"No... no, I'm not crying. It's just... there's dust in my eyes, and it feels very uncomfortable," Elara stammered, frantically rubbing at her lids to hide the fresh tracks of her tears.
"Dust? Then let me help. Don't rub them, you'll only make it worse." Evan's voice was like a soothing balm. He gently caught her wrists, holding her still with a firm but tender grip. He leaned forward, his face so close that Elara could see the golden flecks in his dark eyes. She held her breath as he blew gently, a cool puff of air against her lashes.
The intimacy of the gesture—the way he focused entirely on her, his brows knit in genuine concern—made Elara's heart swell. She leaned into him, surrendering to the tenderness.
"Are you feeling better?" he asked, releasing her hands.
"Yes... much better," Elara whispered, her face a deep, warm pink.
Evan smiled, a small, knowing curve of his lips. He turned back to the stove to finish the stir-fry, but his mind was already racing ahead. He had a plan for her tonight—one that would wash away the sour taste of jealousy and replace it with something far more intoxicating.
In the evening, the air cooled, carrying the scent of blooming night jasmine. Evan stepped out of the bath hut, his skin glowing and damp, a simple robe tied loosely at his waist. He found Elara sitting on a stone bench in the yard, dressed in thin red pajamas that stood out vividly against the twilight. She was leaning on the stone table, her chin in her hands, staring up at the darkening sky.
The evening breeze was playful, catching her long, thick hair and sending it dancing across her shoulders. The silk of her clothes clung to her curves, slipping just enough to reveal the pale, smooth line of her shoulder.
Evan walked over silently, his bare feet making no sound on the grass. He placed his hands on her shoulders, feeling the slight tremor that ran through her at his touch. "Why aren't you inside? What are you thinking about, sitting out here all alone?"
Elara relaxed under his palms, her gaze still fixed on the horizon. "The moonlight is beautiful tonight. I just wanted to see it a little longer."
Evan looked up. The crescent moon was a silver scythe in the sky, draped in a hazy, mysterious glow. It looked soft, tempting, and distant. "It is indeed beautiful," he murmured, sitting beside her and resting his chin on his hand, mirroring her pose.
But Elara's eyes had already left the moon. She was staring at him—at the way the silver light caught the moisture on his neck and the sharp, masculine line of his jaw.
"Do you have any wine?" Evan asked suddenly, breaking the silence.
Elara blinked, startled. "Yes! I... I'll get some. Do you want to drink?"
"Just a little. Nothing too strong. I... I rarely drink, to be honest," Evan admitted with a sheepish grin.
"I'll be right back." Elara hurried to the cellar, returning with a small clay jar and two shallow bowls.
She poured the wine, the liquid clear and smelling of mountain grain. In this world, the Ashcroft family wine was legendary for its kick; a few bowls could bring a seasoned soldier to her knees.
Evan picked up his bowl and took a cautious sip. It started soft and sweet on the tongue, then bloomed into a fierce, spicy heat that traveled straight to his chest. His face flushed almost instantly. He wasn't used to the potency of this world's spirits.
Elara, however, drank with the ease of someone raised on the stuff. She finished her bowl in a few clean gulps, her cheeks taking on a delicate, charming glow that made her look even more radiant under the moon.
"Cheers!" Evan said, holding his bowl out. They clinked the ceramic together and Evan downed the rest.
"Cough! Cough... damn, that's spicy!" Evan stuck his tongue out, his eyes watering. "How do you drink this like water?"
Elara laughed, a genuine, melodious sound. "You're a terrible drinker, Evan. This is the softest vintage we have."
"I think I'm a fruit wine man," Evan sighed, feeling a pleasant, heavy warmth begin to settle in his limbs. "We should probably head in. I don't want to smell like a distillery when we sleep."
Inside the room, the single candle cast long, flickering shadows. Elara returned from the cellar to find Evan already on the bed. He was lying on his side, propped up by one elbow, his robe fallen open just enough to tease the sight of his chest. His eyes were unfocused, glazed with a heavy, drunken heat.
"Sleep," he said, his voice a low, rumbling drawl. "Why are you just standing there?"
"I... I'm going to sleep now," Elara said, her heart hammering. The way he was looking at her—loose, beckoning—made her feel like she was melting. She quickly spread her bedding on the floor and lay down, turning her back to him.
Suddenly, she felt something warm and solid rub against her back. It was Evan's foot. He was stretching his long legs out from the bed, prodding her gently.
"Get up," he urged, his voice thick with wine. "Come to the bed. The floor is cold, Elara."
"It's fine," she whispered into the dark. "The blankets are thick. I'm strong."
"Don't be stubborn," Evan grumbled, kicking her lightly again. "We're husband and wife. Why are you always hiding from me? Don't you want to be near me?"
Elara squeezed her eyes shut. He was drunk. If she argued, it would only make things more complicated. She decided to pretend she was already asleep, hoping he'd give up and drift off. She kept her breathing steady, remaining perfectly still.
"Are you asleep? That fast?" Evan muttered to himself. He let out a long sigh. "Fine. Since everyone is asleep... I guess I won't be a gentleman anymore. You're my wife, anyway. I can do what I want."
Elara's breath hitched. She heard the rustle of the mattress, then the soft thud of feet hitting the floor. A second later, the quilt over her was lifted, and a surge of intense heat pressed against her back.
Evan slid in behind her, his arms wrapping around her waist and pulling her small frame tightly against his chest. Elara went rigid. This was the first time she had felt the full length of a man's body against her own—the hard planes of his chest, the solid weight of his thighs.
She didn't dare move. If he realized she was awake, she'd die of embarrassment.
Evan buried his face in the crook of her neck, taking a deep, ragged breath. "You smell so good, honey... so sweet," he whispered, his voice vibrating against her skin. His hands, fueled by the wine and days of pent-up desire, began to wander.
Elara's mind was a whirlwind of shock and pleasure. He's seducing me? My handsome husband is actually touching me like this?
Suddenly, his grip tightened, and she heard a soft gasp of surprise near her ear. "Wow... you really can't judge a book by its cover. My little wife... you're so small, but you're so blessed up here."
His hands moved to cup the heavy, soft swell of her breasts through the thin pajamas. Elara's eyes flew open in the dark, her chest heaving. The shame of being touched so boldly was quickly overtaken by a surge of pride. He likes them. He actually likes my body.
Evan gently rolled her onto her back, looming over her. The moonlight caught the hunger in his eyes. "This is my first time kissing a girl," he whispered, his thumb brushing over her rosy lips. "It'd be nice if you were awake to see it... but I can't wait."
He lowered his head, and then his lips were on hers—soft, firm, and tasting of grain wine.
Elara's mind went blank. The world ceased to exist. All she knew was the heat of his mouth and the realization that, for the first time in her life, she was exactly where she wanted to be.