I slept better than I had in days.
Perhaps it was the exhaustion from training—every muscle in my body ached in ways I hadn’t known were possible. Or perhaps it was the fact that I’d actually finished my entire dinner the night before, my body desperately craving the fuel after hours of physical exertion. Either way, when sleep claimed me, it was deep and dreamless.
But it didn’t last as long as I’d hoped.
I woke to the sound of movement in the dim light—soft shuffling that pulled me from sleep. The sky beyond the window was still mostly dark, just the faintest hint of grey beginning to creep along the horizon.
I blinked, disoriented, trying to place the sound.
Erik.
He was moving quietly through the room, pulling something from a wooden dresser near the far wall. His back was to me, shoulders tense with the careful precision of someone trying not to wake a sleeping person.
Too late for that.
“Where are you off to?” I asked, my voice still tired from sleep.
Erik froze mid-motion, then turned slowly. His expression was unreadable in the dim light, but I could feel his surprise—and something else. Confusion, maybe. Like he couldn’t figure out why I was awake at this hour.
“Go back to sleep,” he said quietly, his tone leaving no room for argument. “I need to check on Regina.”
Regina.
His baby sister. The one he’d mentioned only once, his voice going tight and strained when he spoke her name.
I sat up carefully, ignoring the protests from my sore muscles. “Can I come with you?”
Erik’s jaw tightened. “No.”
“Please?” I pushed myself up further, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. “I’d like to meet her.”
“You need to rest,” he repeated, voice sharper now. “Not run around in the snow.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted. “And I… I love children. I never had younger siblings, never had the chance to be around them much.” That was true, at least. The palace had been full of adults—advisors, servants, and courtiers. But children? They’d been kept away from me, as if their presence might somehow tarnish the carefully cultivated image of a perfect princess. “I’d really like to meet her.”
Erik stared at me for a long moment, his expression unreadable.
“Regina is ill, Marielle,” he said quietly, and there was something almost vulnerable in the way he said it. “She needs rest and care. Not more people to worry her. She’s too young for that.”
The dismissal stung more than I wanted to admit. I sat back on the bed, pulling my uninjured knee up to my chest and wrapping my arms around it. The other leg stretched out in front of me.
I didn’t say anything. Just sat there, curled up on his bed, clearly sulking.
Erik stood frozen for another moment. Then he let out a long, frustrated breath.
“Fine,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “But you keep up, and if she’s sleeping, we leave immediately. Understood?”
My head snapped up, mood shifting instantly. “Yes!”
I practically leaped out of bed—then immediately had to fight back a wince as pain shot through my injured leg. But I didn’t let it show. I forced myself to walk normally toward the door, refusing to limp.
Erik’s hand shot out, catching my arm. “Slow down,” he said, though his grip was surprisingly gentle despite the sharpness of his tone. “You’re injured. Stop pretending you’re not.”
“I’m fine,” I insisted, meeting his eyes.
He didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way his gaze searched my face, looking for cracks in the facade.
“Can you walk?” he asked.
“Yes.”
“Without making it worse?”
“Yes,” I repeated, more firmly this time. “Let’s just get going.”
Erik held my gaze for another long moment—like he could see every lie hiding behind my determination. Then, finally, he released my arm and moved to grab his cloak from where it hung near the door.
“You’ll need this,” he said, tossing me the heavy fur-lined coat I’d borrowed before. “And stay close. The snow’s deep this morning.”
I pulled on the coat quickly, grateful for its warmth.
Erik opened the door, and winter rushed in to meet us.
The cold was immediate and brutal, stealing my breath. Snow had fallen overnight, blanketing everything in fresh white. The sky was lightening now, pale grey bleeding into the darkness, but the sun hadn’t yet broken the horizon.
Erik’s cloak whipped around him as he stepped out into the wind, and I followed quickly, pulling my borrowed coat tighter.
He moved fast—long, purposeful strides that ate up the snowy ground. I had to work to keep up, my shorter legs struggling through snow that came up past my ankles. Each step required effort, lifting my feet high to clear the drifts.
Erik glanced back once, his eyes meeting mine through the swirling snow.
“Keep up,” he said, voice low but carrying easily over the wind. “We’re not slowing for weather.”
I nodded, pushing myself harder.
The wind howled around us, and I was grateful for Erik’s form ahead of me—he blocked the worst of it, creating a small pocket of slightly less brutal air in his wake.
We’d only gone a short distance when a voice called out.
“Erik?”
We both turned.
Olivia stood a few yards away, snow already gathering in her ginger hair. “What are you two doing out here?” she asked, brushing snow from her shoulders. Her gaze flicked between Erik and me, lingering on the fact that I was wearing what was clearly his coat. “Going somewhere?”
Erik shifted slightly—just enough to partially block her view of me. The gesture was subtle but deliberate.
“Regina is ill,” he said flatly. “We’re going to check on her.”
Olivia’s teasing expression softened immediately. “Oh… I didn’t know she was worse.” She stepped back, concern creasing her brow. “Is she…?”
“She’ll be fine,” Erik said, though his jaw tightened in a way that suggested he wasn’t entirely certain.
Olivia looked between us again—noting how close Erik stood to me, how his body angled slightly toward mine even as he spoke to her. Then, with a small smirk and a deliberate wink aimed directly at me, she said:
“Well… keep warm in that big coat.” Erik’s expression didn’t change. “Keep your nose out of things that don’t concern you, Livi,” he said.
Then he turned and started walking again, his stride as purposeful as before.
I waved politely to Olivia before hurrying after him, taking exaggerated steps to lift my feet clear of the deep snow.
“Come on,” Erik muttered over his shoulder. “And stay close. The snow’s getting heavier.”
Each step sent a quiet crunch through the hush of falling snow. I followed close behind Erik—close enough to see the dark fur of his cloak shift with every stride, close enough to catch that faint scent of pine and iron that seemed to cling to him.
The wind whispered between the scattered trees at the edge of the settlement, carrying with it the promise of more snow to come.
“Hey,” I said after a moment, my voice small against the quiet. “Do you think Regina will like me?”
Erik didn’t answer right away.
But after a long moment, he slowed his pace. Just slightly.
“She doesn’t like anyone,” he said flatly. “Not since Hilde died.”
The words hit like a physical blow. I felt something twist in my chest—hurt, maybe, or disappointment. I’d hoped… what? That a sick six-year-old who’d lost her sister would immediately warm to a stranger? How naive.
But I didn’t let myself dwell on it. There was no point. If Regina didn’t like me, that was her right. She was grieving, ill, and probably tired of strangers hovering over her.
I just hoped I wouldn’t make things worse.
We walked in silence after that; the only sounds were the crunch of our boots in the snow and the whistle of the wind through bare branches.
Eventually, the ground began to slope upward. The stronghold loomed ahead, perched at the top of a hill that overlooked the entire settlement. From here, you could see everything: the longhouses with smoke rising from their chimneys, the training grounds, the frozen forest stretching endlessly in every direction.
The stronghold itself was imposing. Dark wood and stone walls rose into high, sharply pitched roofs, each corner fortified with carved figures—wolves holding shields, their snarling faces weathered by countless winters.
Erik didn’t slow down as we approached. He just pushed through the heavy doors, and I followed quickly before they could swing shut behind him.
The longhouse was filled with activity even at this early hour. Warriors sat at long tables, sharpening axes or working leather into new bracers. A few were already drinking at a rough wooden bar in the corner, despite it being early in the morning.
But the moment we entered, everything stopped.
Conversations died mid-sentence. Tools stilled. Every eye in the room turned toward me, specifically. The stranger who was walking through their stronghold, as if I had any right to be there.
The weight of their stares was suffocating.
But Erik didn’t acknowledge any of it. He just kept walking.
He pushed open a heavy door at the far end of the hall, leading us into a narrow corridor. The noise of the longhouse faded behind us, replaced by a quieter hush. Our footsteps echoed on stone.
We took a turn, and suddenly I recognized where we were.
The infirmary.
The same one Erik had brought me to that first day, when I’d been half-dead and bleeding in his arms. I remembered the six beds, the smell of herbs, and the one other pair of feet that was in there as well.
Erik stopped in front of another heavy door—this one smaller, more private.
“Wait here,” he said quietly. “I’ll check if she’s awake.”
He slipped inside, closing the door softly behind him.
I stood in the hallway, hands clasped behind my back, and let my eyes wander.
The stronghold was beautiful in a stark, practical way. High ceilings with exposed wooden beams. A deep mahogany runner rug stretched along the stone floor, worn but still rich in color. Wooden archways framed doorways, each one carved with intricate knotwork patterns. A few paintings hung on the walls—landscapes mostly.
I was so absorbed in studying a particularly detailed carving of a raven that I almost didn’t notice the small voices approaching.
“That’s her.”
I looked down.
Two little girls stood in the hallway, staring up at me with wide eyes. They couldn’t have been older than nine. One had platinum blonde braided pigtails tied with red ribbons; the other had dark red braids and freckles scattered across her nose.
The blonde one pointed at me. “She’s the one Erik found,” she whispered to her friend, though not quietly enough. “The ghost-princess.”
Her friend giggled, covering her mouth. “Is she real?”
I couldn’t help but smile. “Ghost-princess?” I laughed nervously, crouching down to their level despite the protest from my leg. “You two are adorable. What are your names?”
The girls exchanged glances, giggles caught in their throats.
“I’m Freya!” said the red-haired one, stepping forward with a tiny, exaggerated bow. “And this is Alva.”
The smaller girl—Alva—ducked her head shyly behind Freya’s shoulder, peeking out at me with curious eyes.
“We think you look like a princess,” Freya added, squinting at me like she was trying to solve a puzzle. “And that Erik carried you through the snow like… like this!”
She demonstrated, miming cradling someone in her arms bridal-style, then burst into giggles again.
I smiled despite myself. “Well… I did hurt my leg really badly.”
Freya gasped, her eyes going impossibly wide. “So, it’s true?! You were bleeding, and Erik saved you?”
Alva tugged her friend’s sleeve, whispering loudly, “Maybe she’s magic.”
Freya nodded seriously, as if this were the only logical explanation. “Only magical people get carried by Erik.”
I laughed softly, shaking my head. “I’m not magical, I promise.” Then, lowering my voice conspiratorially, I leaned closer. “What’s the deal with Erik anyway? Is he some kind of… noble…”
The girls exchanged another glance—then giggled.
“He’s the best warrior in all the North,” Freya explained, her voice hushed with reverence. “And the strongest one. Even better than the Jarl himself.”
Alva nodded vigorously. “And he doesn’t like anyone.”
Freya’s expression turned serious as she looked at me. “But he likes you.”
I waved my hand dismissively, trying to brush off their observations. “That’s quite the imagination you two have.”
The girls’ cheeks went pink with embarrassment, but they didn’t back down.
“It’s true!” Freya insisted, crossing her arms defensively.
Alva nodded, her voice soft but certain. “You’re the first person we’ve ever seen Erik care about.”
“Besides Regina and Hilde,” Freya added quietly.
Alva looked down then, her expression turning somber. When she spoke again, her voice was so quiet I almost didn’t hear her. “And we miss her. Still.”
My chest tightened.
“I’m sorry,” I said softly, meaning it. “Losing someone you love is… It’s hard.”
Freya nodded, blinking rapidly like she was fighting tears. “She used to tell us stories. And braid our hair. And—” Her voice cracked slightly. “She was so nice.”
Alva leaned in closer, her dark eyes wide. “He doesn’t even let anyone in Regina’s room.”
Then Freya looked up at me, her expression shifting to something more hopeful. “But Erik brought you here. That means something.” She lowered her voice. “The only people who’ve even been in her room in weeks are him, the healer… and Hilde, when she was still here. He says we need to let her rest.”
“Are you Regina’s friends?” I asked gently.
The girls nodded in unison, their faces brightening slightly.
“The best friends,” Freya added, puffing her chest out with pride.
Then, more quietly, Alva said, “We still bring her things, though. So she doesn’t get lonely.”
“That’s sweet of you,” I said, warmth spreading through my chest.
Alva’s face brightened even more. “Her favorite are flowers. We pick wild snowdrops for her when it’s warmer. And we brought her furs to keep warm.”
“We made her a flower crown too,” Freya added excitedly. “But then the healer took it away.”
Alva nodded with the solemn wisdom of a much older child. “Because flowers make Regina sneeze.”
My expression fell slightly. These poor girls are trying so hard to help their sick friend and are being turned away at every attempt.
“It’s okay,” I assured them gently. “I’m sure she loves them. She can admire them from a distance if you ask the healer nicely.”
The girls exchanged a skeptical glance.
“Maybe,” Freya said, though she didn’t sound convinced. “But her healers are scary.”
Alva nodded vigorously. “And they already told us that giving Regina flowers just makes her sicker.” Her little brow furrowed with worry. “But… we just want to help.”
“And make Regina smile again,” Freya added softly, her voice cracking slightly. “She hardly smiles anymore.”
My heart ached at the sadness in their voices. These children carried so much concern for their friend, so much helpless worry that they couldn’t fix.
Both girls looked down at the ground, quiet and deflated.
Then Alva’s head popped back up. “We could sing to her! That always makes me feel better.”
“Exactly!” Freya said, nodding fiercely. “Sometimes even just hearing voices makes her less lonely.”
I crouched down again, meeting their eyes. “You two are the best friends a girl could ever ask for. I’m sure Regina loves you very much, even if she can’t see you as often as she wishes she could.”
“You think so?” Freya asked, her eyes wide and hopeful.
Alva whispered, almost afraid to hope, “Maybe… maybe she does miss us?”
I nodded, smiling gently. “I’m certain of it.”
Just then—a door creaked open.
Erik stepped out into the hallway, one hand still resting on the doorframe. His gaze landed on me first, then shifted to the girls.
And for just a heartbeat… his face softened.
The girls froze instantly.
Erik looked between them and me, one eyebrow raised in question. Then he crossed the hallway in a few long strides
“You two are awake early,” he said, his voice low but not harsh.
Freya straightened her spine, trying to look brave. “Yep,” she said, her voice only stuttering slightly.
Alva nodded quickly, adding, “We were just… talking.”
I felt a smile tugging at my lips at how intimidated they were by him, though I tried to hide my amusement.
Erik’s eyes flicked to me—sharp, but not unkind. “You’re entertained,” he observed, “but these two love to cause trouble when left unsupervised.”
He looked back down at the girls, his expression stern but not angry.
“Go on. Your mothers are looking for you.”
Freya pouted dramatically. Alva let out a small, disappointed sigh.
But neither of them argued.
As they turned to scurry away, Freya called out over her shoulder, loud enough for both of us to hear clearly:
“Tell Regina we said hello!”
Erik exhaled slowly as the girls disappeared around the corner, their footsteps echoing down the hall.
Then he turned to face me fully, his expression unreadable once more.
“Regina wants to see you,” he said quietly.
My eyes widened. “She does?”
I hadn’t expected that. After what Erik had said earlier—that Regina didn’t like anyone anymore, that she needed rest—I’d assumed this would be a brief visit where I stood awkwardly in the doorway while he checked on her.
Erik nodded once, then stepped aside, holding the door open for me.
I moved forward carefully, stepping into the room as softly as I could manage.
The space was small and warm—much warmer than the hallway outside. A fire crackled in the hearth, casting dancing shadows across rough stone walls. The air smelled of herbs and smoke and something faintly medicinal. Furs were piled on the bed in the corner, and beneath them—
Regina.
She was so small.
That was my first thought. She looked impossibly tiny against the mass of blankets and furs surrounding her. Her dark hair spread across the pillow like spilled ink, and her skin was pale—not the healthy pale of winter, but the fragile pale of prolonged illness. A flush of fever colored her cheeks, making the contrast even starker.
But her eyes were sharp. Alert. Curious.
They locked onto mine the moment I stepped closer, following my every movement with an intensity that felt far too old for a six-year-old child.
She said nothing at first.
Just… watched me.
My heart hammered in my chest. Erik had said she didn’t like people anymore. What if she didn’t want me here? What if my presence made things worse?
I offered a small, tentative smile.
Regina stared.
And stared.
The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. I was about to say something—anything—when she finally spoke.
“…You’re not Hilde.”
Her voice was barely above a whisper, rough from disuse, illness, or both.
A beat of silence hung between us, sharp as a blade.
I shook my head slowly. “No… I’m Marielle.”
Regina studied me for a long moment—long enough that I wondered if she’d speak again at all. Her gaze traveled over my face with the careful attention of someone cataloging details.
“You really do look like a princess,” Regina said finally, her voice still soft but clearer now.
My breath caught. “Princess? Me?” I shook my head, and my curls bounced with the movement. “I’m just… Marielle.”
Regina’s brows knit together in a small frown. “But you look like one.” She paused, then added quietly, “Hilde said princesses have gold in their eyes.”
A nervous laugh escaped me. “I’m not a princess.” Then, quieter, almost to myself: “Why do little kids always think I’m a princess…”
Regina tilted her head slightly, still studying me with that unnervingly perceptive gaze. “You don’t sound like a warrior,” she said after a moment.
Another moment of silence stretched between us—this one less uncomfortable, more contemplative.
Then, very quietly, Regina added: “I think I like your voice more.”
Warmth bloomed in my chest. “Why, thank you.”
Regina blinked—then looked away fast, her pale cheeks flushing faintly pink.
“…Don’t thank me,” she mumbled, suddenly defensive. “I didn’t say it was nice.”
But then, after a pause so quiet I almost missed it, she whispered: “I just meant… I could listen to you talk.”
I smiled despite myself, pressing a hand dramatically to my chest. “Oh, I’m hurt. Truly wounded.”
Regina’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide with alarm.
“Hurt?”
Her face went even paler—if that was possible—and panic flashed across her features.
“I didn’t—” She stopped, shaking her head fiercely. “I didn’t mean it like that. I’m sorry.”
“Oh no, I’m sorry!” I said quickly, realizing my mistake. “I didn’t mean it literally. Don’t apologize. I was only teasing.”
Regina let out a shaky breath, relief flooding her small face.
She giggled.
The sound was bright and unexpected, like sunlight breaking through storm clouds. It filled the small room with something I hadn’t realized had been missing.
Even Erik, who’d been standing quietly near the doorway, looked surprised. His head turned sharply toward his sister, something unguarded flickering across his face.
But the giggle died almost immediately.
It was replaced by a harsh, wracking cough that tore through Regina’s small frame. She curled into herself, one hand flying to her chest as the fit took hold, her whole body shaking with the force of it.
And just like that—Erik was there.
He crossed the room in two swift strides, one hand gently pressing her back against the furs while the other supported her shoulder.
“Easy,” he murmured, his voice rough but impossibly soft. “Not too much at once. Breathe.”
Regina nodded weakly, her breathing uneven and labored. But when the coughing finally subsided, and she looked up again… her eyes were still bright. Still alive.
Erik stayed by her side, his hand remaining on her back—steady and warm. She let out another small cough, her body trembling with the effort, and then she slumped back against the pillow. Her skin glistened with sweat, her face flushed darker now.
But her eyes were clear.
For a moment, everything was still. The only sound was the crackle of the fire and Regina’s uneven breathing.
Until she broke the silence.
“…Erik?”
He turned to her immediately, his voice low. “Hm?”
Regina’s small fingers curled around the edge of the fur blanket. She didn’t look at him—just stared into the flames dancing in the hearth.
“…Was it wrong,” she whispered, so quietly I almost didn’t hear, “…to laugh?”
Erik went very, very still.
Then, slowly—like he was moving through water—he knelt beside the bed.
His voice was barely above a whisper. “No, elskan.”
The word was unfamiliar to me, but the tenderness in it was unmistakable.
His calloused hand reached out, brushing her hair back from her fevered forehead with a gentleness that made my chest ache.
“It was never wrong to laugh.”
“I think your laugh is beautiful, Regina,” I said softly.
Regina blinked, surprise flashing across her face—quick as a shadow. Then her cheeks went pink again.
“It… isn’t,” she mumbled, shifting uncomfortably against the furs. “It’s loud.”
“It’s genuine,” I told her. “That’s all that matters.”
Regina didn’t reply right away. She picked at the edge of the blanket, her small fingers worrying the fabric.
When she finally spoke, her voice was almost embarrassed. “…When I laugh, I sound like a goat.”
A soft laugh escaped me. “I snort sometimes when I laugh too hard. Hasn’t happened in a while, but… It’s mortifying every time.”
Then she snickered. She was laughing at me, but I didn’t mind one bit.
Another cough followed immediately, but she quickly covered her mouth with both hands, her eyes going wide with embarrassment.
But I saw it.
The corner of her lip twitched upward—almost a smile.
My heart felt too full for my chest. This tiny, sick girl who’d lost so much was trying so hard not to smile—and failing.
Regina peeked at me from behind her hands, and this time, the smile broke through properly—small and tentative, but real.
Erik busied himself with the fire, adding more logs with careful, deliberate movements. But I noticed the way he glanced over his shoulder—once, twice—like he couldn’t help himself. Like he needed to see his sister smiling, even if he pretended he wasn’t watching.
The room fell into a comfortable quiet, filled only by the crackle and pop of burning wood.
Until Regina broke it again.
“…Can you make me a promise?” she whispered.
I turned to her, giving her my full attention.
But Regina wasn’t looking at me.
She was looking at Erik.
“Erik…” she whispered, her voice so faint I had to strain to hear it. “…I don’t want her to go.”
The world seemed to stop.
Even the fire seemed to hold its breath.
Erik didn’t turn. But his hands stilled on the log he’d been about to set down, his shoulders going rigid.
And me?
My heart gave a quiet, painful thud—like snow falling from a branch in complete silence.
But before either of us could speak, Regina turned her face into the furs, curling into herself.
“…She’s so nice,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “And she made me laugh…”
A pause.
“I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Something sharp and hot pressed behind my eyes. My throat tightened painfully, and I had to look away, blinking rapidly against the sudden sting of tears.
Erik didn’t speak at first.
He knelt by the fire, his head ducked low, shadows dancing across his fur cloak and the sharp planes of his face.
When he finally replied, his voice was quieter than I’d ever heard it.
“You’re not.”
Two words. That was all.
But they carried the weight of a vow.
I pressed my lips together hard, trying to keep my composure. But my vision blurred anyway, tears gathering at the corners of my eyes. I didn’t understand why I felt so heavy with emotion—why this child I’d just met had carved such a deep space in my chest in mere minutes. Maybe it was the loneliness in her voice. Maybe it was the way she’d asked for something so simple—I don’t want her to go—like it was the only thing in the world that mattered.
Maybe it was because I understood what it felt like to be alone.
I stayed a while longer, sitting quietly by Regina’s bedside as she drifted in and out of conversation. She asked me small questions—where I was from, what my favorite season was, and if I’d ever seen the ocean. I answered as best I could, keeping my voice soft and steady.
But eventually, her eyes began to droop, exhaustion pulling at her like a tide.
I stood carefully, not wanting to disturb her.
Erik moved to her bedside, a small wooden cup in his hands.
“I’ll be outside,” I said quietly, slipping toward the door.
Erik nodded but didn’t look up.
As I pulled the door open, I heard Regina’s small voice one last time: “It tastes like dirt.”
Despite everything, I smiled.
I stepped out into the hallway and closed the door softly behind me.
The air felt colder out here. Emptier.
I sauntered down the corridor, past the carved archways and red carpet, past the faint sounds of the longhouse beyond. My feet carried me without conscious thought, and before I knew it, I was outside.
The wind hit me immediately—sharp and biting. Snow swirled through the air, catching in my hair and on my eyelashes.
I stood there for a moment, just breathing.
And then my legs gave out.
I sank onto the stone steps of the stronghold, my knees pulled up to my chest. And I started crying.
Not soft, delicate tears. Not the kind I’d been taught—silent, elegant, easily hidden behind a handkerchief.
No.
These were ugly, gasping sobs that tore out of me like something breaking. I buried my face in my knees, my whole body shaking with the force of it.
I didn’t even know why I was crying this hard. Regina wasn’t my sister. I’d only just met her. But something about that little girl—so small, so sick, so heartbreakingly lonely—had cracked something open inside me that I hadn’t realized was there.
Maybe it was because she’d told Erik that she didn’t want me to go, like I was something precious worth keeping.
Maybe it was because no one had ever asked someone to keep me before.
The wind carried my quiet sobs like secrets into the frozen air.
And then—crunch.
Snow shifted behind me.
The door opened softly, and Erik stepped out. I felt him before I saw him—his presence solid and grounding even through my tears.
He saw me there, curled on the steps, my face hidden, my shoulders trembling.
He didn’t speak right away.
Just stood. Watched. And I felt something pass between us in that silence—something wordless and heavy.
Then, slowly, he sat beside me close enough that I could feel the warmth radiating from him, but not touching.
“I’m sorry,” I sniffled, wiping uselessly at my eyes. “This is so pathetic… I’m crying over a little girl I hardly know.”
“Stop.”
His voice was sharp—almost harsh.
“You’re not pathetic,” he shook his head.
“You’re a lot of things, but pathetic isn’t one of them.”
My breathing hitched, and despite his words, another wave of emotion crashed over me. I buried my face in my hands again, crying harder.
Erik didn’t speak; he let me cry.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered again through my tears. My face burned. He was just sitting there, watching me cry, and I couldn’t stop—couldn’t pull myself together or make it less pathetic.
Erik gave the slightest shake of his head.
“Stop,” he said. “Stop saying that.”
“It’s a rare thing,” he spoke quietly, “to care the way you do.”
I looked up at him through glistening eyes
“You care too,” I said, my voice thick with emotion. “As much as you pretend you don’t. I would be dead if you’d decided to kill me that day.”
Erik went very still.
He met my gaze, but he didn’t respond. Didn’t confirm or deny.
He just looked at me.
And in that silence, I understood.
He knew something I didn’t. But for now, in this moment, it didn’t matter.
We sat there for a while longer, the cold seeping through my clothes but not quite reaching me thanks to the warmth of my cloak. My tears had finally stopped, leaving only the occasional shaky breath and the dampness on my cheeks, which was already beginning to freeze.
Eventually, I pulled myself together and leaned back slightly, just enough to look up at the darkening sky. The sun had fully set now, and the first stars were beginning to pierce the twilight.
“I guess we should head back,” I said quietly, my voice still rough from crying. “Before the wolves come out.” I joked with a shaky voice, mostly to myself.
Erik stood in one fluid motion, and I rose to my feet. My legs felt unsteady—whether from the cold or the emotional exhaustion, I wasn’t sure.
The walk back to his cabin was silent.
Not the uncomfortable kind of silence, but the kind that felt full—weighted with everything we hadn’t said and everything we didn’t need to. Our footsteps crunched rhythmically through the packed snow.
Erik walked slightly ahead, and I followed in his wake. The village was quiet now, most people already inside for the evening. Smoke rose from chimneys in thin, straight lines against the darkening sky.
By the time we reached his cabin, exhaustion had settled into my bones like lead.
Erik pushed open the door and stepped aside to let me enter first. The interior was dark and cold; the fire had died to embers while we were gone. But I barely noticed.
I made it as far as the bed in the next room before my body simply gave up. I didn’t bother removing my boots or the heavy coat. I just collapsed onto the furs, my eyes already closing before my head hit the pillow.
The last thing I was aware of was the sound of Erik creeping around the room—rekindling the fire, the soft scrape of wood on stone—and then nothing.
ns216.73.217.74da2
and then Add to home screen.