The city was still alive with noise, though most of it came from the distant river docks and the occasional guard shouting down a street. Osairin moved like a shadow, his long legs carrying him across the rooftops with ease.
She struggled to keep up, her crimson cloak snagging on rough tiles, her breath coming in sharp bursts.
"You'll have to move faster," he called back without turning, voice low and commanding. "The patrols are shifting—if we linger, they'll find us."
"I'm trying! And You look like you could damn fly!" she panted, frustration mingling with the fear curling in her stomach. She glanced down at the streets far below, imagining the soldiers tearing through alleys, searching for her.
Her heart hammered not just from exertion, but from the nearness of him. He was a stranger not too long ago, now he was close, too close, too confident, too… present.
He glanced back over his shoulder, eyes sharp. "Keep your balance. Don't look down."
Her fingers gripped the edge of the tiles as she inched forward. Her heart refused to calm, and every time his shadow passed over her, a warmth she didn't understand spread through her chest.
They leapt down into a narrow alley, the shadows swallowing them. The sounds of the city seemed distant here, muffled, and for a moment, she allowed herself to breathe. Osairin's hand brushed hers as he steadied her over a stack of crates. She jerked her hand back, but he only smirked.
"You'll get used to me touching you," he said, his voice low and teasing. "Or you'll learn to stop flinching."
She opened her mouth to protest but found herself speechless. The way he said it—the way he looked at her—made her cheeks burn. It wasn't just anger or frustration; there was something else in his gaze, something she couldn't name but could feel in her bones.
Finally, he nodded toward a doorway half-hidden in shadow. "In here. Quickly."
The room smelled of dust and old reeds. A single shaft of sunlight cut through a crack in the wall, illuminating the motes that danced in the air. She sank to her knees, trembling, trying to catch her breath. Osairin leaned against the wall, surveying the streets beyond the window slit, eyes narrowed.
"You've been running from this your whole life," he said softly. "And now it's catching up. You can fight it, or you can survive."
She clenched her fists in her lap. "Surviving doesn't feel like living."
He stepped closer, and she felt her stomach twist again. The faint scent of leather and smoke clung to him, intoxicating. He crouched beside her, hand brushing a strand of hair from her face. Her pulse surged. "You're too close," she whispered, though she made no move to step away.
"I'm just trying to protect you, as per our bargain" he stated, a shadow of a smile playing on his lips.
"When exactly did I say that I agreed to such bargain?" The warmth from his body pressed against hers as he leaned just slightly closer, eyes glinting. She was painfully aware of every heartbeat, every shallow breath.
Suddenly, a sound outside—a shout, distant but urgent—made her jump. Osairin's hand shot to her shoulder, steadying her. "Quiet. Stay low."
They pressed against the wall, the shadows swallowing them. Her chest heaved not just from the fear but from the awareness of him, so close she could feel the heat radiating off his skin. The nearness was suffocating and intoxicating all at once.
"Osairin," she whispered, barely audible.
He didn't answer at first, just tilted his head, eyes fixed on hers. And then he said, softer, almost reverently, "Don't worry, despite what you think of me, I always keep my word."
She felt her body respond before her mind could. Her hands twitched, wanting to reach for him, to touch him, though she tried to resist. Every nerve in her body was alive with tension. He leaned closer, and for a heartbeat, the world outside—the soldiers, the city, the danger—faded.
Their faces were inches apart. She could feel the faint brush of his breath on her skin, taste the air that clung to him. Her pulse raced, and the shadows in the room seemed to grow darker, as if holding their secret with them.
He paused, gaze flicking to her lips, then back to her eyes, teasing, testing, dangerous. She wanted to pull away, but a small, defiant part of her wanted to lean in, to see how far this closeness could go.
Osairin's hand lingered near hers, brushing accidentally on purpose. The tension between them was electric—hungry, unspeakable, impossible to ignore. And for the first time, she realized that surviving this night might not be the only thing she feared.
Gods, she should have left the palace more often.