Chapter 37 - Soft Confessions
The first thing Gideon noticed when he stirred was the heaviness in his head, not quite a hangover, but the sort of fog that came after too many drinks and too many feelings. For a heartbeat, he panicked. Had last night been nothing but a dream?
Then warmth shifted against his side.
He turned his head, and there she was. Neia, curled up beside him beneath the blanket, her hair tousled, her cheek pressed into the pillow. Peaceful. Real. His chest loosened with relief, and then a laugh, quiet, giddy, disbelieving, slipped out of him before he could stop it.
Gods above. She was his.
Careful not to wake her, he reached out, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. His knuckles skimmed her cheek, and just then, her lashes fluttered open. Hazel eyes blinked up at him, still heavy with sleep. For a moment, her lips parted like she wasn’t sure if he was real either. Then, remembering, she pulled the blanket up halfway over her mouth.
“…Good morning.”
Gideon’s grin deepened. “Good morning, beautiful. Funny. Now you’re shy?”
She let out a muffled groan, swatting lightly at his chest. “Stop it.”
But when he shifted closer, sliding an arm around her waist, she didn’t pull away. Instead, she melted against him, resting her head against his bare chest. For a while they just lay there, bodies tangled, breathing in sync. His hand traced slow circles on her back, hers toyed absently with the edge of the blanket between them.
“This feels… strange,” she whispered into him. “But in the best way.”
He looked down at her, his throat tight with tenderness. “Strange?”
“Mm. Waking up with you here. Having you hold me like this. Like I finally get to keep you.”
Gideon stilled. His heart lurched, then thundered so hard he was sure she could feel it against her cheek. A flush crept up his neck. He ducked his head, pressing his mouth to her hair so she wouldn’t see his expression. “You… you make it sound like I’m worth keepin’,” he murmured, the words rough, almost sheepish.
Neia tilted her face up, her eyes gleaming with sleepy amusement and certainty. “You are. More than you realize.”
His throat tightened. He tightened his hold on her in return, like if he let go even a little she might vanish. “Gods, Neia…” he whispered, half a prayer, half a confession all over again.
She peeked up at him through her lashes, and something in him broke. A laugh, low, breathless, almost disbelieving, rumbled out of his chest. “You’re so frikkin’ adorable it’s driving me mad,” he admitted, the words tumbling out before he could stop them. He buried his face against her hair, arms wrapping around her with the strength of a man who had waited too long. “And now you’re mine. Finally mine.”
Neia giggled softly, muffled against his chest, though her arms curled tighter around his waist in answer. “I don’t mind if you hold me like this forever,” she teased.
“Careful,” he muttered, squeezing her once more like he could fuse her to him. “I just might.”
For a while, neither moved. The room was warm, the morning light soft against the curtains, and the steady rhythm of her breathing against him felt like something out of a dream. Gideon let himself drown in it, in her, until the thought of the day ahead nudged him back to the surface.
He kissed the crown of her head, reluctant to pull away but finally loosening his arms. “I should, uh… grab a shower,” he said, his voice a little husky from sleep. Then, with a lopsided smile, “Unless you’d rather go first.”
Neia shook her head, her cheeks flushed as she burrowed half under the blanket again. “You go. I’ll wait.”
“Alright,” he murmured, sliding out of bed. He stood for a moment, looking down at her wrapped up and glowing with that morning-after softness, and his heart just about burst all over again. He started toward the bathroom, but paused, then turned back. Leaning over, he pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. “Stay warm for me.”
Her smile peeked out from beneath the blanket, soft and a little shy.
Gideon’s lips curved in return. “I’ll cook us breakfast when I’m done. Proper breakfast.”
That made her laugh, bright and light in the quiet room. “Then don’t take too long.”
Gideon smirked faintly as he reached for his clothes. “Yes, ma’am.”
By the time Gideon stepped out of the shower, he felt steadier and clearer. His hair was still damp, his shirt clinging slightly to his shoulders as he moved about Neia’s small kitchen, busying himself with breakfast. He wanted to spoil her, even in the simplest of ways. Fish seared in the pan, eggs cracked with steady hands, bread sliced and set aside.
The sound of running water faded in the background, and a few minutes later Neia reappeared. Her hair was brushed, still faintly damp, and loose around her shoulders. She wore a light cotton dress that softened the air around her. Fresh, radiant, smelling faintly of something herbal and floral, she crossed the room with a smile that made Gideon forget what he was doing entirely.
He froze, spatula in hand, staring for a beat too long. Gods, she was beautiful. So beautiful it made his chest ache.
Neia tilted her head, amused. “What?”
Gideon blinked, snapping out of it, and cleared his throat. “Nothing,” he said, setting the fish onto a plate with extra care. “Breakfast’s ready.”
She let him off the hook, her smile tugging at her lips as she sat at the small table. Once he joined her, plates steaming between them, Gideon leaned back in his chair for a moment, watching her tuck into her food. “I was talking with Caelan the other night,” he said, his tone low and amused. “I still can’t quite get over his living arrangements.”
Neia perked up, brows lifting. “With Alena, you mean?”
“Mm.” Gideon nodded with a faint smile. “I never thought I’d see my brother taking in a housemate. He’s always been the independent type, professional, private, very much in his own space. And now here he is, sharing his home with a courier half his size who’s obsessed with romantasy novels.”
Neia chuckled, propping her chin on her hand. “Maybe she brings out a different side of him. She does seem happier, doesn’t she? Safer.”
Gideon’s expression softened. “She does. She’s brighter now than when she first came around. Whatever the reason, I’m glad for it.”
“Sometimes,” Neia mused, fork in hand, “the most unlikely arrangements are the ones that turn out best.”
Gideon looked across the table at her, his gaze lingering just a touch too long. “Yeah,” he said quietly, as though the words carried more than one meaning. “I think you’re right.”
When breakfast was finished, they cleared the plates together, moving in easy rhythm around the small kitchen. Neia dried while Gideon washed, the quiet broken only by the soft clink of dishes and the warmth of their shared glances. As they stepped back into the main room, Neia brushed her hands on a towel and looked toward him with a smile. “So, what should we do today?”
Instead of answering right away, Gideon sat down on her couch, stretching out slightly. Then he reached for her hand and tugged gently until she laughed and found herself seated sideways on his lap. His arm circled her waist, holding her close. “How about we just relax and take it slow,” he murmured, his voice quiet but sure.
Neia leaned in, her eyes gleaming with fond mischief. She reached up and pinched his nose between her fingers. “You’re getting braver now,” she teased. Gideon chuckled, catching her wrist lightly as his grin spread wider. And for a moment, the world outside felt very far away.
Meanwhile in Highcourt Ward, Alena emerged from her room in a soft floral dress and an oversized cardigan, tugging at the sleeves as though she wasn’t sure about them. She twirled a little in the hallway before stopping in front of Caelan.
“How do I look?” she asked with a hopeful smile.
Caelan glanced up from the papers in his hand, his gaze flicking over her outfit with that maddeningly calm neutrality he always carried. “Presentable as always.”
Alena blinked, then narrowed her eyes at him. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Caelan smirked faintly, folding his papers. “Don’t come home too late,” he said automatically, then winced at himself for sounding more like a father than a housemate. “Never mind. Just… stick close to Devon and don’t wander off on your own.”
Alena giggled, eyes bright. “Yes, sir,” she teased, clearly more amused than chastised. She reached for her bag, humming cheerfully as she slipped her shoes on by the door.
Caelan leaned back on the couch once the door shut, letting out a long sigh. What was he supposed to do with himself on a beautiful weekend like this? He already knew the answer. His eyes fell on the small stack of reports waiting on the table. Work. Always work. He pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering to himself. “Gideon’s probably out with Neia, Alena’s with Devon… and I’m sat here with… reports.”
The thought lingered longer than he liked, curling in his chest with a weight he wasn’t used to carrying. Was he… lonely? He shook his head at once, almost scoffing at himself. No. No, that wasn’t it. Romantic relationships had never worked out, and there were other things he was far better suited to. His role. His responsibilities. His work.
Still, as he gathered the stack of papers and set them neatly in order, a second sigh escaped him — softer this time, resigned. “Oh well.”
Devon held up a silk scarf with a dubious look. “What about this one?”
Alena tilted her head, lips pressed together. “Pretty, but not… meaningful enough. It looks like something anyone could buy in a hurry.”
He chuckled. “You say that like you’re accusing me.”
“Because I am.” She grinned. “You want your mum to feel special, right? Not like she’s just getting the last thing on the shelf.”
Devon raised his hands in surrender, amused. “Alright, alright. Point taken.”
They moved from shop to shop until Alena finally pointed at a delicate silver pendant shaped like a lily, nestled in a velvet box. “This one. It’s elegant but simple. Something she could wear every day.”
Devon studied it, then nodded slowly. “You’re right. She’d love that.” His smile softened. “Thank you. You’ve saved me from another disastrous gift. I think my sister, Mira, wouldn’t let me hear the end of it if I got my mum a shoddy birthday gift.”
Alena’s heart fluttered. “Anytime.”
By the time they left the jeweller, the afternoon light was mellow and golden. Devon glanced sideways at her. “Now, seeing as you’ve been my accomplice all morning, the least I can do is buy you a drink. Tea? Maybe cake?”
Alena laughed. “You make it sound like I suffered.”
“You did have to suffer my unfortunate lack of taste in women’s gifts,” he said solemnly, though his grin betrayed him. “And for that, you absolutely deserve a reward.”
The café smelled faintly of bergamot and honey. Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, catching on the steam rising from their cups. Devon sat back in his chair with that effortless sprawl of his, while Alena perched neatly forward, hands wrapped around her tea like she could soak up its warmth.
“So,” she began after a moment of hesitation, “how did you end up in divination?”
He tilted his head, amused. “Straight for the deep questions, hm?”
Her face warmed. “You don’t have to answer. I’ve just… never known a wizard personally before.”
Devon’s mouth curved in that half-smile of his. “You make it sound rarer than it is. But… no, I don’t mind.” He tapped a finger against his cup, thinking. “Wizards are the bookish lot, really. We don’t wake up one morning and find fire coming out of our fingertips like a sorcerer. And we don’t… bargain.” His eyes flicked briefly to hers, a flash of something knowing, though his tone stayed kind. “We learn. Obsessively. Every spell, every nuance, pressed into memory until it sticks.”
Alena leaned forward slightly. “And you chose divination?”
“Divination chose me,” he said with a shrug. “I’ve always had a nose for what’s coming, even as a boy. Not visions, exactly — just… threads. Possibilities. The study of it fit me like a glove.”
“That sounds incredible,” Alena said softly.
Devon smirked. “Sometimes. Other times it’s nothing but a headache. But it’s better than blowing myself up trying to hurl fireballs.”
She hesitated then, her thumb brushing the rim of her cup. “Can I ask you something a bit strange?”
“Go on,” he said easily.
“Do you ever…” Her voice dropped. “Do you ever feel like you might lose control of it? Your magic, I mean.”
Devon blinked at her, then leaned forward, expression softening into something unusually earnest. “Personally, no. I keep it in check. I don’t push unless there’s no other choice. But it isn’t unheard of. Wizards chasing more than they can handle. Sorcerers born with fire in their veins and no way to temper it. Warlocks who think their patrons will carry them forever.” He studied her carefully. “Why? Is that something you worry about?”
Alena dropped her gaze quickly to her cup. “Sometimes.”
Devon watched her for a moment longer, then let out a slow breath, his tone gentler. “It’s not a foolish question, Alena. It’s a fair one. The truth is… temptation’s always there. To reach further, to know more, to be more. And not every story ends well.” He sat back, rubbing the back of his neck. “Ever hear of Malovar the Shattered?”
She shook her head.
“A sorcerer, once brilliant. They say he was born with storms in his blood — lightning, thunder, the works. But he wanted more. Always more. He siphoned every ounce of power he could, until it hollowed him out. In the end he lost control and levelled half a city block, killed dozens, burned himself to cinders.” Devon’s voice was steady, not sensational, but the weight of the story lingered in the air between them. “There are plenty of names like his. Wizards who broke themselves chasing forbidden schools. Warlocks who thought their patrons would love them back. Sorcerers who burned out too fast.”
Alena sat quietly, wide-eyed. “That’s… terrifying.”
He gave her a faint, reassuring smile. “Terrifying, yes. But it doesn’t have to be. Not if you know where your line is.”
Her chest loosened at that, though she couldn’t quite explain why.
Devon lifted his cup, sipping lazily before adding, “Still, I might crawl back to Morgrave someday when I’ve the time and energy. Pick up a few Evocation or Abjuration spells, maybe even try Bladesinging.” He raised his brows in mock seriousness. “Though I’d probably need Caelan breathing down my neck with a practice sword to survive that last one.”
Alena laughed before she could stop herself. “I can’t picture you with a sword.”
“Neither can I,” Devon admitted with a chuckle. “But stranger things have happened. And maybe there’s some merit in knowing how to stand on your own two feet without a spellbook.”
Alena’s smile faltered, her fingers tightening around her cup. “I don’t… I don’t even know how to determine that. Where the line is.” She glanced at him, eyes uncertain. “I’ve never had anyone to teach me. I just… figured things out as I went along.”
Devon stilled, his usual easy smirk giving way to something quieter. He leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “That sounds bloody hard, Alena.” His voice was low, almost gentle. “You shouldn’t have had to walk it alone.”
She shrugged quickly, as if to brush it off, but her throat tightened anyway. “It’s just how it’s always been. So I make do.”
Devon studied her for a long moment, the kind of look that felt like it stripped her bare but without malice. Finally, he said, “Then maybe what you need isn’t someone to tell you where the line is… but someone who’ll stand by you while you figure it out. Make sure you don’t fall when you cross it.”
Her chest ached at the softness beneath his words. And when he smiled again, small, crooked, not for show but just for her; Alena felt the warmth hit her straight through, sinking past her ribs until it hurt to breathe. She lowered her gaze quickly, staring down at the swirl of tea in her cup in an effort to steady her emotions. But it didn’t. Her hands were trembling faintly, and she wasn’t sure if it was from nerves or from the terrifying realization that something inside her had just shifted.
It wasn’t the careless charm Devon sometimes wielded, or his grin a little too easy. It was this. The quiet way he had listened without judgment. The way he had seen the part of her she usually kept tucked away, the girl who’d been fumbling in the dark, alone, afraid of missteps, and instead of turning away, he had leaned closer. He tried to understand her without forcing anything out of her. He treated her with genuine kindness, which might not seem like much, but to someone so used to carrying her own burden quietly like Alena, this kind of calm, sincere show of kindness was enough to break her.
Her lips parted before she could stop herself. “You really mean that, don’t you?”
Devon’s brow arched slightly, but he didn’t laugh or deflect. “Course I do,” he said simply. “If there’s one thing I can promise you, Alena, it’s that I don’t waste words. Not about things that matter.”
The truth in his tone made her stomach twist. She blinked hard, trying to swallow the sudden lump in her throat. Gods, when had her silly crush turned into this? This terrifying, wonderful pull that made her want to believe every word, even if it left her heart wide open for breaking. Alena nodded faintly, pressing her palm to the warm ceramic cup just to ground herself. I’m falling for him, she realized, the words a whisper that rang like a bell inside her. And I don’t know how to stop.
Her thoughts spiralled further and further into dangerous territory; soft imaginings of what it might feel like to be cared for by someone like Devon, to belong somewhere warm instead of drifting.
“Alena?”
His voice cut gently through the haze. She startled, blinking fast, and found his sharp blue eyes fixed on her with quiet concern. He tilted his head, studying her like he could see every thought written across her face.
“Is everything alright?” he asked, his tone low and even, not pressing but not dismissing either.
She flushed, dropping her gaze back to her cup. “Yes, I… I was just thinking about my own magic,” she admitted, her voice softer than she intended.
Devon leaned back slightly, curiosity flickering across his expression. But when he spoke again, there was no judgment, only that calm steadiness that made her chest ache all over again. “Do you want to tell me about it?” he asked. “Sometimes it helps to unpack things out loud.”
Alena fiddled with the rim of her cup, feeling very much like a schoolgirl caught unprepared. “I wouldn’t even know where to start,” she confessed, half a laugh in her voice but her eyes still on the table.
That was when he leaned in, elbows resting lightly on the table, chin dipped, his smile warm but intent. “Then start at the beginning,” he said. “How did it all start for you?”