Eryshae

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Sam

The water had gone lukewarm by the time they finally stirred.

Sam leaned back slightly, his hands resting on Vael's hips beneath the surface, unwilling to move but knowing the comfort of warmth was slipping away. She rested against him, her cheek over his heartbeat, her breath a slow rhythm that matched his own. He kissed her temple once more before brushing his nose against her damp hair.

"Time to get out," he murmured, the words reluctant. Vael hummed in agreement but didn't move until he shifted first, his hands careful as he steadied her and then stood, water streaming off his chest. He reached for a thick towel and held it open, catching her as she rose. The velvet nightgown lay forgotten by the sink. She stepped into the towel and let him wrap her up like something precious.

He dried her gently; not rushed, not hurried, just present; working the towel over her shoulders and down her arms, pressing it to the hollow of her back and letting his hands linger there a moment too long.

Vael looked up at him, hair damp and tousled, cheeks flushed with heat and something else. Her eyes held him steady. "You're fussing," she whispered. Sam's mouth curved. "You say that like it's a bad thing."

"It's not." She let the towel hang loosely from her shoulders and turned to fetch one for him. The way she ran it over his chest, slow and deliberate, nearly undid him again; not with desire, but with how unguarded it felt. How easy. Intimate. Like they'd done this a hundred times before and would do it a hundred more.

When they were both dry, she pulled on a robe; soft gray with embroidered vines along the cuffs; and he tugged on a pair of loose linen pants from the nearby shelf. He left his chest bare, towel-drying his hair with one hand while the other slid across her lower back, grounding them both.

They padded barefoot into the bedroom again, where morning sunlight dappled through the curtains in shifting gold. The bed was still unmade, blankets half-kicked aside, pillows sunken from where they'd laid. Sam helped her back beneath the covers, slipping in beside her with a sigh. He pulled her close again, letting her head settle over his heart.

The room smelled faintly of lilac and morning rain, though the skies were clear. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment, then down at her; fingers playing with a lock of her damp hair. She looked content. Peaceful.

But he couldn't help the flicker of thought in the back of his mind; the weight of the vote, the way her eyes had gone distant after the celebrations last night. She hadn't said much. And he hadn't pressed. But he'd felt the shift in her. The edge of concern she hadn't voiced.

Still, now wasn't the time for questions. Instead, he kissed her hair and whispered, "Stay here a while?" She nodded against him. "Where else would I go?"

His arms tightened slightly. "Just making sure." They lay there in the quiet, letting the world stay small for a little longer; just skin, breath, warmth, and the steady thrum of closeness. The celebration, the politics, even the future itself could wait. For now, this moment was theirs.

They lay there for a time, breathing in rhythm, warmth sinking into their bones. Sam could have stayed like that for hours, tethered to her by nothing more than skin and trust.

But life stirred outside the cocoon of their morning. Eventually, Vael shifted beside him, murmuring, "We should get ready." Reluctantly, Sam nodded. "Yeah."

They rose slowly, moving with the kind of quiet grace that comes from shared space and mutual understanding. Sam found his shirt where it had been draped across the chair, pulling it over his head. Vael disappeared behind a privacy screen and reemerged in a dark forest-green dress, her damp hair braided over one shoulder. She wore a simple silver pendant, the faint gleam of it catching the morning light.

Sam watched her fasten the final clasp on her cuff and felt something tighten gently in his chest; admiration, maybe, or awe. She was composed now, but there was a flicker in her eyes, something restless beneath the surface.

She caught him watching. "What?" she asked with a soft smile. "Nothing," he said, pulling on his boots. "Just... admiring." She rolled her eyes, but color rose to her cheeks anyway. He stood, offered his hand, and she took it.

They walked down the hall together, the morning air tinged with the faint scent of baking bread and citrus. The manor was quiet, the festivities of the night before leaving behind a hush, like a village catching its breath after a storm of joy.

The kitchen was warm and fragrant, hearth still glowing with coals. Someone had left out a basket of honeyed rolls and fresh fruit. Sam poured two cups of tea while Vael sliced pears, arranging them neatly onto a plate beside soft cheese and roasted nuts. They sat across from each other at the dining table; no crowd, no ceremony, just them.

But as Sam bit into a slice of toast, his thoughts shifted. The joy from last night hadn't vanished; but it had softened. Beneath it, other things stirred: the weight of the council vote, the strain he hadn't dared ask her about, the lingering ache of being chosen and then unchosen in the span of days.

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Vael didn't speak of it either, not yet. But her eyes darted to him now and then, as if checking for something she couldn't quite name. They ate in silence for a few minutes, the clink of ceramic and silver the only sound between them.

Then, Sam reached across the table and gently rested his hand over hers. She looked up. He offered a small smile. "Still with me?" Vael hesitated, then nodded. "Yes. Just... a lot on my mind." He squeezed her hand lightly. "We'll sort it out."

The words were simple, but something in his voice; the quiet certainty of it; anchored her again. She turned her hand over to lace their fingers together.

Outside, birds began to sing. The day had begun; not with chaos or grand speeches, but with pear slices, tea, and the quiet decision to face what came next, side by side.

As they finished their tea, distant sounds rose beyond the manor; rhythmic hooves, murmured voices, the familiar clatter of wheels rolling across stone. Vael paused, her cup suspended midair. "That's;" She set it down quickly. "My parents, they're back early."

Sam rose beside her. Before she could take a step, he reached for her hand and gave it a light, steady squeeze. She looked up at him; a flicker of gratitude in her eyes; then turned and moved toward the manor entrance.

Sam followed her out but stopped just before the threshold of the grand courtyard. He stood tall, shoulders squared, back straight; a respectful distance behind her. Though his heart beat a little faster, his expression remained calm, resolute. He would wait for her lead.

Outside, the carriage came to a stop and a pair of guards dismounted swiftly. The door creaked open, and Chief Corven stepped down; tall, broad, his traveling cloak dusted with the road. His expression was sharp but weary, the gaze of a man who missed nothing.

Chieftess Elowen followed, graceful and composed, the breeze catching her silver-threaded cloak. Her dark eyes swept across the grounds until they found Vael. "Vael," Corven said with quiet authority, his voice a low rumble.

"Father." Vael approached him with poise, but her steps quickened as she reached them. Corven opened his arms, and she stepped into a brief but grounding embrace. "You look well," Elowen said, brushing a strand of hair from her daughter's cheek. Her tone was warm but curious; already searching her daughter's face for unspoken truths. Vael's brow furrowed slightly. "You weren't due back until tomorrow. What's happened?"

"I'll explain everything soon," Corvin said, then turned slightly, eyes shifting toward the manor's threshold. "But first... isn't there someone we should meet." Vael extended a hand behind her. Sam stepped forward from the shadows, his footsteps sure but measured. "This," Vael said as he came to stand beside her, "is Sam."

Corven's eyes narrowed; not with hostility, but with the immediate scrutiny of a leader. Elowen tilted her head, lips parted slightly in curiosity. "My fiancé," Vael continued calmly. "He's been by my side through all of this."

Sam gave a respectful nod. "Chief Corven. Chieftess Elowen. It's an honor to meet you both." There was a beat of silence. The weight of royalty and bloodline pressed into the pause like a stone; and then, Elowen's features softened, just a touch. "We'll be very interested to hear more," she said, not unkindly. "You will," Vael said firmly. Sam remained silent at her side, letting her words speak for them both.

Corven's gaze lingered on Sam, assessing him in silence. Then his eyes flicked to Elowen's. A wordless conversation passed between them; subtle, fluid, shaped by years of shared leadership. Elowen gave the faintest of nods, her expression unreadable. A moment later, Corven looked back at Sam.

"Come," he said, not unkindly. "You and I are going for a walk." Sam blinked but recovered quickly. "Of course, Chief Corven."nHe offered Vael one last glance; a question, a steady reassurance; before following the Chief down the stone path that curved toward the forest edge.

As they stepped away, Elowen turned smoothly to Vael and slid her arm through her daughter's.n"Let the men pretend their walk is more than posturing and curiosity," she said with a wry smile. "You and I are going to the garden."

Vael let out a breath and nodded, grateful for the softness in her mother's voice, even if her grip remained perfectly composed. They began to walk together toward the manicured archway that led into the greenery beyond the manor.

Before parting fully, Corven looked over his shoulder. "We'll all meet again for lunch. Noon," he said firmly. His tone held authority, but also something lighter; a nod to civility. He gave a small, rare smile. Then they parted ways; one pair toward quiet leaves and flowers, the other into the trees and waiting words.

The path curved into dappled shade as Sam followed Corven into the woods that bordered the estate. The morning air was crisp and pine-scented, birdsong drifting on a breeze that stirred the leaves overhead. They walked in silence for a time. Sam matched Corven's pace, hands at his sides, shoulders square. He didn't speak first. He knew better.

"You're quieter than I expected," Corven said at last, without looking at him. "I speak when it's needed," Sam replied, careful with the edge of his tone. "I figured this wasn't the moment for charm."nCorven gave a faint, approving grunt. "Wise." Another few steps.

"I know who you are," Corven added, glancing sideways now. "Or at least what the factions think you are." Sam's jaw shifted slightly, but he didn't respond.

"I've seen men like you come through the Root-Rip before. Some stay. Most run when they realize we're not all fables and forest dances." "I'm not running," Sam said. His voice was low but steady.

Corven stopped walking. He turned to face him fully now, eyes sharp beneath a brow furrowed with years of leadership and long weathered judgment. "You love my daughter?" There it was. The center of the storm.

Sam didn't flinch. "I do."

"You understand what it means, loving a leader's daughter?" Corven asked, voice quiet but heavy. "I'm learning," Sam admitted. "And I intend to keep learning. With her. Always with her." Corven looked at him for a long moment. Then; a slow nod.

"I'm not here to test your worth," he said finally. "That part is Vael's decision. But I am here to see if you understand what it means to stand beside someone like her. Someone raised for duty. Someone born into expectation."

"I wasn't raised for any of this," Sam said honestly. "But I would give my life before I let hers fall apart. That much, I do understand." Corven's gaze narrowed. "Words." Sam nodded. "You'll see the rest, in time."

For a breath, the forest was still.

Then Corven exhaled through his nose and resumed walking. "Come. If we're to share a table at noon, I'd rather we've covered the hard part." Sam followed, quieter now, though something in his chest had settled; a weight shifting, not removed, but shared. They walked deeper into the trees, no longer strangers, not yet friends; but no longer divided by silence either.