Chapter 7 The Moon Watches, Too

• By the fourth morning of what Meiha called my “honeymoon with herbs,” I’d come to three conclusions:
• First—dried fever-leaf attracts bugs that bite like they hold grudges.
• Second—Kaelin, for all his silence, misses nothing.
• Third—Meiha has far too much time on her hands.
• I was knee-deep in sorting spiritmint and scorched bark, the scent of dried petals and acrid roots lingering thick in the air. The healer’s hut wasn’t large, but it was packed to the corners with bundles, baskets, and jars. Every inch of space had a purpose. Except Meiha, who currently occupied a stool for absolutely no reason except to cause chaos.
• Kaelin sat across from me, labeling clay jars with precise, neat script. His head was slightly bowed, long lashes brushing his cheeks. He hadn’t spoken much since morning, but every now and then he made quiet, efficient observations—like how the powdered brier was misaligned on the shelf or how the red-gold resin was starting to spoil by scent.
• It was like working with a helpful spirit—silent, vaguely magical, unnervingly present.
• “You moved the spiritmint again,” Kaelin murmured.
• I didn’t even look up. “I reorganized it for airflow.”
• “You reorganized it after Ravnir left.”
• I froze mid-grind. “What does that have to do with anything?”
• Kaelin said nothing. Which was worse.
• Meiha snorted. “Oh, don’t start, Kaelin. Let me handle this.”
• She leaned forward like a tiger ready to pounce, green eyes glinting with mischief.
• “Did you know,” she began conversationally, “that your very serious Leader has been spending an awful lot of nights standing outside this hut?”
• I stopped grinding completely. “What?”
• “He’s not subtle,” Kaelin added without looking up.
• “He guards the door,” Meiha continued with a wicked grin. “Every night. Silent as a shadow, but very much there. I may or may not have thrown a rock once to check if he was real. It bounced off his boot.”
• I pinched the bridge of my nose. “He’s probably just doing a patrol route.”
• Meiha gasped. “Oh! So now patrolling means sitting cross-legged like a wolf sentinel and glaring at anything that breathes near the healer’s hut?”
• “Exaggeration doesn’t make it true.”
• “It does when Kaelin confirms it.”
• Kaelin nodded once. “He doesn’t stay anywhere else that long.”
• “Traitor,” I muttered.
• Meiha giggled. “Come on, Xueya. You can’t pretend you don’t notice. The way your voice gets all clipped when he’s close? Or how you suddenly have to touch everything on the shelf like it personally offended you?”
• “I am reorganizing for functionality.”
• “Is blushing functional?”
• I groaned. “You’re both fired.”
• “You don’t employ us.”
• “Exactly.”
• Kaelin set down a sealed jar, then—bless him—whispered, “He’s here.”
• Meiha jumped up like a sprinter at a race horn. “Right. Kaelin, help me… check the outer baskets. All forty of them.”
• “We have twelve,” he replied, but followed her anyway.
• And just like that, they vanished—leaving me to face the quiet storm known as Ravnir.
• He stood in the doorway, silver hair slightly tousled from the wind, his icy blue eyes impossible to read. His tunic hung open at the collar, and a fresh bruise peeked out along the ridge of his left shoulder.
• “You’re hurt,” I said before I could stop myself.
• He glanced down. “Training. Nothing serious.”
• I frowned. “Next time let me check it.”
• A slow smirk tugged at the edge of his mouth. “Next time, I will.”
• I turned away, pretending to suddenly find the wall of jars incredibly interesting.
• He stepped inside. The air seemed to shift around him, not heavy—but charged. Ravnir had that effect. Stillness that made your skin prickle. Like standing under dark clouds before lightning struck.
• “You moved the mint again,” he said.
• “I did not.”
• He arched a brow. “It’s not where it was last time I visited.”
• “You have a very unhealthy memory for herbs you don’t even use.”
• “Only the ones you touch often.”
• My hand stilled over the salve tin. I looked at him. “Why?”
• He tilted his head slightly. “I like knowing where you are. Even when I’m not close.”
• The tin slipped from my fingers. He caught it midair and set it back down without looking away.
• “I—what are you even trying to say?”
• He stepped closer. “You hum when you’re focused. You click your tongue when you’re annoyed. And you always—always—run your fingers over the mint when you're nervous.”
• I couldn’t look at him. I didn’t trust my face not to betray me.
• “You’ve been… paying attention,” I said finally.
• “I watch what matters,” he replied. “Always.”
• My throat tightened. His voice wasn’t teasing—it was quiet, intense, and far too sincere.
• I forced a dry laugh. “You’re wasting a lot of energy on a healer who reorganizes leaves and talks to herself.”
• His smile curved slow, sharp, and utterly wicked. “It’s not a waste.”
• I swallowed. “Ravnir.”
• He leaned in just a little. Not enough to touch, but enough to trap every word between us.
• “Walk with me tonight.”
• “Walk?”
• “To the eastern ridge. The fireflies have started nesting.”
• “The fireflies.”
• “They’re bright. Beautiful. Like you.”
• I made a strangled sound. “You don’t have to be poetic about bugs.”
• He chuckled. A low, rumbling thing that made my stomach flip.
• “Then come for the moon,” he said, stepping back. “If not for me.”
• He left with that. Just a simple exit, no drama—only the lingering heat of words I wasn’t ready to acknowledge.
• When Meiha and Kaelin slipped back in, she took one look at my face and grinned like she’d swallowed a whole sun.
• “So,” she said. “Do fireflies count as official courting now?”
• I didn’t respond. I didn’t have to. Kaelin handed me a cup of water like he was prepared for spontaneous combustion.
• I drank it. Slowly. Thoroughly.
• And out beyond the walls, beneath the ever-watching moon, Ravnir waited.