The dry season whispered its arrival in curling breaths of wind over the river and the fading bloom of summer herbs. The village slowed its pace, preparing for the leaner moons ahead—drying fruit and meat, filling water vats.
Charlisa had spent the afternoon helping the healers prepare bath herbs. Her arms ached from pounding leaves, her hair wild with steam and wood smoke, but her spirits were high. She had earned this—the trust of the people, the rhythm of the land, and the knowing glances they now gave her when she passed.
By twilight, Kael met her outside the bathhouse.
"I told them we'd clean up last," he said with a smile, holding a bundle of dry linens. "Less chatter. Fewer eyes."
Charlisa arched a brow. "You planned this?"
"I'm strategic," he said, eyes gleaming.
The bathhouse was carved into stone at the river's edge, warmed by underground springs and filled with the scent of lavender, eucalyptus, and wild ginger. The water steamed gently, swirling with floating petals and pale herbs.
Charlisa slipped out of her layered tunic, unselfconscious, her back turned as she stepped into the shallow edge. Kael froze, caught mid-motion. The curves of her back, the gentle sway of her hips—it struck him with sudden clarity how real she was. Not a dream. Not a foreigner anymore. His.
She turned her head slightly. "You just going to stand there and burn your eyes out?"
He smirked, undressing slowly, his body lean with corded strength from months of work and wilderness. He joined her, sinking into the warm water with a sigh.
For a time, they said nothing. Just the sound of water and breath. Then Kael reached out, brushing a wet strand of hair from her cheek. His fingertips lingered against her skin.
"You're beautiful when you're quiet," he whispered.
Charlisa's lips parted, surprised, amused. "I'm always quiet when I'm content."
"I like that version of you," he said, voice roughened with truth.
She leaned closer, her hand drifting through the water until it touched his chest. Their knees brushed beneath the surface. He tilted forward, forehead resting against hers. Steam rose around them, wrapping them in a cocoon of warmth and possibility.
"You don't need to impress me," she murmured. "You just need to stay."
"I'm already yours," he said, breath trembling as he traced the line of her jaw. "Even if I'm too wild to say it properly."
Her fingers slid to the base of his neck. "Then show me… wordlessly."
And he did—not with urgency, but reverence. Fingers sliding against her back, lips finding the space behind her ear, his touch exploring with awe rather than conquest. Beneath the surface, the water rippled gently as their bodies leaned closer, melting together in shared heat.
Outside, the dry season crept across the land. But inside the stone bath, two hearts beat warm, wrapped in trust, discovery, and the sacred hush of belonging.