Table For Two, Ser?
Rook and Lucanis were absolutely definitely for certain NOT doing anything inappropriate in the kitchen.
They're simply enjoying coffee. Looking flushed. Sitting very politely.
Don’t mind the spilled honey. Or the crooked button. Or the scratch on the table.
Everything is completely normal.
The Lighthouse was silent.
Not the kind of silence that came with peace, but the tense, held-breath quiet of a place too full of memories, of Fade-light humming behind the walls. Most of the others had long since gone to sleep, lulled into uneasy dreams.
She padded down the corridor barefoot, drawn by something she couldn’t name – maybe it was the soft flicker of golden light, or the faint, rich scent of something warm and spiced drifting under the door.
Or maybe it was the sound.
Low. Melodic. A hum, half-sung, half-breathed. Not in Common – Antivan, maybe? There was a lilt to it. A rhythm, slow and steady like a familiar heartbeat.
She opened the dining hall door and stopped.
Inside, Lucanis moved like water.
He stood at the counter, bathed in golden lamplight, sleeves rolled to the elbows, collar open, a knife dancing through something delicate on a worn wooden board. His hair was mussed – fresh from his fingers, not sleep. There was a smear of something dark on the edge of his jaw. His hips moved in a gentle rhythm as he stirred something in a pan, back turned to her, humming under his breath.
There was a bowl of strawberries on the table. A small pot of melted chocolate nestled in a ring of steam. A jar of honey, uncapped, golden and glistening in the dim light.
She just… stood there. Let herself look.
