The fire in the chamber had burned down to a deep, pulsing crimson that danced across the golden bed curtains. Outside, the Northern wind howled against the stone battlements, a stark reminder of the wild, unforgiving land that lay beyond the warmth of the room.
Verona lay tucked into the crook of Elric's arm, the steady, rhythmic thrum of his heart beneath her ear acting as the only anchor she needed. He wore a simple linen tunic that felt soft against her cheek. For the first time in fourteen days, the air between them didn't feel like a countdown.
"You're thinking too loud," Elric murmured, his voice a low vibration in his chest. His hand, large and calloused, moved in a slow, protective arc across her shoulder, tracing the line of her arm as if memorizing the fact that she was solid once more.
