Knight

The sun beat down on the training grounds, relentless and scorching, casting heat mirages over the worn dirt and sparring rings. Kaelen moved through the melee like a god among mortals—bare-chested, sweat gleaming across every defined muscle, his strikes clean and efficient. But the battlefield no longer thrilled him. Because she wasn't here.

Kaelen exhaled slowly, parried a blow with more strength than necessary, and sent his opponent stumbling backward. He was distracted. Again. He should focus. But he couldn’t get her out of his head, because he knew how she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. The shy glances. The flush to her cheeks. Gods, I should wife her already.

The thought hit him like a warhammer to the chest. It startled him enough that the rookie knight he was sparring managed to land a shallow cut across his side. A sting, nothing more—but it brought a grin to Kaelen’s face.

Perfect.

He dropped his sword with a deliberate clatter and walked off the field without a backward glance. Let them whisper. Let the rookies think he was arrogant. He didn’t care.

He was bleeding.

And that meant he had an excuse to see her.

Crossing the courtyard, he reached the healer’s quarters and stepped inside like he owned it—like the space already belonged to him.

The air was cool, scented with lavender and herbs. Shelves lined the walls, filled with salves, jars, and handwritten notes. But his gaze locked on her.

Back turned, sleeves rolled, focused entirely on sorting tiny glass vials by color and consistency. She was humming under her breath. Her braid had slipped loose, a few strands clinging to her neck. She hadn’t noticed him.

He took a step forward, silent. Another. Then—just because he could—he leaned down and pressed a slow, deliberately tender kiss to her temple.

"Miss me?" he murmured, voice low and sinful.