Chapter 11 - Respectfully, Sune, What the Hell
Morning in Selathryn was almost unfairly lovely. Golden light filtered through the branches in soft shafts, the trees swayed with just enough breeze to kiss the edges of the mossy walkways, and birdsong drifted lazily in the air like a lullaby that had forgotten it was morning.
Iris stood in front of the small mirror tucked into the corner of the guest room she was staying in (Elarion’s old room, Nymeris had told her) and patted her skincare into her cheeks a little harder than necessary.
"Ow," she muttered, rubbing the sting out.
Her reflection didn’t look any different. But she felt different. Or maybe not different, just… unsteady. Her mind kept dragging her back to the night before. The warmth of his hands. The weight of his gaze. The way his voice had gone soft, and low, and just a little too honest.
You’re gonna make me fall for you.
Her hands paused mid-pat and hovered there like they were trying to decide whether to keep going or slam her head into the desk. “Nope,” she whispered. “No spiralling today.” She refocused, smoothing her sleeves and brushing a loose curl from her forehead. Her dress today was one she hadn’t worn yet. Soft sage with delicate embroidery at the cuffs, cinched at the waist and light enough to move easily in. It wasn’t too fancy, not too casual. Just… cute. She gave herself a nod and headed downstairs.
Ayda was already nibbling on a honeyed flatbread when Iris entered the kitchen nook, feet bare and swinging happily beneath her seat. “Oooh, you look cute! Is that new?”
Iris smiled, sliding into the chair beside her. “Kind of. Just haven’t worn it yet.”
Nymeris, ever the patient observer, set a cup of tea in front of her. “Did you sleep well?”
“I did,” Iris replied, just a touch too quickly.
Nymeris hummed. “If you’re looking for Elarion, he should be at the little café near the cottage he lives in. He usually has breakfast there before going out to check the grove’s borders.”
“I’m not looking for him,” Iris said, instantly, smiling rather forcefully.
Neither woman said anything. Ayda kept chewing. Nymeris gave her a look filled with ancient, knowing silence, the kind that only grandmothers and gods possessed.
“…I just want coffee,” Iris added, pouting.
Ten minutes later, Iris was definitely not looking for anyone. She was simply appreciating the layout of Selathryn’s café district. Just a noble girl enjoying her morning. And if her heart stuttered a little when she saw him seated at a sunlit table, sipping something warm from a stone cup, then no one had to know. She approached casually, like she hadn’t absolutely rehearsed this moment in her head.
“Good morning,” she said, her voice bright. “Nice spot.”
Elarion looked up, and his smile was immediate. Boyish. Easy. “Morning. Want to join me?”
“I’ve already had breakfast,” she said, sliding into the seat across from him anyway, “but Nymeris said this place makes a good café latte.”
“Best in the grove,” he said, then took another sip from his cup. “And my favourite too.”
She hated how fast her heart jumped.
Of course he liked café lattes. Her favourite, mind you. Of course he said it with that annoyingly cute smile. She took a careful sip when hers arrived, using it as a shield while her mind whispered treacherous things like why are his eyes so kind and why is he like this and being this handsome should be illegal.
They chatted lightly for a while. He asked about her studies, her impressions of Selathryn so far, if she’d had time to visit the songwoods yet. He listened with quiet interest, eyes always on her face. It wasn’t that he was trying to be charming. He just… was. Eventually, he glanced at the sun through the tree canopy and stood. “I should get going. I’ve got a few outer perimeter checks today.”
Iris tried not to show her disappointment. “Of course.”
Then he bent to pick up the bag resting by his chair. And rolled up his sleeves.
Her thoughts evaporated.
He swung the heavy pack over one shoulder like it weighed nothing, the motion making the muscles in his forearm shift under his skin. Veins. Just enough to hint. Just enough to tell her that, yes, he definitely trained every day, and not just for aesthetics.
She stood a little too quickly and nearly knocked over her cup, but Elarion reached out, catching it with one hand before it tipped.
“Careful,” he said with a soft chuckle. “Wouldn’t want to ruin the outfit. You look cute in it, by the way.”
She stopped breathing.
He smiled, gave her a lazy little wave, and walked off toward the woods.
And she just stood there, watching him go, her hands clutching the strap of her bag like it might hold her sanity together. Her chest felt light, her head a little foggy, the way it did after drinking too much wine under too much sun.
Lady Sune, she thought, I appreciate the beauty you’ve blessed the world with. I do. But isn’t it a little unfair to pour that much into one man? The face, the voice, the smile? The forearms? Truly?
She sighed, defeated, and sat back down with a soft huff. Her gaze dropped to her cup — the one Elarion had saved from tipping over — and her mind betrayed her instantly.
Mmm, those forearms, though.
She remembered how they looked as he’d lifted his bag. How they felt wrapped around her last night, warm and steady, pulling her away from danger, and then keeping her safely close to his chest. That boyish smile. The way he’d looked her right in the eye and called her cute.
Iris let out a tiny, muffled squeal and buried her face in her hands.
Her thoughts tumbled one over the other like dominos.
Who in the hells is this… this man, and what happened to the dorky boy I met in the tavern?
She peeked between her fingers at her drink, then muttered, “I need to do some shopping. That’ll help. That’ll absolutely take my mind off this.”
It would not. But the lie was, at least, soothing.
The afternoon was quiet, sun spilling through the high canopy like warm gold dust. Iris had told herself she was just passing through the garden paths for a walk, maybe stopping by the spring to collect a few herbs Nymeris needed. But her steps had veered slightly… left. Then a little right.
And now she was hiding behind a tree, watching Elarion from between the branches like she had absolutely no dignity left.
He was in the training clearing again, shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows, dual shortswords flashing with each fluid movement. His hands were wrapped with neat leather bands, his posture low and balanced. Each strike was sharp, deliberate, controlled. He wasn’t trying to look good. He just was. And Iris, in all her helpless grace, stood frozen in full-on stalker mode, unable to look away.
He moved with quiet focus, his body gliding through the routine as if the grove itself moved with him. When he finally dropped his stance and stepped back, she thought that was her cue to sneak away before she got caught. Until he reached for his flask, took a long drink, grabbed the towel off the post… and pulled his shirt up over his head.
Time stopped.
The muscles in his back shifted as he stretched. His shoulders glistened with sweat. The towel draped casually over one shoulder while he ran a hand through his hair, jaw flexing slightly as he exhaled.
Iris forgot how to blink.
He turned just enough to reveal the lean curve of his waist, the sharp line of his stomach, the soft sheen of sweat that caught in the light. The sight should have been illegal. Divine.
Her mouth opened.
Her brain screamed.
And then, without meaning to, she did too.
“Kyaaaaaa! Elarion, what in the nine hells are you doing?!”
Elarion jolted so violently he nearly dropped his towel. He turned fast, eyes wide, and he too, shrieked.
“Why—what—what are you doing here?!”
They both shouted over each other, faces burning as red as midsummer berries. Elarion clutched the towel to his chest like it might save him from the horror of being perceived, while Iris slapped a hand over her face, although her fingers are spread just wide enough to peek through. She made a sound halfway between a gasp and a squeal, cheeks flaming, but her eyes stayed right where they were.
“I-I wasn’t spying. I mean I kind of was. But not in a creepy way. Oh my gods, put a shirt on!”
“I was wearing one! Until I... wasn't. But that’s beside the point!”
They stood in painful silence, neither moving, neither looking directly at the other. The forest, once serene, now buzzed with pure, unbearable awkwardness.
“I was trying to cool down,” he muttered, his voice somewhere between defensive and mortified.
“Well now I need to cool down too,” she said, flustered. “Thanks for that.”
“It was hot, okay?”
Iris mumbled under her breath, barely audible, “It was hot, alright.”
Her lips twitched, but she swallowed it down and turned her head to stare at a very interesting patch of moss.
“I’ll give you a minute,” she said softly.
“Yeah. That’d be great.”
She walked away slowly, trying very hard not to think about the abs. Or the sweat. Or the way he had looked at her like he’d never been more shocked in his life.
Behind her, Elarion let out a breath and muttered something very soft and very panicked into his towel.
What just happened. Gods above. How long was she standing there? Did I mess up the last form? Was my footwork sloppy? It felt sloppy. Maybe she didn’t notice. Maybe she was looking at the trees. Pleeeease tell me she was looking at the trees.
He ran the towel over his face, then froze.
Wait. Do I smell? I definitely smell. I’ve been out here for an hour. But she was kind of far, right? She can’t smell me from there. BUT WHAT IF SHE CAN?
He groaned.
I should’ve brought the cooler towel. Why didn’t I bring the cooler towel? The blue one’s nicer. And bigger. And doesn’t have small cats embroidered on the edges— COULD SHE HAVE SEEN THE CATS?!
He sat down on the grass and buried his face in his hands.
She saw everything. I should’ve done more core workout this week.
By the time Elarion emerged from behind the trees fully dressed, his face was still a little red, but his posture had returned to something more composed. His hair was slightly damp from where he’d tried to cool off, and he looked far less like a panicking towel gremlin than he had a few minutes earlier. He cleared his throat and looked over at Iris, who was trying to casually admire a patch of wildflowers while pretending she had not absolutely burned every second of the last half hour into her brain.
“I’ll walk you back,” he said.
She blinked. “O-oh. Sure.”
The walk back to Nymeris’ cottage was painfully quiet. Not tense, exactly, but filled with the kind of silence where both people are very aware of the other’s presence and doing everything in their power not to look at them. Every step felt three seconds too long. When they finally reached the little garden path near the house, Elarion stopped and gave a small nod.
“Have a lovely evening,” he said, voice calm but just a touch too formal.
Iris tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You too.”
He started to turn away, hand rising in a quiet wave.
Then he paused.
Turned back.
“Actually— wait,” he said, and she turned too, surprised.
He stood there for a beat, scratching the back of his neck with that familiar sheepish look she’d grown to recognize.
“I was just wondering,” he said slowly, “if you were free this weekend. Maybe we could go out for dinner?”
Her breath caught. It wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t flirty. It was just genuine. Just Elarion, standing beneath the trees with the faintest pink still warming his cheeks.
She smiled, soft and sure.
“I’d like that,” she said. “I look forward to it.”