Chapter 133: Dress up

SOREN

Thirty minutes.

I’d been standing outside the cave for thirty minutes while Eris did whatever mysterious things women did when getting dressed that apparently required more time than it took to negotiate trade agreements.

I’d changed in maybe five minutes.

The clothes Ryse had sent fit well enough. Simple traveling garb in dark blue color that wouldn’t show dirt or blood if things went sideways on the journey back. Practical. Functional. Nothing fancy because I’d specifically requested nothing fancy in the message.

My divine form had faded sometime during the night.

That strange transformation the river always triggered, the one that made me look more like what I actually was instead of what I pretended to be. The ethereal quality. The obvious divinity. The fabric that had wrapped around me like it was part of my body.

All gone now.

Back to normal. Human. Mortal-passing.

Except for the hair.

I ran fingers through it, grimacing at the length. It had grown past my shoulders during the transformation, but now returned to its original golden-blonde strands that caught morning light and probably looked impressive but felt like an inconvenience.

I’d need to cut it later.

Didn’t like it this long. Never had. Hair was just one more thing to maintain, one more annoyance when trying to see clearly.

But that was a problem for future Soren.

Current Soren was standing outside his own cave, locked out by the woman who was taking an absolutely unreasonable amount of time to put on a dress.

I was torn between impatience and amusement.

Impatient because I wanted to see her, wanted to make sure she was alright after last night, wanted to continue whatever this thing between us was that kept getting more complicated and more necessary in equal measure.

Amused because locking me out was very Eris. Taking control of the space. Making me wait. Probably enjoying my frustration from the other side of that waterfall.

The nymphs had been circling me for the past ten minutes.

Chittering in their language. Asking questions I pretended not to understand because explaining my relationship with Eris to ancient magical guardians felt like more effort than it was worth this early in the morning.

One of them landed on my shoulder.

Bold little thing. Chimed directly in my ear.

“The fire woman is taking very long. Is this normal for your kind?”

“Apparently,” I muttered.

“Why do you wait? You could simply enter. It is your sanctuary too.”

“Because she told me to stay outside.”

“And you obey her commands?”

I smiled despite myself.

“When it suits me.”

The nymph chittered what might have been laughter and flew off to rejoin its companions.

Movement at the waterfall caught my attention.

Finally.

The barrier shimmered, parted, and Eris stepped through.

I forgot how to breathe.

The dress was travel-appropriate. Practical. Designed for movement and long days in the saddle rather than court appearances or formal occasions.

But gods.

It was also devastating.

Deep blue. Ice-blue. Nevareth colors that I’d never seen her wear before, that made her look like she belonged here already, like winter had claimed her as its own and was showing off its newest acquisition.

The bodice was fitted.

Very fitted. Emphasizing every curve, every line, every detail of her body in ways that made my mouth go dry and other parts of my anatomy pay very interested attention.

The neckline was lower than she’d probably intended.

Or maybe exactly as intended if she was trying to kill me.

It dipped just enough to be tantalizing, just enough to make my eyes track downward before I could stop them, just enough to make very clear that the dress was struggling to contain what it had been designed to hold.

Her breasts pressed against the fabric.

Threatening to spill with each breath she took. The material strained slightly, pulled tight, and I had to actively force myself not to stare because that would be rude and also I was absolutely going to stare anyway because self-control had limits.

The fabric clung to her skin.

Still damp from washing or from the cave’s humidity. Clinging in ways that left very little to imagination, that made it clear she was cold despite the morning sun, that made certain body responses very visible.

Her hair was loose.

White strands cascading down her back and over her shoulders in waves that caught light like spun silver. Longer than I’d realized. Beautiful in that effortless way that suggested she hadn’t tried and didn’t care but looked perfect anyway.

And the marks on her neck were visible.

Very visible. Dark bruises from where I’d bitten her, where I’d marked her, where I’d made absolutely certain anyone who looked would know she belonged to someone.

She was breathtaking.

Ethereal in morning light that painted her in blues and golds. Dangerous in the way winter storms were dangerous, beautiful and deadly and impossible to look away from.

I stared.

Couldn’t help it. Didn’t bother trying to hide it.

My eyes tracked from her face down to her neck, lingering on the marks I’d left, then lower to where the dress struggled against logic and lost. Stayed there longer than was probably appropriate. Then back up to her face.

Completely brazen about the whole thing.

Her eyes narrowed the moment she noticed where my attention kept going.

“You’re shameless.”

Not really angry. Just stating a fact. With a slight blush spreading across her cheeks that she was probably furious about because Eris hated when her body betrayed her emotions.

I smiled.

“I am.”

No point denying it. No remorse whatsoever. Just honest acknowledgment that yes, I was absolutely staring at her chest and would continue doing so because self-control was for people who weren’t confronted with Eris in a dress that should be considered a deadly weapon.

“How could I not be,” I continued, letting my gaze drop deliberately again, “when you look like that?”

The blush deepened.

She crossed her arms. Which had the unintended effect of pushing her breasts up higher against the neckline. Which made the view even better. Which she realized a second too late and uncrossed her arms immediately with a scowl.

“How did you already change?” she demanded, clearly trying to redirect the conversation to safer territory.

I gestured at my clothes.

Simple. Practical. Nothing special.

“Well,” I said, tone perfectly reasonable, “since m’lady decided to lock me out of my own cave, I had to change outside.”

Playful. Teasing. Just enough edge to let her know I’d noticed the lockout and found it both annoying and entertaining.

Something flickered across her face.

Guilt. Brief and quickly suppressed but there. She hadn’t meant to inconvenience me. Had just wanted privacy and space and had taken it without considering I might need the cave too.

But then she saw my smirk.

The guilt vanished instantly. Replaced by irritation because she’d just realized I was making fun of her, that I wasn’t actually bothered, that I was just giving her grief because her reactions were too good not to chase.

She turned slightly away.

Muttered something under her breath that I almost didn’t catch.

“It seems you enjoyed it.”

Barely audible. Meant for herself rather than me.

But I heard it anyway.

Smiled wider because she’d given me an opening and I was absolutely taking it.

“Not in the slightest bit,” I said, taking a step closer.

She glanced at me. Wary now. Recognizing that tone.

I took another step.

“Knowing my wife was naked just a few feet away,” I continued, voice dropping lower, more intimate, “and I couldn’t help her dress.”

Let the implication hang in the air between us. All the things I could have done if she hadn’t locked me out. All the ways I could have assisted with buttons and laces and fabric that clearly needed adjusting.

Her face flushed completely now.

“Tch!” She made that exasperated sound that meant I’d gotten to her, that she was flustered and trying to hide it. “You never stop, do you?”

Not a real question. Just accusation and resignation mixed together.

I smiled.

Genuine this time. Not teasing or provocative but honest, affectionate, the expression I wore when she said things that made me want to kiss her until she forgot how to form sentences.

“Flirting with you?” I asked. “Never.”

Stepped close enough to touch now. Close enough to see the way her pupils dilated, the way her breathing changed, the way her body leaned toward me even as her mind told her to maintain distance.

“I might actually die if I stop.”

Said lightly. Like a joke. But with enough underlying truth that she’d hear it, would understand I wasn’t entirely joking, that flirting with her had become as necessary as breathing and just as automatic.

She stared at me for a long moment.

Something complicated crossing her face. Emotions I couldn’t quite read. Vulnerability mixed with fear mixed with something that looked almost like hope.

Then she cleared her throat.

Looked away. Broke the moment before it could go somewhere we weren’t ready for yet.

“We should discuss the journey,” she said, voice carefully neutral. “To the border. Where Ryse is waiting.”

Right.

The border. The camp. The procession waiting for us. The real world that existed beyond this sacred space where we’d been hiding.

I nodded slowly.

“We should.”

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