[POV: SOLENNE]
Solenne stood alone in the dim glow of the bedchamber, which she had deduced belonged to the King himself.
The warmth of Ruvan's hand still lingered in her palm. She hadn't expected it—his steadiness, his strength… or his restraint. There was an unspoken softness in his touch.
She exhaled slowly, trying to calm her nerves. The room smelled of ancient wood and ash and faintly smelled of him.
Everything was covered in a thin layer of dust—black velvet curtains, bone-carved furniture, and even the red silken sheets. Yet the air felt alive, as if she weren't alone.
Solenne moved carefully. She explored the room like a tomb: cautiously. Every surface felt sacred or dangerous… or both.
Then, she found a fireplace, and looking at it made her realize how cold she was.
She still couldn't feel her hands or feet, and the sacrificial outfit she wore was thin.
Her fingers skimmed across the edge of the hearth. The ash was piled high on top of a few crisp logs… but a fire sparked to life the moment she touched it.
Solenne jerked her hand back, heart racing. She didn't get burned; the flames were steady, glowing red, more a small fire than a blazing one.
A shiver ran down her spine. Solenne surveyed the room slowly, but one was there.
…But she knew she wasn't alone.
[POV: RUVAN]
He hadn't left.
He stood in the shadows, just beyond the bend of the corridor, with his back pressed to the wall. Not because he was hiding, but because he was listening.
Watching.
Ruvan wasn't in the room with her, but he was still somewhat aware of what she was doing.
The fortress was connected to him… somehow. He figured it was part of the curse, that even though he was free from the stone, he would have to suffer living in an echo of his old castle—but that was only a theory. Only the bastard gods who cursed him would know.
Ruvan listened thoughtfully as the fire in his room came to life. The air hummed with magic and excitement, as if thrilled by Solenne's presence and interaction.
He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. The voices in his head were quieter than they had been in centuries, and the rare moments of silence were like salve on his fractured mind… but he knew it was temporary.
Ruvan could feel them in the back of his skull, clawing for purchase at the forefront of his thoughts. It was only a matter of time before they found their way in again.
The Alpha King sighed. After hundreds of years of agonizing slumber and insanity, he was awake again.
Finally.
But it was a big adjustment—and he could feel his body coming back to life, too. His wolven instincts were active for the first time in ages. Ruvan could feel his wolf tremble whenever Solenne was near; she smelled so sweet...
She was not like the others.
'She's not afraid,' he thought. 'She sees me…'
…But why did her aura occasionally stir a seething hatred in his chest?
Ruvan clenched his jaw. He didn't understand her, but he wanted to.
—
[POV: SOLENNE]
After starting the fire by accident, the warmth began to soak into her bones. Solenne curled up on the edge of the bed, her limbs still trembling with exhaustion.
She hadn't eaten in days, so her stomach twisted painfully with hunger, and the bond was burning low in her chest like a coal that refused to die. Under such conditions, she didn't expect to fall asleep… but she did.
When she awoke, she wasn't alone.
The door creaked open. Ruvan stepped inside, holding a small bundle wrapped in cloth and a metal cup that steamed faintly.
Solenne sat up, blinking at him in the firelight.
He didn't speak as he set the bundle down on the table. When he carefully unwrapped it, Solenne was thrilled.
Bread, fruit, dried meat… All food that had been preserved by magic.
Ruvan approached the bed slowly and handed her the cup.
Solenne accepted it, startled by the warmth. She looked down at the liquid, breathing in the scent with a satisfied sigh.
"If nothing else, the fortress remembers how to feed its wolves," Ruvan said, voice low. "The kitchen is full of food."
Solenne glanced at him thoughtfully for a brief moment before taking a sip. It was a simple but rich broth that filled her stomach pleasantly. Each sip tasted like ambrosia as it slid down her throat after not eating in days.
Ruvan watched her drink, arms crossed.
"You don't speak aloud," he said slowly. "But you speak with gestures."
Solenne nodded once. 'We already discussed this in the hall. Has he forgotten so soon?'
Ruvan's brows furrowed thoughtfully. "It will be a difficult adjustment."
Solenne looked at him with a bitter smile and shook her head dismissively. Then, she pointed toward the table and mimicked lifting the cup again—clearly motioning for him to try it.
He blinked, picked up his cup from the tray, and drank.
"That, I understood," he murmured.
She nodded faintly, then finished the last of her broth.
"But it isn't enough," Ruvan continued after he drank. "Are you literate?"
Solenne paused for a moment before nodding again.
He wasted no time moving to one of the drawers of his room's cabinet. He rummaged through several before pulling out a quill and a scrap of parchment. It was old and rough, but still usable.
Ruvan handed it to her, and Solenne stared at it.
She bit her lip. It's true; she could read and write, but…
"Write something," he said.
Her hand trembled slightly as she took the quill. She hesitated, then scrawled out a single word.
[Something.]
It was crooked and uneven—almost entirely illegible.
Ruvan frowned, then studied her curiously. "You… is that how you write?"
She felt warmth burn at the tips of her ears in embarrassment, but she made a displeased expression and shrugged.
"You can read, though?" he asked.
She nodded.
Ruvan hummed in understanding. "You didn't have the chance to practice your writing."
Solenne's face grew solemn, and she looked down at her feet uncomfortably.
"Do it again," the King demanded. "Go ahead and write 'something.' You are cheeky for that, by the way."
She was still for a long time before she heeded his advice and made another attempt. The letters were clumsy and childlike, hardly legible.
Ruvan watched in silence, then reached over. "Your wrist—steady it here."
He adjusted her hold on the quill with surprising gentleness, guiding her fingers with his as she wrote the word 'something' for the third time.
When their hands touched, the bond flared… but not as painful.
"Better," he said as he released her. "You show promise. It will take time, so don't get discouraged."
She glanced up at him, wary. Curious.
"Now, I have a question," Ruvan continued. "Will you answer?"
She held his gaze, neither confirming nor denying his question.
"What is your name?" he asked.
Solenne's eyes widened. 'My name…'
How long had it been since she had been called Solenne?
"Write it down," Ruvan looked at her with an inscrutable expression. "Otherwise, I will call you mate."
Solenne looked down at the parchment with a vexed frown.
'Should I tell him my name?' she deliberated. 'It's uncomfortable sharing it with a stranger that might kill me…'
Ruvan watched her expectantly, and when she glanced up to meet his gaze for a moment, she sighed in resignation.
'Fine. It makes no difference, anyway,' Solenne shook her head and brought the pen down to the parchment. 'I will tell him.'
[S.O.L.E.N.N.E.]
She wrote each letter with painful diligence in an attempt to make it look less ridiculous. It was a futile effort—it still looked awful, but Ruvan watched her hand with great interest as she wrote.
"Solenne," he read aloud.
Solenne froze in place as her chest suddenly swelled with emotion.
Hearing her name spoken…
It would have been heartwarming regardless of who said it, but something about how it sounded coming from his lips was so… beautiful. Like the name itself was sacred.
With the very few others who learned her name, they never pronounced it correctly at first… but Ruvan didn't have that problem. He said it perfectly.
Ruvan's golden eyes met hers as he repeated, "Solenne?"
Solenne nodded, the traces of a smile on her lips as she stared back at him. They looked at one another silently for a while before he spoke again.
"I will help you practice your handwriting in return for you teaching me your…" he trailed off, unsure what to call it, "hand language."
Instead of nodding, she glanced down at the parchment and pressed the quill to it again. She was determined to improve, even if that meant taking the smallest of steps…
[O.K.]
Ruvan glanced between her and the paper. "It's a deal. We will both learn something."