The quiet between them thickened, but not with fear.
The low glow from scattered torches framed them like a painting no one dared interrupt. Aveline could feel his gaze, not like a weight, but like warmth grazing her skin.
A breath passed between them. Then....
The lights snapped on.
Aveline's eyes instinctively fluttered shut, blinded by the sudden wash of brightness. When she opened them again, Alaric was still watching her, unbothered. His expression was unreadable but unmistakably softened.
It wasn't just the admiration. It was the way he looked that he couldn't help but admire her.
She didn't move. Neither did he.
What stunned him more than her composure was the way she was looking at him now.
She hadn't changed. And yet, she had. He could feel it.
There was something different in her eyes, something unspoken. It was quieter. Deeper.
Then her dress slipped from her fingers, the hem trailing downward, too close to the blood-slicked floor.
