Chapter 40 - A Place to Stay
The smell of something warm drifted through the house, pulling Alena from the tangle of her half-dreams. She blinked blearily, then sat up, realizing with a flush that she had fallen asleep in her soft cotton nightclothes, hair mussed, robe slipping from one shoulder. The quiet clatter of plates and the low scrape of a chair reached her from the kitchen.
Caelan.
She padded in on bare feet, tugging her robe tighter. The sight waiting for her made her cheeks heat all over again. Caelan stood at the stove, sleeves rolled to his forearms, stirring a pan with the steady precision he gave to sword drills. His hair was damp from a morning wash, and the faint smell of soap clung to him. He glanced over his shoulder at her, brow arched as if it were the most ordinary thing in the world to find him there.
“You’re awake,” he said simply. “Sit. Breakfast is almost ready.”
Alena hovered in the doorway a moment, torn between retreating to tidy herself and obeying. She finally moved to the table, folding herself into one of the chairs. “You didn’t have to…”
“I wanted to,” Caelan cut in, tone matter-of-fact. His mouth softened slightly as he turned back to the pan. A moment later he set a plate in front of her. Eggs, toast, something fragrant with herbs. “Eat before it gets cold.”
She ducked her head, murmuring a quiet thank-you, but the warmth creeping into her cheeks betrayed her. Three weeks in his home and she still hadn’t gotten used to this side of him, the version that seemed more like a young father than the sharp, commanding officer Korth’s society admired.
They ate in companionable silence, the faint clink of cutlery the only sound. Caelan ate neatly, efficiently, his posture straight even here at home. Alena stole a glance at him now and then, noticing how the tension in his shoulders eased when he was here, how the faint crease between his brows never quite smoothed even when he was at rest. She found herself fiddling with her toast more than eating it, aware of the quiet, of him.
When Caelan finally set down his fork, it was with the deliberation of a man about to speak. “My men came by this morning,” he said. His voice was steady, but his eyes were careful as they lifted to hers. “They’ve been patrolling near your place these last few weeks. No sign of the hooded figures. Nothing unusual at all.”
Alena froze, her fork halfway to her mouth. “…So?”
“So, it should be safe for you to return home,” Caelan finished.
The words sat heavy in the space between them. She had expected to feel relief, maybe excitement. But instead, her chest tightened, her breath catching in a way she didn’t understand. She had grown so comfortable here. The quiet routines, the steady presence, the unexpected warmth of cohabitation. The thought of leaving tugged at her with surprising weight.
“That’s… wonderful news,” she said brightly, forcing a smile. She reached for her cup and took a sip, more for something to do with her hands than thirst.
Caelan’s gaze lingered on her. The slight furrow in his brow deepened. “You don’t sound convinced.”
“I am,” she insisted quickly, waving him off. “Really. I’ll start packing my things after breakfast—”
“Alena.” His voice stopped her. Not sharp, not commanding, but steady enough to cut through her deflection.
Alena pushed her plate away and rose abruptly, her chair scraping softly against the floor. “I’ll… go and start packing a few things,” she said, her voice lighter than it should have been.
Caelan’s eyes followed her, his brow faintly furrowed. Something was off, but the words to stop her stuck in his throat. In the end, he only inclined his head. “Very well.”
She slipped down the hall, leaving him in the quiet clink of dishes and the faint curl of steam from the candle.
In her room, Alena sat on the edge of her bed, staring at her hands folded tightly in her lap. Her chest felt heavy, her throat tight, though she could not quite name why. Upset? Was that it? But why?
She tried to reason with herself. This is good news. Great news, even. You get to go home. Your own bed, your own desk, your own space. No more worrying if you’re in someone’s way. No more tiptoeing around someone else’s routines. You knew from the beginning this wasn’t forever. It was never supposed to be.
Her gaze flicked around the room, catching on the blanket folded at the foot of the bed, the little stack of books she had half-finished reading, the teacup she had forgotten on the nightstand. Small things. Things that felt like hers now, though they weren’t meant to be. She pressed a hand over her chest. You should be happy. You should be relieved. This was always going to end.
And then the thought struck, sudden and unwelcome, sharp as glass. Or maybe he’s been waiting for it to end. Maybe he only let you stay because it was his responsibility. Maybe you’ve been nothing but another duty for him to shoulder, and he’s glad it’s over.
The idea startled her, and she shook her head quickly, as if to chase it off. No. That’s not fair. He’s been… kind. Patient. He’s never once made you feel unwelcome.
But once planted, the thought burrowed deep, refusing to leave. What if he’s relieved? What if he’s been enduring this all along, polite only because he is Caelan Thorne, and now he finally has his house back to himself?
Her throat tightened further. The sting at the corners of her eyes betrayed her before she could hold it back. She pressed her palms hard against her face, willing the tears to stay put.
“Why are you crying?” she whispered to herself, voice sharp, scolding. “Don’t be such an idiot. It’s embarrassing.”
But her shoulders shook anyway. She drew a shaky breath, trying to hold herself together, but the quiet of the room only pressed in closer, her thoughts too loud to silence.
Caelan remained at the table long after Alena had slipped down the hall, his hands folded loosely around the mug of tea gone lukewarm. He replayed her expression in his mind, the forced brightness of her tone, the way her smile hadn’t reached her eyes. Something was off. He had expected her to be delighted at the news. To be able to return to the comfort of her own home, her quaint little cottage, should have lifted a weight from her shoulders. Instead, she had looked… unsettled. Almost reluctant.
Could it be that she doesn’t want to go back? That she doesn’t want to leave?
He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. No. More likely she still felt unsafe. Perhaps she feared the hooded men might return. That would make sense. His men had been thorough, but fear was not always logical. If that was what weighed on her, then it was his duty to reassure her. He could remind her that Deneith men could be trusted, that she would be perfectly safe in her own home. If it eased her mind, he could even assign regular patrols to her street.
Resolved, he rose from his chair and crossed the hall, pausing outside her door. He lifted his hand to knock, only to stop as the faint sound of muffled sobs reached him. He hesitated, his hand hovering in the air. She wanted space, perhaps. But he knew the sound of someone trying not to fall apart, and he knew too that silence was the worst company in moments like this.
He knocked, firm but not harsh. “Alena?”
The sobbing quieted. After a pause, her voice came through, soft and trembling. “I’m… I’m a bit busy right now.”
He rested his hand against the doorframe, listening to the quaver in her words. She wanted him to leave her be, but every instinct told him she didn’t truly mean it.
“I hear you,” Caelan said evenly, his tone calm, steady. “But I’m coming in anyway.”
He opened the door slowly, giving her time to protest if she wished, and stepped inside.
Alena sat on the edge of her bed, shoulders hunched, her face blotched from crying. Eyes puffy, nose red, lips pressed together as though holding back more tears. She looked like someone trying to appear strong but with no strength left to draw from. Caelan closed the door behind him and crossed the room with unhurried steps. He didn’t speak right away, didn’t demand answers. Instead, he lowered himself onto the chair by her desk, keeping a respectful distance but making it clear he wasn’t going anywhere. His voice, when it came, was quiet. “Alena,” he said, steady and patient. “What’s wrong?”
Her lips pressed into a pout, trembling as though she wanted to hold everything in. But the moment her eyes met his, the dam broke. Her face crumpled, tears spilling fresh as she failed miserably at keeping herself composed, staring at him with the helplessness of someone who wanted to be strong and couldn’t manage it.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me,” she blurted, the words tumbling out between shaky breaths. “I should be happy, Caelan. Truly, I should. I get to go home, back to my own bed, my own things. That’s what I wanted, isn’t it? But instead, I just… I feel so—” Her voice hitched. “—so upset. And I don’t even know why. It’s stupid. It’s embarrassing.”
She swiped at her cheeks with the heel of her hand, only for more tears to fall. “Maybe I’ve just gotten used to being here. Maybe I was too comfortable. And now that it’s ending, it feels like—” She stopped herself, teeth sinking into her lower lip, but the words still spilled through. “—like maybe I was only ever a burden. That you only let me stay this long because you felt you had to. And what if you’ve been waiting for me to leave all this time?”
The confession hung in the air, raw and unpolished, her chest rising and falling in uneven breaths as if she’d been holding it in for far too long. Hearing her words, Caelan’s brow lifted slightly in surprise. For a moment, he was silent, weighing them, then he sighed and shifted his chair closer. He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees so his line of sight met hers. His expression softened, carrying something almost apologetic.
“Alena,” he said quietly. “I have never thought of you as a burden. A responsibility, yes. But that was my choice. My decision alone to open this house to you after what happened.”
He glanced away briefly, exhaling through his nose before continuing. “If anything, everything’s only gotten better with you here. The house… it feels more alive. Brighter. I had not realized how quiet it was until it wasn’t anymore.” His eyes returned to hers. “So, no, you don’t need to worry about that.”
She sniffled, still fighting back the tears, her small hands balled into fists on her lap.
Caelan studied her a moment longer, then asked gently, “Could it be that you wish to stay?”
Alena’s eyes darted down, her cheeks slowly turning a brighter shade of red. She didn’t speak, only gave the smallest, sheepish nod.
Caelan let out a deep sigh and leaned back into the chair, arms crossing over his chest as he thought it through on the spot. His gaze shifted upward for a moment, then he dragged a hand through his hair before leaning forward again, his voice low.
“If you want to stay,” he said, steady but quieter now, “you’re more than welcome to.”
He paused, his eyes flicking briefly away from hers as if he were measuring his own words. The next part slipped out more hesitantly, almost under his breath. “And… if you wanted to move in for good, I — I wouldn’t mind.”
His gaze stayed fixed on the floorboards as he spoke, the faintest hint of colour rising along his cheekbones. For a man who rarely faltered, who had spent years mastering composure, the slight awkwardness was startling, and yet, unmistakably sincere.
For a moment, silence stretched between them. Caelan’s chest tightened with unease. Did I misread this? The thought made heat crawl up the back of his neck. If he had, he would be absolutely mortified. He risked a glance back at her, hesitant.
Alena’s tear-streaked face had stilled. She stared at him wide-eyed, almost like she’d couldn’t believe what she just heard. “You… you really mean it?” she asked softly.
Caelan straightened a little, regaining his composure with a steady nod. “Yes. I mean it.”
Her lips parted, her eyes still wide. “Even about moving in for good? Do you really mean that? You wouldn’t regret it? You wouldn’t see me as a burden, or—” The words tumbled out in a rush, faster and faster, panic creeping into her expression until she was almost breathless.
Caelan’s mouth twitched despite himself, and a quiet laugh slipped free, warm and kind. He lifted a hand, cutting her off gently. “Alena. I mean it. You’re welcome to move in if you want to. As long as you promise to keep doing your share of the chores and not make a mess of the house.”
Her face brightened instantly, joy flooding through her features like sunlight breaking clouds. She reached across the space and clasped both his hands in hers, her smile brilliant through the puffiness of her eyes. “Thank you, Caelan. Truly, thank you. I promise I’ll do my chores, I’ll keep the house spotless, I’ll water the plants, I won’t steal your shower time, I won’t ever complain about your cooking again, and I’ll make tea for us every day—”
He couldn’t help but laugh, shaking his head at her ramble. “That will do.”
She grinned, squeezing his hands tighter.
“I’ll inform my men,” he said, voice settling back into its usual calm cadence. “This weekend, we’ll go to your cottage and pack your things. I’ll get Gideon, Neia, and Devon to help.”
Alena’s eyes lit even brighter at that, and she nodded so enthusiastically he almost chuckled again. He eased his hands from hers and rose, smoothing his shirt. “I’ll get changed. I’m needed at the office this afternoon. Enjoy your day, don’t be late for work, but be home in time for dinner.”
“I’ll cook tonight,” she said quickly, eyes shining.
“Very well.” His tone was dry, but his mouth quirked faintly as he left her room.
In the hall, Caelan slowed, a faint sigh slipping from him as he ran a hand through his hair. A small smile tugged at his mouth, but it carried a quiet weight, more thought than mirth.
It is not as if I will ever marry. That much I’ve long accepted. And yet… with her here, this house feels different. Less empty. Brighter. A place worth coming back to at the end of the day. It feels more like a home.
The smile faded into something softer, almost resigned. So what harm is there in letting her stay? At least until she decides she wants her own space again… or until she ends up with Devon. Either way, it should not trouble anyone that she makes her home here, for as long as she chooses to.
The thought settled in his chest, warm and hollow all at once, as he turned toward his room to change.