The days after the third nightmare were different. Not dramatically; there were no grand declarations, no sweeping gestures, and no moments of cinematic revelation. The change was subtle, almost imperceptible, like the first hints of spring after a long winter. But it was there, in the way Kaelen looked at me, in the way his eyes followed me across the room, in the way his presence seemed to settle around me like a warm cloak.
Something had shifted.
I noticed it first at the morning meal. Kaelen sat at the head of the high table, as always, his cup of tea cradled in his hands, his winter-gray eyes fixed on the fire. I sat beside him, as I had for weeks, close enough to touch. The enormous hall was crowded with warriors and servants, their voices rising and falling in the familiar rhythm of the morning.
But Kaelen was not looking at the fire.
He was looking at me.
