Eryshae

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Thorian
Windspire Spa

Thorian hated waiting rooms. They always smelled like boiled eucalyptus and nerves. He stood with one hip propped lazily against a coral-inlaid column, Caldris looped around his arm like expensive silk. The woman's scent was subtle and warm; sea fennel and black tea; which helped offset the cloying aromatics that clung to the lobby like an over-perfumed aunt. Caldris was murmuring something into his ear; probably about the spa packages; but Thorian's attention had shifted. The spa doors hissed open behind a soft chime, and two figures entered, trailing steam and early morning sunlight.

Vael. He recognized her walk before he even saw her face; too proud for someone pretending not to be noticed. Sam followed close, hand in hers, shoulders relaxed, mouth already smiling like he knew he was lucky and had no plans to squander it.

Thorian made a soft clicking sound with his tongue. "Well, look who finally made it." Caldris followed his gaze. "Vael and… that one. Think they're here for the crystal baths?"

"Hope not. I was planning on using them to rinse off after the mud wraps." But Thorian's sarcasm dulled slightly as he watched them approach the front desk. The moment Vael stepped into the atrium, her features softened; those sharp cheekbones, usually held in battle-ready tension, relaxed under the glow of the chandeliers. She leaned into Sam like she'd forgotten she had spines. He saw the look in her eyes. The one that said, Maybe this could be a good memory.

Then came the desk. Then the receptionist. Then the mistake. He watched Vael smile; that smile; when she said, "We have a reservation. Under Samael Faelock." Thorian could practically taste the confusion radiating off the receptionist before she even spoke. Her fingers fluttered over her desk like pigeons trying to remember how to fly.

"I'm sorry… I don't see a reservation under that name." Thorian winced. He'd seen explosions come from Vael before when they were younger. They didn't always start with flames. Her smile vanished. Her voice rose, steady but pointed. "We traveled all this way. We've crossed half the peninsula to be here. This spa was all we were hoping for; all we were looking forward to."

Caldris blinked. "Oh no."

"Oh yes," Thorian muttered. He pushed off the column, cutting across the tiled floor with long, purposeful strides. The receptionist looked like she'd just realized her sandals were on the wrong feet. She leaned forward, flustered, tapping at her oversized reservation ledger as if sheer panic might force the correct name to appear. "Let me just… double-check the ticket queue," she mumbled.

Thorian lingered by a coral support pillar across the atrium, arms crossed, watching the situation unfold like a stage play he'd already seen three times. Vael's posture was tight; elegant but coiled; and Sam stood beside her, solid as an oak but wisely silent. Thorian could almost feel the weight in Vael's chest as she exhaled slowly, clearly trying to keep from breaking into shards. He'd seen her do worse with less provocation years ago.

The receptionist flipped pages with growing anxiety. Thorian could tell she'd spotted something; but wasn't confident enough to own it yet. "There's a… separate entry for the Skyview Suites," she said cautiously, her eyes darting. "I didn't see that line. Just one moment." Before Vael could react, Thorian pushed off the column with a grin already forming. He didn't raise his voice; he didn't have to.

"Oh stars," he drawled. "Is someone making trouble at the front desk again?" Vael turned sharply, tension flaring in her shoulders; then relaxing just slightly as she recognized him. Thorian gave her a mock bow as he approached, his white-gold curls tucked under a wide-brimmed travel hat, his long coat speckled in trail dust, as though he'd just dismounted from a theatrical play instead of strolling down a tramline. Caldris, ever-effortless and radiant, clung to his arm like a ribbon of moonlight in silk and tinted lenses, clearly enjoying the attention.

Thorian took one look at the receptionist and tilted his head. "They're with me," he said, like it was a statement of physics. "Sam Faelock and Lady Vael; they're on my booking." The receptionist straightened like she'd just been yanked upright by puppet strings. "Oh; of course! I; I didn't realize; "

"No one ever does," Thorian said, already waving a hand as if brushing off dust. "I sent the memo. Probably filed under 'Too Important to Read.' It happens." She bowed quickly and turned to her ledger, fingers now flying with renewed purpose. "Yes, here we are; Skyview Spa Passes. Full package. I'll have them made and ready right away."

Thorian caught the quick flick of Caldris' eyes toward Vael, then the soft smile he offered them both. "We were just heading to the crystal baths," he said, voice as smooth as the marble floor. "You should join us after your massage. The eucalyptus steam is divine."

Vael raised a brow, the corners of her mouth twitching. "You knew when we'd be here?" Thorian shrugged. "Obviously. I made the reservation." The look she gave him was equal parts suspicion and reluctant gratitude. She opened her mouth; likely to protest or demand how he'd known her exact movements; but the receptionist slid two elegant passes across the counter before she could say anything. Smooth ivory tiles embedded with the spa's crest; gleaming gold leaves and a wind-wrapped spire.

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Vael took Sam's hand again, her shoulders slowly unknotting. The panel slid shut behind the counter, muffling the harp music and the low gurgle of water features. Thorian didn't need to hear her say it, but he caught the words anyway as she leaned into Sam with a huff of relief. "Well," she murmured. "I guess we're not crashing after all." Thorian smirked, just faintly. No, cousin, he thought. You're right where you belong.

Thorian strode ahead, his arm comfortably looped with Caldris', his voice filling the lavish corridor with the ease of someone both used to attention and skilled at commanding it. "You'll love the basalt plunge," he said over his shoulder to Sam and Vael. "Volcanic stone drawn up from the trench and blessed by some sea witch, I'm sure of it. Scalding on the skin, but you'll come out smooth as a seal and twice as relaxed."

Sam raised a brow, amused. Vael walked beside him, visibly trying to keep from rolling her eyes. "And if that's too much for you," Thorian went on, "there's the kelp wrap. Smells like brine and eucalyptus; looks like you're being mummified in seaweed; but it works wonders on the spine. Cal swears by it." Caldris hummed, resting her head lightly against Thorian's shoulder as they climbed the staircase. "You're just trying to get them into the warm baths so you can take the cold one alone," she teased.

He gave her a knowing smirk, but said nothing. Instead, he let his gaze linger on her a breath longer than he should've, drinking her in as if this were the first time he'd ever laid eyes on her. A woman with hair that shimmered like oil in moonlight. It spilled past her shoulders in gleaming, inky waves; alive with streaks of violet and deep marine that caught the light with every movement. She was coiled in silks the color of a drowning sky, lapis and ink, with sapphires on every finger. The rings clinked as she adjusted her braid, a gesture so casual and practiced it almost concealed the sharpened glint in her eyes. The tall, sharp-eyed woman gave a wicked grin, her asymmetrical braid bouncing over one shoulder, and her lips were painted just dark enough to hint at trouble. Not too black, not quite violet; just that near-color of forbidden things.

Thorian felt her warmth against him, the heat of her hand at his elbow, the soft press of her silks against his side. And though he kept talking, leading them past a pair of carved stone sentinels guarding the upper floor, a quieter thought threaded beneath his words: You could drag empires to their knees, and still I'd beg you to ruin me next.

He cleared his throat lightly. "So, suites first. Then drinks. Then steam. Unless someone wants to change the order of operations?" Sam let out a low breath as they reached the upper corridor, his eyes lingering on the polished marble columns and softly glowing sconces that lined the hallway like watchful sentinels.

"Drinks," he said simply, rolling his shoulders as if already imagining the first sip.

"Steam," Vael countered with a sigh, eyes fluttering half-shut at the thought.

Their gazes met, both smiling sheepishly, acknowledging the contrast in their desires. Thorian turned on his heel and clapped his hands once. "Excellent! We'll divide and conquer." He winked. "Let's meet back here in an hour. If anyone gets kidnapped by a body scrub, leave a note." Caldris chuckled beside him, her silk-swathed form flowing with each elegant step as they reached the suite doors. Caldris looked back at Sam and Vael, that grin returning. "I vote for drinks first. Let's see how long your… friend can last in the cold bath after a glass of sea-fire."

Thorian led the way with his usual confidence, one hand gesturing to the soft-lit hallway that split in two directions. "Steam rooms are down past the soaking tubs. Dry heat to the right. Wet heat to the left," he explained with a grin, pausing by the sign indicating the gendered changing rooms. "Meet you inside?" Vael nodded, giving him a parting smirk before slipping through the door to the women's side.

Thorian stepped into the men's changing room, the soft scent of cedar and eucalyptus wrapping around him like a familiar cloak. He pulled the tie from his cloak first, then methodically unbuckled the clasps of his outer tunic, folding the garment neatly before setting it on the bench. His fingers moved with deliberate ease, stripping away the layers of travel-stiffened clothing until only the heat of the room and the low murmur of voices remained.

He moved slowly, letting the ritual of undressing become a kind of meditation. The journey from Emberhold to Ocean City drifted through his thoughts; uneventful, all things considered. The roads had been clear, the skies mercifully mild. No bandits. No unexpected delays. Even his subordinates, shadowing in the second carriage, had remained quietly professional.

Predictable. Smooth. Almost too smooth. He rolled his shoulders, easing tension from the long ride. One eye caught his reflection in the copper-trimmed mirror beside the lockers. Hair slightly wind-mussed. Brow faintly creased. He tilted his head and murmured to himself, "Don't borrow trouble, stick to the plan." And with that, he reached for the provided linen wrap and pushed through the steam-slicked door leading into the bathhouse corridor.

Thorian stepped confidently into the steam room, wrapped in a fresh linen towel that clung to his hips. The warmth hit him like a welcoming embrace, thick with eucalyptus and mineral-rich heat. Wisps of vapor curled in slow, sultry drifts, cloaking the space in shimmering obscurity. He paused a moment, letting his eyes adjust to the softened light and seeking out her shape through the mist. There, already seated on one of the upper marble benches, was Vael.

She sat with her long legs crossed, linen wrap clinging to her curves with damp elegance. Her emerald-green hair was braided into a loose, regal crown atop her head, still catching hints of moisture and reflecting the faint glow of the heated stones nearby. Her skin glistened with a dewy sheen, and a soft, blissful smile curved her lips as the steam curled around her.

Thorian's pulse quickened despite the heat. "Comfortable?" he asked, his voice low, smooth; almost swallowed by the hiss of steam. Vael opened her eyes, lashes beaded with tiny droplets. Her smile deepened. "Very. You took your time."
"I was admiring the atmosphere." He walked toward her, steps sure and measured. "And the view." She arched a brow but didn't deny him a space beside her. He sat, letting the silence stretch; a soft hum between them filled only by the sound of water dripping from hot stones, the breathing of the room, the sighs of warmth and sweat. Neither spoke right away. There was something reverent in the stillness; something honest in the way steam stripped everything bare, even pride. Thorian let his head tip back against the wall, closing his eyes, allowing himself; for a moment; to just be.