Declan Ravencroft's Arc

Chapter 1 of 1

Declan adjusted his sword belt and took his post outside the chamber door. Another night shift, another quiet hour beside the only person he wanted and could not have. He had watched Lysander for months now — the soft way he spoke to the kitchen girls, the small bows he gave the laundry boy. Declan wanted his heart. He also wanted to keep his post, his pride, and his skin. Tonight Lysander left the door open. He sat at the edge of the silk-draped bed, cushions piled like a small bright sea. "You stand very still," he said. "Come in, if you like." Declan's pulse jumped. He could not tell if it was kindness or habit. He stepped just inside and waited. Lysander looked up slowly. "I asked because I wanted to," he said. "Not because I should." Declan breathed out. The line he had drawn in his head moved one careful step. He did not sit. He did not speak of feeling. But when Lysander offered a cup of water, Declan took it from his hand, and their fingers touched, and neither pulled away. The shift had changed. Now he had to decide what to do with a door that was no longer closed.