, don’t you?”

“Only when you deserve it.” Lia said, smiling without looking at her.

The knight’s reply was a quiet hum: amused, but tired. When Lia reached for a clean cloth, Kate straightened instinctively, her expression softening.

“Still hurting?” Lia asked.

Kate nodded.

“Still aches when I move.”

“Then don’t move.”

“That’s not how bodies work.”

“Then don’t complain when I try to heal you.”

Kate’s laugh was low, quiet, almost startled. But she obeyed, sitting down on the stool near the window. Lia dipped her fingers into the balm and began to apply it to the scar that traced over Kate’s side, her touch gentle but steady. The warmth of her hands spread slowly through the knight’s skin, leaving goosebumps in its wake.

Kate’s breath caught before she could stop it.

“You’re gentle…” She murmured.

Lia paused, eyes flicking up to meet hers.

“I have to be,” she said softly. “You break easy, for someone made of armor.”

Kate smiled, small but real.

“Guess that makes you dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Lia looked up, caught somewhere between amusement and confusion.

“You patch people up. Make them believe they’re safe. That’s dangerous.”

Lia paused, then smiled - small, shy.

“Then maybe I’ll be careful where I aim it.”

Kate’s answering smile was slower, warmer. She leaned back against the headboard, eyes half-lidded.

“You already are.”

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Only soft. The sun climbed higher, filling the cabin with a golden warmth that wrapped around them both like another blanket.

When Lia finally pulled her hands away, her fingertips tingled; not from the herbs, but from the ghost of Kate’s skin still beneath them.

“Try not to move too much.” she said, her tone returning to gentle authority, but still carrying a faint breathlessness on it.

“Bossy.” Kate muttered.

“Alive.” Lia corrected.

Kate’s eyes flickered to her face, then away again.

“Yeah,” she said quietly. “Thanks to you.”

Lia stood, not bothering to hide her blush anymore, and turned back toward her workbench, pretending not to notice the sudden weight of the silence.

“You’re welcome.” She murmured, feeling her heart beating far too fast for such an ordinary morning.

By afternoon, the warmth inside the cabin had become too heavy.

Kate insisted she needed air.

Lia, arms crossed, stood by the doorway, glaring as the knight tested her weight on her bad side.

“You shouldn’t even be out of bed yet.” She said, exasperated.

Kate smirked, leaning on the wooden stick she’d repurposed as a walking aid.

“Doctor’s orders again?”

“Healer’s,” Lia corrected sharply. “And this healer says rest.”

Kate took a slow step forward into the sunlight.

“Rest is boring. Besides…” she tilted her head toward the open field behind the cabin, where wildflowers swayed like golden waves, “…you need some exercise too.”

Lia blinked.

“Excuse me?”

“Self-defense,” Kate said, tone too casual to be innocent. “If we’re staying here, you should know how to keep yourself alive. You’ve patched me up enough times; consider it repayment.”

Lia hesitated, torn between worry and curiosity.

“…You can barely lift your arm.”

Kate grinned.

“Then you’ll have to go easy on me.”

Lia groaned but followed her outside anyway. The field was warm and quiet, grass brushing their ankles. The smell of sage drifted on the wind.

Kate handed her the stick.

“Here. Basic stance.”

Lia took it awkwardly, holding it like one might hold a broom.

“And what am I supposed to do with this?”

“Look intimidating.”

Lia tried to glare.

“You’re enjoying this.”

“A little,” Kate admitted, stepping forward. “Now, feet apart.”

Lia obeyed.

“Like this?”

Kate sighed.

“Not quite.”

Before Lia could protest, Kate moved closer - close enough that Lia could feel the warmth radiating from her. The knight’s hands came to rest lightly at her hips, guiding her stance; one boot nudged her heel into place.

“Weight on your back leg,” Kate murmured near her ear. “You’re leaning too far forward.”

Lia’s breath caught.

“I think I preferred the scolding.”

Kate chuckled softly, adjusting her shoulders next.

“Straighten here… good. You’d be terrible with a sword, but you’d at least look convincing.”

“Comforting…” Lia muttered, but her voice was unsteady.

“Now swing.” Kate said, stepping back.

Lia swung - far too hard - the stick whistling through the air. Kate laughed outright, the sound echoing across the field.

“Again!”

“I’m going to hit you one of these times.”

“That’s the idea.”

They repeated the movement, each attempt a little better than the last. Lia’s concentration tightened, tongue peeking between her teeth as she tried to mimic Kate’s posture.

Then, with one misplaced step, her foot tangled in the grass. Lia stumbled before she even realized what had happened. One second, she was trying to copy Kate’s stance; the next, her boot caught on the uneven ground.

“Wait-!” Kate reached out, too fast for her healing shoulder to allow. Pain shot through her arm, her grip faltered, and both of them went down into the grass in a tangle of limbs, a startled gasp turning into helpless laughter.

For a moment, neither spoke. Just the sound of wind brushing through tall grass and their uneven breaths tangled together.

Lia’s palms were pressed against Kate’s chest, the steady beat of her heart thrumming beneath calloused skin. Kate blinked up at her, half dazed, half amused, a strand of copper hair fallen over her face.

“You okay?” She murmured.

“I— I think so.” Lia’s voice shook. “Are you?”

“I’ve had worse.” A faint smirk curved Kate’s mouth. “Though not quite like this.”

Lia should’ve moved. She should’ve pushed herself up, laughed it off, said something clever. However, at this moment, her body didn’t seem to remember how. Kate’s hand was still resting against her arm, fingers loose but warm, and when Lia met her gaze, the world shrank.

It wasn’t just the closeness - it was the way Kate looked at her. Open. Vulnerable. As if the sunlight itself had stopped to listen.

Lia’s breath caught. Her eyes flicked down, almost against her will, to Kate’s lips: chapped, parted slightly as she exhaled.

Kate noticed. Her breath hitched too. The smirk faded. Slowly, without thinking, she lifted her hand to Lia’s cheek - not quite touching, just hovering there, trembling faintly.

“Lia…”

The name came out like a confession.

Lia barely leaned in, just a fraction, just enough that her hair brushed against Kate’s jaw. The air between them went taut, trembling with everything neither of them dared to say.

Then Kate flinched, a sharp breath of pain breaking the spell.

Lia froze. “Sorry-! Your wound, I-”

“It’s fine,” Kate said quickly, sitting up with a wince, though her voice was quieter now, rough around the edges. “You didn’t hurt me.”

And then the moment was gone, but not forgotten. It clung to the air between them, bright and fragile. They both got up, leaning against each other, before the princess took a step back.

Lia looked away, cheeks flushed, brushing stray grass from her skirt.

“You should’ve stayed in bed.” She muttered, more flustered than angry.

Kate smiled faintly, eyes soft.

“And miss that? Not a chance.”

Lia tried to glare, but her lips curved despite herself.

“You’re impossible.”

Kate tilted her head, still watching her.

“So are you.”

They stood there for a long while, not speaking, until the wind moved again, carrying the scent of crushed thyme and the sound of their laughter trying, and failing, to sound casual.

Kate cleared her throat first, brushing grass from her sleeve as if the motion could undo the moment.

“You almost had it,” she said softly. “The stance, I mean.”

Lia looked up, still flushed.

“Almost?”

Kate nodded, stepping closer.

“You keep your weight too far forward. Makes it easy to trip.”

Lia gave her a mock glare.

“Noted.”

“Here,” Kate murmured, lowering her voice. “Let me show you.”

She moved behind Lia, careful, the distance between them barely a breath. Her hands came to rest lightly on Lia’s shoulders, then slid down her arms, guiding her elbows into place. Lia stiffened, every nerve alight.

“Relax,” Kate whispered, her breath ghosting against Lia’s ear. “You’ll move better if you stop thinking about falling.”

“That’s easy for you to say.” Lia murmured, but her voice trembled.

Kate’s hands traced down to Lia’s wrists, positioning them gently. “There,” she said. “Now… Keep your palms open, steady. See? Not so hard.”

Their fingers brushed. The touch lingered - not quite accidental, not entirely deliberate. Lia turned her head slightly, and for an instant, their faces were close enough for the sunlight to blur between them.

Neither of them moved.

Kate’s gaze dropped to their joined hands, her thumb brushing over Lia’s knuckles.

“You’re not shaking anymore.” She said quietly.

Lia blinked, her breath catching.

“Maybe because I’m not afraid.”

The words hung there, softer than the breeze, but heavy with meaning. Kate’s lips parted, as if to reply, but she didn’t. She only looked at her - really looked - the tension between them shifting into something gentler, deeper.