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“Hey,” he whispered, dropping a bag of supplies inside the room as he moved toward her. “I have the messenger ready to send the letter.”

Iryana nodded, folding up the paper, then stood, ready to hand it to him, but something in his gaze made her still. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m just… worried. Things are more contentious here than they have been for months,” Pyetar admitted with a sigh. “The soldiers are fighting over what we should do, divided. I worry about what it will come to while I’m gone.”

“The major said he would handle it,” Iryana assured him.

“I know… I just worry.” Pyetar rubbed his hand over the strong angles of his face and his short brown beard. “Vaneshta isn’t the biggest fan of him. She doesn’t think he’s handling the discontent correctly.”

“Are you changing your mind about coming?” Iryana asked softly.

He shook his head and stepped closer. “No, I won’t leave you to do this on your own. Illogical as it may be, I would sacrifice everything to keep you safe.”

“I don’t want you to sacrifice yourself for me.” She wanted him safe. Whole.

He sucked a shaky breath through his lips. “But what if this is it? What if stopping this ritual, or whatever it is, pushes you too far, and your magic tears you apart faster than Hadima can heal you?”

Her heart clenched at his worry. “There is always the threat of death here, any day could be our last. There are no guarantees of safety.”

“But what if I lose you?” he choked out.

As much as she’d tried to bottle them up, she was a storm of trepidation and fear inside. Pyetar stood before her like a beacon of calm seas while she thrashed in the churning waves. He seemed to see that desperation in her eyes, slowly drawing closer until their boots were touching and the air between them charged. He tilted his head down, hair falling over his eyes. Iryana lifted her chin, their faces side by side and mouths a breath away.

Gods, she missed him.

“We shouldn’t do this,” she rasped. “We can’t do this.”

He nodded, but he didn’t step away. Slowly, teasingly, Pyetar’s hand drew up her arm. His fingers danced over the fabric of her shirt, somehow heating her skin beneath. That touch trailed over her shoulder, up her neck, and slipped into her hair.

She didn’t stop him. But gods, she should stop him.

“You chose your clan over me,” he reminded her, throat tight with pain. “But just for this one moment, can’t you pretend you chose me?”

Heart aching and eyes burning from held back tears, Iryana cupped his face, slowly turning it to hers and touched her lips to his.

The kiss was soft and slow, a rolling press of their mouths. Iryana clung to him, arms thrown over his shoulders, and every line of her body pressed to his. Pyetar lifted her in his arms, sat her atop the desk, and traced the sides of her body as he breathed into her.

“I miss you,” Pyetar groaned. “I miss holding you, I miss making love to you, I miss your voice, I miss being a team, I miss—”

“Me too,” she cut him off with a firm press of her lips. “Me too.”

He pulled back, mouth a breath away and forehead pressed to hers. “I’m in awe of you,” Pyetar admitted. “Even standing before the gods didn’t fill me with the same urge to worship as being here with you. I convince myself it’s alright every time we part, keep myself busy so I don’t think about you every aching moment. But then I’m with you again and realize how empty I’d been. How alone.”

“Pyetar.” She pulled his mouth back to hers, not knowing how else to comfort him.

Pyetar kissed her with a vengeance, like making up for lost time. Making up for all the time they’d surely miss in the future. His mouth was hot, his tongue dipping into her mouth as their kiss deepened.

Her legs parted and he stepped between them, pulling her to the edge of the desk, pressing hard between her legs. Iryana moaned into his mouth from the delicious pressure.

She couldn’t stop herself from rocking her hips, from grinding against him. He groaned into her ear, kissing along her jaw and down her neck. Her breaths came faster as she climbed from the pressure of him through her clothes alone.

“Iri,” he begged.

She fumbled at their clothes, pushing down his pants and taking him into her hand. He jerked and groaned again, eyes falling shut.

She loved seeing him come undone, loved seeing the way his face flushed and the veins in his throat danced. Her fingers slid under his shirt to the hard muscles along his stomach. Just feeling those muscles clench as he jerked his hips forward almost made her moan. Everything about his body undid her.

They panted, their breaths intermingling between them.