The sun beat down on the training grounds, relentless and scorching, casting heat mirages over the worn dirt and sparring rings. Kaelen moved through the melee like a god among mortals—bare-chested, sweat gleaming across every defined muscle, his strikes clean and efficient. But the battlefield no longer thrilled him. Not the way it used to.

The clang of steel, the shouted orders, the gasps of exertion—they were just background noise now.

Because she wasn't here.

His gaze flicked to the edge of the grounds, almost without thought, as if she might appear from the shimmering heat like some divine mirage. His healer. His soft-voiced balm in a brutal world.

Kaelen exhaled slowly, parried a blow with more strength than necessary, and sent his opponent stumbling backward. He was distracted. Again. He should focus. But he couldn’t get her out of his head—her delicate hands brushing over his wounds, the way she tutted disapprovingly when he grinned through pain. The way her fingers lingered just a bit too long. Or maybe that was him, never quite letting go.

Today, he had a plan.

No armor. No shirt. Just him and the open sky, bronzed skin slick with sweat, every movement tailored to draw the eye—her eye.

*Because he knew how she looked at him when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. The shy glances. The flush to her cheeks. Gods, I should wife her already.

The thought hit him like a warhammer to the chest. It startled him enough that the rookie knight he was sparring managed to land a shallow cut across his side. A sting, nothing more—but it brought a grin to Kaelen’s face.

Perfect.

He dropped his sword with a deliberate clatter and walked off the field without a backward glance. Let them whisper. Let the rookies think he was arrogant. He didn’t care.

He was bleeding.

And that meant he had an excuse to see her.

Crossing the courtyard, he passed Artemis, ever the flirt, surrounded by fluttering eyelashes and laughter. Kaelen gave him a clap on the back that made the man stumble mid-story, earning a round of giggles from the ladies.

"Morning, sweethearts," Kaelen drawled, voice a lazy rumble. Half of them turned bright pink. One nearly dropped her lace fan.

Artemis gave him a side-eye. "You need to wear armor, Kae. You’ll get yourself killed."

Kaelen smirked, gesturing to the thin trail of blood running down his side. “I did. Just not enough. Besides,” he added, already walking backwards toward the clinic, “some wounds are worth the attention.”

He reached the healer’s quarters and stepped inside like he owned it—like the space already belonged to him.

The air was cool, scented with lavender and herbs. Shelves lined the walls, filled with salves, jars, and handwritten notes. But his gaze locked on one thing, one person.

Her.

Back turned, sleeves rolled, focused entirely on sorting tiny glass vials by color and consistency. She was humming under her breath. Her braid had slipped loose, a few strands clinging to her neck. She hadn’t noticed him.

He took a step forward, silent. Another. Then—just because he could—he leaned down and pressed a slow, deliberately tender kiss to her temple.

Miss me? he murmured, voice low and smooth like velvet, almost sinful