Chapter 23 – The Kind of Man
The bathhouse on the eastern side of the training grounds was technically for high-ranking officers only.
And technically, I wasn't one.
But I had a pass.It was called being married to the most terrifying woman here.
Steam curled from the tiled roof as dusk settled over the academy like a soft blanket.
Crickets chirped lazily, and faint echoes of wooden swords clashing in the distance drifted through the open corridor.
I waited just beyond the bathhouse's sliding doors, having already claimed a quiet corner in the open-air garden reserved for officers.
The air was crisp, kissed with the faint tang of citrus broth and the smoky char of grilled meat.
On the low stone table, a dinner spread lay waiting—simple, but carefully chosen: roasted vegetables arranged with almost military precision, skewers glistening with spice-rubbed juices, and a bottle of wine older than most of the recruits still learning which end of the sword to hold.
I'd pulled every string to get it.
Not because it was her birthday, or an anniversary, or anything remotely ceremonial.
But because I wanted her to feel something other than exhaustion tonight.
I wanted her to remember what it meant to be cherished.
She arrived not long after.
And stole the breath clean out of my lungs.
Gone was the armor, the stern glint of a commander who'd crushed more bandit uprisings than I could count.
Instead, Olivia walked barefoot across the stone path, the faint sheen of bathhouse mist clinging to her skin.
Her black blouse shimmered under the lantern light, tucked into a scarlet skirt that moved like flowing flame.
Her hair—still damp—dripped in midnight rivulets down one shoulder, framing the sharp lines of her face.
And her eyes…Red, unwavering, mischievous.
That kind of "say something cheesy and I will throw you into the pond" sparkle.
"Wow," I said, standing up with a grin that felt too wide for my face. "So this is what the Knight Commander wears when she's not terrifying raw recruits into early retirement."
She crossed her arms, and her hip cocked to one side. "Disappointed?"
"Very," I deadpanned. "I was hoping you'd still be in a helmet. Maybe even bring your sword. You know… keep things spicy."
She blinked once.
Then one elegant brow lifted. "So… your idea of foreplay involves me threatening your life?"
I pulled out her chair with an exaggerated bow. "You say that like it's not already the foundation of our marriage."
She snorted—actually snorted.
Victory.
Olivia sat with her usual battlefield grace, but her smile—small, barely there—belonged to the woman behind the title.
The one few people ever got to see.
I poured us both a glass of the deep red wine, letting the scent of crushed berries and ancient oak breathe in the space between us.
"To reforming bad habits," I toasted.
She raised her glass, eyeing me over the rim. "And to not threatening each other during dinner."
We both chuckled.
Clink.
We drank. The wine burned soft, mellow, nostalgic.
For a while, silence wrapped around us—not cold or awkward, but full.
Comfortable.
Like a shared blanket neither of us had to name.
Just the two of us.
Under enchanted lanterns that glowed soft gold, as if the stars themselves had come down to witness this moment.
The hum of sword drills in the background slowly faded, replaced by the quiet chorus of nightbirds and the wind nudging the treetops.
Then she caught me.
"You're staring," she said, not even looking up from her wine.
"I'm memorizing," I replied.
"Memorizing?"
"Every expression. Every time your lips twitch when you're trying not to laugh. Every time you roll your eyes or bite your tongue to hide a smile. I'm memorizing it all."
Olivia froze—not obviously.
Just a breath, half a heartbeat.
Her hand lingered on the rim of her glass.
"Maker," she said, softly but with mock disdain. "You're getting sappy."
"I'm allowed one sappy moment a month. It's in our contract. Section four, subclause: romantic emergencies."
"Oh?" She tilted her head, a playful smirk tugging at her lips.
"I thought that clause only applied when I was injured or half-dead on the battlefield."
"Same thing," I said smoothly. "The battlefield just has more swords."
She laughed then. A real one.
Sharp, warm, full of life.
Like hearing sunlight break through clouds.
And if I could bottle that sound…I'd give up magic research on the spot.
"Lucas," she said, leaning forward on one elbow, chin resting in her palm.
Her voice dropped, quiet and earnest. "Why were you late to ask me again for a date?"
I knew exactly what she meant.
I didn't pretend to misunderstand.
"I realized," I said quietly,
"that all the spells, all the runes, all the power I chase—it's worthless if I forget why I wanted it in the first place."
She tilted her head.
"And why did you want it?"
I stared at her.
Dead serious now.
"To protect you. To be the kind of man who doesn't just chase power—but knows how to live with it. And also it's all about knowledge. "
My voice dipped, a whisper meant for her alone."…but the journey is boring without you."
Olivia looked at me for a long time, her red eyes steady.
Unblinking.
Searching for something in the silence—maybe doubt.
Maybe a sign that I was still running.
She found neither.
And when her lips curled into a grin—slow and wicked, like a blade being unsheathed—I knew I'd passed whatever unspoken test she'd given me.
"I hope that's not the same speech you're planning to give at the noble party," she said, voice syrupy sweet. "They might fall asleep before dessert."
I groaned, dramatically collapsing back against the stone bench. "Wow. Remind me never to open up to you again. Emotional support level: negative five."
She snatched up a skewer, bit into a slice of meat with an exaggerated crunch, and grinned. "It's how I show love."
"You show love by skewering me with sarcasm."
"And you love it."
"…I do," I admitted with a sigh.
We ate.
The food was simple, but every bite warmed the soul more than the stomach.
We laughed between mouthfuls, occasionally brushing hands as we reached for the same skewer, exchanging glances that said things neither of us had words for.
Those stolen looks… they felt like old songs we'd both forgotten the lyrics to.
Familiar.
Comforting.
A little painful.
A rogue splash of soup jumped out of my bowl, landing right on the center of my shirt with a wet, obnoxious plop.
I looked down in horror. "Oh."
Olivia leaned forward like a wolf who'd just scented weakness.
Her eyes sparkled with lethal amusement, and that dangerous smile returned.
"Let me," she said, innocently. Too innocently.
She reached across the table, fingertips brushing against the fabric of my shirt.
Warm.
Deliberate.
She wiped the broth slowly—too slowly—like she was enjoying this far more than any normal person should.
Then, eyes locking with mine, she whispered with mock wonder, "Wow. You really don't have abs."
I choked on my wine. "Excuse me?!"
"You look so intimidating with your cloak and that whole silver-haired mysterious mage thing…" she patted my chest condescendingly, "but under it all… squishy."
"I have perfectly respectable abs," I defended, wounded in pride and shirt.
"You mean mabs?" she teased, eyes gleaming.
"Magical abs? Not quite as firm as MINE, but I guess they do their best."
"I'll have you know—"
"Oh hush." She stood with a fluid motion, circling around the table like a predator stalking its prey. "I love you."
Her fingers brushed along my jaw.
Soft.
Electric.
My breath caught.
"The one who smiles awkwardly. Who talks too much during wine."
Her voice was quieter now.
Gentle.
Sincere beneath the teasing.
Then she leaned in.
And kissed me.
No fire. No drama.
Just… her.
Warm, lingering, and devastatingly real.
When she pulled away, I was still chasing the memory of her lips.
"So," she said, lips brushing close to my ear, "want to walk me to our home?"
I blinked. "I thought you'd never ask."
She raised a warning finger. "No handsy business, Professor."
I raised both palms like a captured fugitive. "You wound me."
"I will if you try anything."
"Oh good," I grinned. "We're back to threats again."
She laughed softly and looped her arm through mine anyway, pressing close.
And under the soft stars of the Capital sky, we walked together—Two warriors, one in spirit and one in soul, reforging what was lost.
One flirt, one smirk, one kiss at a time.