The capital had transitioned from feeling of terror to anxiety.
In the bedroom of the royal suite, the morning light filtered through heavy velvety curtains. Elias stood by the large oak table, his fingers tracing the edge of a map he wasn't really seeing. He had gotten better and stronger—measurably so. The Level Seven mage fever had receded, leaving behind a lingering fatigue but with a core that felt, bigger. The healer reports were good; the stretching of his core lining was reversing, the magical fabric thickening under the influence of Cassian's magic.
Cassian stood behind him, his hands on Elias's shoulders, letting his magic flow into the younger man's body.
The action was necessary, but the space between them had become filled with unsaid things. Every touch lasted a second too long; every glance held weight.
"You're holding your breath," Cassian murmured, his voice a low rumble near Elias's ear.
