Song vibe: Blue & Grey – BTS

  __________

  NOCTURNE

  The Lord's Solar, Firestone

  The roar of the Great Hall dulled behind Nocturne as he crossed the threshold, sound thinning. His body still moved on instinct—forward, steady, controlled—even as the heat of battle bled out of him in slow waves, leaving heaviness in its wake.

  Saphira walked at his side, her arm brushing his with each quiet step, the scent of lavender cutting through the stench of blood and ichor still caught in his nostrils.

  Behind them came the others—Lysander, August, Rell, Felix. His brothers in all but name. He could feel their presence without turning, their silence deliberate, protective.

  Together, they walked on, hands still near their weapons out of habit.

  At his Solar, Nocturne slowed, stopping just short of the door. He turned, gaze tracking back down the corridor they had come from. The changes struck him all at once—the cobwebs were gone. The cracks were repaired. Moulding tapestries had been removed. Now, the bare walls caught lamplight cleanly and the air held the sharp, honest scent of soap and pine.

  Firestone is alive. Like someone has taken pride in living in it—and believed it was worth fighting for.

  For a moment, the weight of the night pressed in—the facestealer’s blood, Quintus’s last breath, Gorda in the rain, Selwyn’s collapse before they could stop him. The memories crowded the edges of his mind, loud and unfinished.

  Then, Saphira’s hand slid into his. She squeezed his hand with deliberate pressure.

  He squeezed back, and, for the first time since returning, Nocturne smiled.

  She's here. She's chosen me.

  He turned back—and found Saphira watching him, eyes wide, as if bracing for judgment.

  “I imagine it’ll be twice as impressive in daylight,” he murmured, warmth settling low in his chest. “Well done.”

  The tension left her shoulders all at once. Hardly able to contain her smile, she crossed to his solar, poured a generous glass of gin, and handed it to him. He accepted it with a nod and took the seat at the head of the table.

  The others hesitated. They did not fall into their usual places—the old geometry of command disrupted, uncertain. Chairs scraped softly as they shifted, until the space to his left remained conspicuously empty—and Nocturne noticed.

  “Sit.” He looked to Saphira and pulled out the seat with one hand. “You’ve earned it.”

  She drew her silks to her and sat with perfect elegance.

  Above: Nocturne makes sure that Saphira has her seat.

  Only then did he notice the two empty seats beyond—Valentino and Lucian’s places. He raised his glass slightly, a silent acknowledgment, then drank. The gin burned clean and sharp, and he closed his eyes for a brief moment, letting it wash through him—through the ache in his shoulders, the tightness in his chest, the weight of the night finally settling.

  “I have the distinct impression,” he said at last, voice low, “that the five of you have a far clearer sense of what comes next than I do.” His gaze shifted to Saphira. “You most of all.”

  She reached for her belt and unhooked the keys, placing them on the table in front of him. “I kept them safe, my lord. For your return.”

  “Have another set made.” He slid them back to her without looking. “Give me the new set when it’s done.”

  “Good call.” Rell huffed a laugh. “She’s grown very attached to those keys.”

  The room loosened then—laughter spilling out, brief and real. For a little while, they spoke easily, voices overlapping, the familiar cadence of shared history easing the sharp edges of the night. Nocturne listened more than he spoke, sipping his drink, letting the sound of them draw his mind back home.

  "Cheers, Nox," Lysander said, raising his glass of rakia. "And for the shadow you sent."

  Ah. Lady Beaumont's dancer. Nox raised his glass and sipped the gin without spilling the secret. With what's to come, I'd like her to stick around.

  "A tenacious fighter," August acknowledged, pouring more rakia. "Took care of her wound herself. But... I wouldn't ask too many questions if any of the maids are sick tomorrow."

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Nocturne raised his eyebrow.

  "She'll recover," Lysander murmured, his hazel eyes dancing. "Something about a cultivated resistance to poisons. What an intriguing woman this 'Lily' turned out to be."

  Nocturne's gaze swept across the room, settling for a moment on each of his brothers. A measure of August's ice had melted as he shared a dry joke with Saphira. Lysander had his blade out, recreating a move from the battle in the rain. Rell listened with his arms crossed, confident without needing to impress.

  Nocturne slipped Saphira's hand into his and squeezed. Felix's gaze dropped, catching the gesture. The worry on his face eased. A huge smile broke out on Felix's face before he could stop it.

  "I'll get back to Marigold and the kids," Felix announced, clapping Nocturne on the back. "It's good to have you back, brother."

  As Felix closed the door behind him, August lifted his glass slightly. “Cigar, anyone?”

  Nocturne shook his head. His eyes had drifted, unbidden, back to Saphira. She sat relaxed, but still guarded. The lamplight caught in her hair, along the line of her collarbone and lower. The awareness of her presence—close, steady, his—pressed against his restraint until it ached.

  “I’m spent,” he said quietly. Then, he spoke softly—meant only for her, “I’m retiring for the evening.”

  She met his gaze and nodded, understanding passing between them without words.

  Nocturne rose and drew Saphira’s chair back for her.

  He watched her stand, seeing the unhesitating way she turned toward his chamber—their chamber—as if it had always been hers. The corner of his mouth lifted before he could stop it. He followed her.

  Saphira deserves my full presence tonight. But I'll be sleeping with one eye open after tonight. Unless...

  As he passed, he caught Rell’s shoulder. “Just for tonight,” he murmured. “You and Lye guard. I trust no one else after all this. Even if it’s Crassus himself at the gates—I am not to be disturbed.”

  Rell nodded at once.

  “You did well, son.” Nocturne clapped him on the back. “You did all I asked—and more.”

  He left with the heat of his squire’s stare burning into him.

  The lock slid into place with a dull, final sound. The room went still.

  Nocturne stood with his hand on the door a moment longer than necessary, listening. The world beyond the solid wood faded. The bloodshed of the hall, the crowd, the judgment chair—all of it loosened its grip on his mind. He turned.

  Saphira stood near the hearth, hands clasped in front of her, loose strands of hair falling over her face.

  For the first time since he returned, he truly saw her. She’s not the girl I left behind. She’s so much more.

  Her skin glowed, her hair thick and worn down with confidence. She had kept the curves gained in pregnancy and strengthened herself. But her eyes—purple and vibrant—no longer looked away from him, no fear, no uncertainty. She tucked her hair behind her ear and smiled—coy, knowing.

  “I never dreamed you’d come back tonight,” she said quietly. “I would have tidied up—”

  “You’ve done so much,” he said, cutting in gently. “More than I ever thought possible.”

  The words felt inadequate the moment they left him.

  “You don’t have to use Clanspeak with me,” he said after a moment. “We can speak Renatii—if you want.”

  “Not tonight." She hesitated, then smiled faintly. "I like who I am here.”

  He nodded but did not move closer. Neither did she. The space between them remained.

  Six weeks of absence. Six weeks of imagining this moment. Nocturne ran his fingers through his beard. What can I say to her? So much has happened. Diego read her private letter. Her father died—and then didn’t. The dragon’s claw, that's still in my saddlebag…

  He reached up and unbuttoned his sleeves and rolled them up—the top two buttons of his shirt came next. Then, he unfastened his sword belt. He hesitated there, fingers resting against Shadowrend’s hilt, before setting it on the weapons rack with deliberate care.

  No more barriers. He stepped towards her. Just us.

  “Saphira,” he said, stopping a pace away. “I nearly lost you.”

  Her breath hitched. “You came back for me.”

  “Always.”

  He closed the distance in two strides. His arms wrapped around her, pulled her completely into him. She made a small sound—a sob, a sigh, he did not know—for she muffled it as she pressed her face into his chest. Her hands fisted into the fabric of his shirt, holding him as if he might vanish again.

  “Don’t leave like that again,” she cried, her voice breaking.

  “Never,” he swore.

  His hand cradled the back of her head; the other pressed firm against the small of her back, holding her against him. Her cheek rested against his chest, right over his heart. He bent his head, breathing her in.

  Lavender. Hell leopard. Strawberries. Her.

  They stayed that way, unmoving, the embrace deepening. His heartbeat slowed beneath her ear. Hers gradually followed.

  Everything else fell away.

  Above: Nocturne and Saphira reunite.

  “I could’ve killed them all for drawing their blades at you,” he murmured into her hair. “Do you understand why I had to execute—”

  “I know,” she replied, stiffening slightly. “I wish I acted sooner. I feel so stupid for being deceived by Quintus, Gorda, the servants.”

  “You showed them kindness—that’s not stupidity—that takes strength.” He held her chin and looked her in the eyes—every word a vow, spoken with a conviction her never thought he would ever feel again. “I’ll protect that part of you—until I die.” His arms tightened. “No one speaks of you that way. No one.”

  “I wasn’t hurt by their words,” she said quickly. “Not really.”

  “I know,” he replied. “That doesn’t change what they did.”

  He eased back just enough to look at all of her. Such a small distance felt unbearable. He pulled her close again, arm wrapped around her waist.

  “I don’t know what our normal is anymore,” she admitted. “Everything feels…too much.”

  “Good,” he said quietly. “It should.”

  Her brows knit in surprise.

  “You defended our home, our marriage. You stood beside me while I passed judgment—you've done more than I thought possible.” His voice dropped. “If this feels easy, then we’re lying to ourselves.”

  Something in her expression softened—relief, perhaps.

  He leaned his forehead against hers, not kissing her, just there with her, in the moment.

  “I want you,” he said simply.

  She inhaled.

  “But not like this,” he continued. “Tonight, I want you to stay with me—just be by my side, that’s all I ask.”

  She exhaled shakily. “Thank you.”

  He brushed his thumb along her jaw, a touch so light it bordered on restraint rather than affection.

  “Stay with me,” he repeated.

  She nodded.

  He drew her back into his arms, slower this time, and held her until the tension in both of them eased.

  Everything—everything—I endured was worth it. Golgog. The Conclave. Every single damn 'spawn. For her. For this moment.

  Was this the homecoming you hoped for? The night hasn't ended just yet!