“It was still water.”
“It knew what it did.”
He exhales slowly through his nose. “You cannot declare war on elements that don’t have intent.”
“Watch me.”
His mouth twitches before he can stop it. Victory.
I lean back in my chair. “You’re just upset because my magic is more dramatic than yours.”
“My magic does not need theatrics to be effective.”
“Oh, I don’t know,” I say, gesturing vaguely at him. “The whole shadow-and-fangs aesthetic feels very intentional.”
“It’s called presence.”
“It’s called branding.”
That earns me a sharper look, but there’s heat under it now. Amusement he refuses to admit.
“And you,” he says smoothly, “set furniture on fire when emotionally inconvenienced.”
“That happened once.”
“It happened twice.”
“The second time was decorative.”
He studies me for a long, deliberate second. “You are exhausting.”
“And yet,” I say sweetly, “you remain.”
A pause.
The bond hums between us, warm and charged, amused and dangerously close to comfortable.
“Yes,” he says quietly. “I do.”
Dinner is worse. The chamber is dim, lit by a low fire and a single spirit-lantern that hums softly as if even it senses the strain between us. The table is small. Intentionally so, I think. We sit across from one another, knees almost brushing beneath the narrow span of polished wood.
I have stew and bread. He has nothing at first.
We eat in silence, the kind that isn’t empty but crowded. Every movement feels too loud. The scrape of my spoon. The crackle of the hearth. His breathing, slow, controlled, far too measured for someone who insists he’s unaffected by proximity.
Then he reaches for the goblet.
I freeze. It’s obsidian, etched with old Vrakken script, the liquid inside so dark it drinks the light rather than reflects it. Blood. Fresh. Warm, if the faint curl of steam is any indication.
He doesn’t look at me when he lifts it. He drinks. And even in that he is precise and controlled, like everything else he does. I swallow, suddenly very aware of my pulse.
“You finally decided not to hide it,” I say, aiming for light. It comes out thin.
His gaze flicks up, onyx catching firelight. “You were curious.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“You didn’t have to.”