She exhaled slowly, her eyes softening as she looked at him. "Just... don’t make things harder than they already are."
And suddenly, it happened.
She jumped.
Before Lyan could react, before his mind had a chance to catch up with what was happening, Clarisse closed the distance between them and kissed him. It was a quick, impulsive movent, one that seed to surprise even her as much as it did him. Her lips pressed against his, soft and warm, but there was a tension beneath the kiss—a raw mixture of confusion, anger, and sothing else neither of them could na.
Lyan’s eyes widened in shock, his body stiffening at the unexpected contact. He hadn’t seen this coming, not at all. For a mont, the world seed to stand still, his mind going blank as her lips lingered against his. Ti slowed, the sounds of the inn fading into the background as he tried to make sense of what was happening.
But just as quickly as it had begun, it ended.
Clarisse pulled back abruptly, her eyes wide with shock, her cheeks flushed. She stared at him, her lips parted as if she couldn’t quite believe what she’d just done. The air between them felt charged, electric, and neither of them moved for what felt like an eternity.
"I... I’m sorry," she stamred, her voice barely above a whisper, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as if she could take the kiss back sohow. Her breathing was shallow, her heart racing in her chest. She hadn’t planned this. She hadn’t ant for it to happen. But sothing inside her had snapped, sothing she couldn’t explain.
Lyan remained frozen for a mont, his eyes still locked on hers, his mind reeling. His lips tingled where hers had touched them, the sensation lingering longer than it should have. He didn’t know what to say, how to react. He’d been kissed before—plenty of tis, in fact—but this felt different. This wasn’t one of his Valkyries teasing him, or so flirtation between him and one of the won in his life. This was sothing else. This was Clarisse, a widow who had every reason to hate him, and yet, she had kissed him.
"Clarisse..." he began, his voice low and unsure, but she quickly stepped back, shaking her head.
"No," she whispered, her voice filled with a mix of panic and regret. "No, I... I shouldn’t have done that. I don’t know why I—"
"Hey," Lyan interrupted softly, reaching out to gently touch her arm, his fingers brushing against her skin. "It’s okay."
But she pulled away from his touch, wrapping her arms around herself defensively as if trying to protect herself from whatever emotions were now swirling inside her. "It’s not okay," she muttered, her voice shaking. "This is all wrong."
Lyan frowned, stepping closer but keeping his distance. "Clarisse, it’s not wrong. We’ve both been through a lot. Maybe... maybe that’s part of it."
Her eyes snapped up to et his, her gaze fierce. "Part of it? You think this is just so reaction to... to everything that’s happened?" She shook her head again, biting her lip hard enough that it turned white. "I don’t even know what I’m feeling right now. I’m angry at you, Lyan. I should hate you."
"I know," he replied, his voice calm and steady. "I get it. But it’s more complicated than that, isn’t it?"
She laughed bitterly, running a hand through her long blonde hair in frustration. "Everything is complicated," she muttered. "I hate you for what you did to Lucan, but at the sa ti... I don’t. And that just makes it worse. You’re here, you’re taking care of us, you’re being kind when I have no reason to expect it from you. And I don’t know how to deal with that."
Lyan watched her carefully, his heart aching at the confusion and pain in her eyes. He knew what she ant. The lines between right and wrong, between enemy and protector, had blurred in ways neither of them had anticipated. And now, here they were, caught in the middle of emotions that neither of them fully understood.
"I didn’t an for any of this to happen," Lyan said quietly, his voice filled with a kind of sadness that Clarisse hadn’t heard from him before. "I didn’t want to hurt you. I didn’t want to hurt anyone. But... I had to do what I did."
Clarisse’s expression softened slightly, though her arms remained wrapped tightly around herself. "I know. I know you were just doing what you had to do. But that doesn’t make it any easier."
Lyan nodded, understanding all too well the weight of choices made in war. "It doesn’t," he agreed, his eyes eting hers again. "But maybe... maybe we can figure this out together. We don’t have to know what it ans right now. We just... take it one step at a ti."
Clarisse looked at him, her eyes searching his face as if trying to find so sense of clarity in the storm of emotions raging inside her. She was angry, yes. She was grieving. But there was sothing else, sothing about Lyan that made her feel... safe. Even in the middle of all her confusion, she couldn’t deny that.
"One step at a ti," she repeated softly, her voice trembling. She glanced down at her son, who had fallen asleep in her arms, his tiny hand clutching her dress. "I don’t know if I can do that."
Lyan smiled gently, his eyes softening as he looked at her. "You’ve already done more than you think. You’ve been strong for him," he nodded toward the baby, "and you’ve survived things most people couldn’t. You’re stronger than you know, Clarisse."
Her throat tightened at his words, a lump forming that made it hard to speak. She wanted to deny it, wanted to push back against the kindness in his voice, but a part of her needed to hear it. Needed to believe it.
For a long mont, they stood there in silence, the weight of everything unsaid hanging between them. Clarisse could feel her emotions swirling inside her, pulling her in different directions. She didn’t know how to reconcile her anger with her attraction to Lyan, didn’t know how to move forward from the grief that still clung to her heart. But there was sothing about him—sothing about the way he looked at her, the way he didn’t push her to feel one way or the other—that made her want to trust him.
Finally, she took a shaky breath and looked up at him. "I’m... I’m sorry about earlier," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "I shouldn’t have... kissed you."
Lyan smiled, a small, understanding smile that made her heart ache in ways she couldn’t explain. "You don’t have to apologize for that," he said softly. "I didn’t mind."
A faint blush crept up her cheeks, and she looked away, biting her lip. "Still... it was wrong. I don’t know what I was thinking."
"Maybe it wasn’t wrong," Lyan said quietly, stepping closer to her again, his voice low and gentle. "Maybe it was just what you needed in the mont. And that’s okay."
Clarisse hesitated, her heart pounding in her chest as she looked at him. There was sothing about the way he said it—sothing about the way he didn’t judge her, didn’t make her feel like she had to explain herself—that made her feel... safe. And that was sothing she hadn’t felt in a long ti.
Before she could stop herself, she took a step closer to him, closing the distance between them once again. Her heart raced as she reached out, her fingers trembling slightly as they brushed against his chest. Lyan didn’t move, didn’t pull away. He just stood there, watching her with those intense, dark eyes that seed to see right through her.
"I don’t know what this is," Clarisse whispered, her voice barely audible as she looked up at him. "But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel sothing."
Lyan’s gaze softened, and he reached up to gently cup her face in his hand, his thumb brushing against her cheek. "Neither can I," he murmured, his voice low and filled with sothing that made her heart skip a beat.
For a mont, they just stood there, the air between them thick with tension and unspoken desire. Clarisse’s heart raced in her chest, her mind spinning with everything that had happened—everything that had led them to this mont. She knew it was wrong, knew she should pull away. But she couldn’t. Not now. Not when she felt so drawn to him, so... safe in his presence.
"Lyan," she whispered, her voice trembling. "I don’t know what to do."
He leaned down, his forehead resting gently against hers, his breath warm against her skin. "You don’t have to do anything," he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. "We’ll figure it out."
And then, before she could stop herself, before she could think, Clarisse kissed him again.
This ti, it wasn’t a quick, impulsive movent. This ti, it was slow, deliberate. Her lips pressed against his, soft and warm, and Lyan responded imdiately, his hand sliding to the back of her neck as he deepened the kiss. It was different now—more certain, more intentional—and the heat between them seed to ignite like a spark catching fire.
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