Chapter 119. Ears That Held a Whole Conversation Without Her

Chapter 119: 119. Ears That Held a Whole Conversation Without Her

She smiled at that, a real one, that went all the way up to her eyes.

And then she rose up on her toes, and I bent my head, and our noses bumped, and she apologized, and I told her not to, and the second time we got it right.

It was a short kiss... Soft and a little clumsy, and she tasted faintly of woodsmoke and salt.

Her ears stood straight up like two flagpoles, and then, slowly, they began to droop, a little at a time, until they lay flat against her back like silk ribbons.

When she pulled away, her eyes were half closed and her breath was coming fast, and I couldn’t have told you my own name.

"Oh," she whispered. "That’s... that’s a lot."

"I know."

"Is it supposed to be?"

"I have no idea... I’ve never done it with someone I was this frightened of."

"You’re not frightened of me."

"I’m terrified of you... You can kick people through walls."

"Only through very thin walls."

We stood there, forehead to forehead, laughing quietly, and for a while that was all we did.

Then my stomach let out a long, rumbling, undignified growl, and she pulled back and looked at me with an expression of deep and growing concern.

"When did you last eat?"

"I had bread."

"Half a heel of bread... I watched you."

"That’s not food; that’s a rumor." She pulled the wrapped bundle off the ground, where it had fallen when she hit the root, and shook it out.

It held a loaf, a wedge of hard cheese, two apples, and a small flask of something that smelled like pears. "Sit down... Right now."

"You’re eating every bit of this, and drinking all of that, and I’m going to watch."

"Is this part of the plan?"

"It’s the first part of the plan." Her ears stood up again, firmly. "I’m not doing anything with a man who’s about to fall over from hunger."

"Sit."

I sat.

She sat across from me with her knees tucked up under the blue cloak, and I ate the bread and the cheese and one of the apples, while she told me about her father’s farm and the pear brandy her uncle made, and a very long story involving a goose that I’m fairly sure she was inventing.

I drank the pear flask halfway down. I felt the strength come back into my arms, a little at a time, like warmth into a cold hand.

At some point, I realized I’d stopped listening to her words and was just watching her face.

At another point, she realized it too.

"What?" she said.

"Nothing."

"You’re staring."

"I’m allowed to stare... I’ve earned it."

"That’s not how it works."

"It’s exactly how it works." I put down the flask. "Eveline."

"Yes?"

"Are you still sure?"

She looked at me, with the stars in her eyes and an apple core in her hand, and she set the core carefully down in the grass.

"Yes," she said.

I took her hand.

It was small in mine, warm and trembling, the way a bird’s heart beats when you hold it too gently... like it might break if you breathe too hard.

I laced my fingers through hers and felt her ears twitch, those long, impossibly soft ears of hers, and I knew she was trying to keep them still.

Trying to be composed. And maybe trying to be the knight she was trained to be.

"Come with me," I said.

She looked at me. Her amber eyes caught the starlight and held it, and for a moment I couldn’t speak.

"The others," she started, "Alicia and Laura—"

"I know... I know they know," I sighed.

"But I don’t want to repeat what happened last time with them." I paused.

The memory of it was still raw, still vivid... Alicia’s voice carrying across the camp like a bell, Laura’s moaning and screaming... the way the night air had been filled with sounds that belonged to no one else’s business.

"I don’t want them to hear... Not this time."

Eveline’s ears stood straight up. Her cheeks flushed a deep, burning pink beneath the golden fur at her temples.

"They’d be mortified," she whispered, and I could hear the amusement fighting through the embarrassment.

"That’s exactly why we’re leaving."

I grabbed the bedrolls from the wagon—two of them, rolled tight and heavy with wool and linen—and we walked away.

The camp shrank behind us. The crackling fire, the murmur of voices, the distant clank of armor as someone shifted in their sleep.

It all faded, and the world opened up around us... dark grass, the silhouette of distant trees, the smell of earth and night air, and something wild and alive.

We walked for a long time. I could feel her beside me, close enough that her shoulder occasionally brushed mine, and every time it did, something in my chest tightened.

She was walking with her chin up, her military posture still intact, but I could see the way her ears were doing that thing—folding, straightening, and folding again like they had a mind of their own.

It’s like they were feeling everything she was trying not to say.

"You’re doing it again," I said.

"Doing what?"

"The ears."

"I’m not... uhm... my ears are perfectly normal."

"They’re doing a whole conversation without you."

She let out a small, indignant huff, and then her ears flattened against her head for just a second before popping back up. "That’s not—you can’t just—"

"They’re cute, honestly."

"I am not cute... I am a knight... I have killed things that would make your blood turn to ice."

"Did I stutter? You’re STILL cute," I said again, and this time I smiled, and I saw her ears go completely still, like they’d forgotten how to move.

She said nothing.

...

The cave found us like a gift. A shallow overhang in the hillside, maybe twenty paces from the road, big enough to sleep in and small enough that the wind didn’t reach inside.

I’d passed it a dozen times and never thought twice about it.

Now it felt like it had been waiting for us.

I set the bedrolls down on the flat stone floor. I’d cleared it with my boot first... couldn’t have her sleeping on rocks.

"It’s not much," I said.

"It’s perfect." Her voice was quieter now, and I turned to look at her.

She was standing at the mouth of the cave, staring out at the sky. The stars were out in force—a river of light stretching from one horizon to the other, so bright and so close that it felt like you could reach up and let them spill through your fingers.

"They’re beautiful," she said.

"They are."

We sat down side by side on the bedrolls, knees touching, and I could feel the heat radiating off her. She was still in her uniform... the dark-brown jacket, the white blouse, and the blue necktie with its gold accents.

The golden brooch on her collar caught the starlight and threw tiny pinpricks of amber across her chest. She looked like something from a painting.

Like something I didn’t deserve to be sitting next to.

Her ears were still. That was the first thing I noticed.

They weren’t twitching or folding or doing anything at all. They were just still, pointing straight up and slightly back, like they’d gone into a kind of shock.

"Eveline."

"Eep! I... I know," she said. "I’m nervous."

"Me too."

She turned to look at me. "You’re... not."

"I am. I’m actually terrified as well."

She laughed. It was a small, breathless sound, and it made her ears do that thing again—fold halfway down, then snap back up.

"You’re not terrified of me."

"Nope. Not of you." I looked at her... I mean, like, I really looked at her, the way I’d been looking at her since that first day, and I saw everything I saw when I looked at her.

The way she wrote in neat, level lines when her hands were shaking. The way she apologized to horses.

The way she dropped things and looked at the sky like the world had betrayed her. "I’m terrified of this... probably of messing it up. And then being—"

I stopped. I didn’t have the word.

"Rough?" she offered.

I blinked.

"You said it," I said. "You told me before we came out here..."

"You said you were rough at this kind of stuff."

Her ears shot straight up. Her blush deepened from pink to something that looked almost crimson.

"I—I was just—you said you’ve fallen from heights, and I thought—"

"Eveline." I took her hands again. "I meant it... I’m not gentle."

"I’ve never been gentle with anyone... And I’m afraid that’s what you’ll need, and I’ll—"

"I’ve fallen from heights," she repeated, and there was something in her voice that wasn’t embarrassment.

It was certainty.

"I’ve been thrown through walls... I’ve had my bones set by healers who were too afraid to touch me because I was too strong to be broken."

"I’ve taken hits that would’ve killed a lesser man, and I got back up." She looked at me, and her amber eyes were steady and fierce and alive. "I’m not made of glass, Roland..."

"And I’m not asking you to pretend you are."

I looked at her, and yes... I did it again by really looking at her, and I felt something shift.

Something deep and old and primal, like a door opening in a room I’d been keeping locked.

"You’re sure?" I said.

"I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life."