In the dim glow of the study's inner chamber, Mirha and Arvin lay entwined on the bed, their bodies slick with sweat and the remnants of their fervent union. Sleep eluded them both, exhaustion weaving through their limbs like a heavy fog, yet a strange vitality pulsed beneath it, keeping their senses sharp. Mirha rested her head on Arvin's broad chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing a soothing rhythm against the relentless patter of rain lashing the windows. The storm outside raged on, thunder rumbling distantly, the only sound piercing the quiet intimacy of the room. Arvin's fingers idly twined through her disheveled hair, tracing gentle patterns along her scalp, each touch sending faint shivers across her skin.
She lifted her head slowly, propping her chin on his chest to gaze at his face. His features, softened in the afterglow, held a noble elegance that stole her breath—high cheekbones, full lips curved in quiet contentment, and eyes that darkened with unspoken emotion as they met hers. Tentatively, Mirha reached up, her fingertips brushing along the line of his jaw, tracing the faint stubble there. 'Why are nobles so beautiful?' she whispered, her voice barely above the storm's murmur, laced with genuine wonder and a hint of awe.
Arvin held her stare, his hand pausing in her hair as he considered her words. A soft smile tugged at his lips, and he answered with raw honesty, his tone warm and unadorned. 'Because they come from the finest ladies,' he said, his gaze never wavering, the truth of his lineage and the world he inhabited laid bare in that simple admission.
Mirha hummed softly in response, a thoughtful sound that vibrated against his skin. She shifted then, sitting up beside him, the sheets pooling around her waist. Arvin mirrored her movement, propping himself on one elbow, his brow furrowing in mild confusion as she slipped from the bed. Her naked form moved with a graceful sway, gathering her discarded dress from the floor and slipping it over her shoulders, tying the laces loosely without fully fastening them.
'Where are you going?' Arvin asked, his voice tinged with concern, sitting fully upright now, the sheets falling away to reveal the taut lines of his torso.
'Nowhere,' she replied simply, a small smile playing on her lips as she padded toward the door. She stepped out into the main study briefly, the cooler air raising faint goosebumps on her arms. The guard stationed outside straightened at her appearance, his face impassive but attentive. 'Ensure no one disturbs us,' she instructed quietly, her tone carrying the subtle authority of her position as Precious Concubine. He nodded once, sharp and obedient, before she turned and reentered the chamber.
She crossed back to the bed, perching on the edge where Arvin sat, her dress whispering against the mattress. He extended his arm in a silent invitation, beckoning her closer with a tilt of his head. Mirha complied without hesitation, sliding into his embrace. His strong arms encircled her waist, pulling her flush against his side, her back to his chest as he held her securely. She reached down, her hands covering his forearms, fingers interlacing with his in a gentle hold, their warmth mingling as the storm continued its symphony beyond the walls.
The quiet cocoon of their embrace shattered with a soft knock at the door, pulling Arvin and Mirha from their shared reverie. The storm's fury masked the sound at first, but it persisted, insistent. Mirha's voice emerged faint, almost swallowed by the rain's roar. 'Come in,' she murmured, her words threading through the air like a fragile whisper.
The door creaked open, and a servant entered the main study, head bowed low in deference. He carried a tray bearing a steaming pot and two delicate cups, the aroma of herbal infusion wafting faintly amid the damp chill seeping from the windows. Without a word, he set it down on the low table near the hearth, the porcelain clinking softly against the wood. His eyes remained fixed on the floor, avoiding any glance toward the inner chamber, before he retreated as silently as he had arrived, the door clicking shut behind him.
Arvin disentangled himself gently from Mirha, his hand lingering on her waist for a moment before he rose. She followed suit, smoothing her dress as they stepped back into the study proper, the warmth of the fire casting flickering shadows across the room. Arvin approached the tray, his gaze narrowing on the murky liquid swirling within the pot. It had an odd, earthy hue, flecked with unfamiliar petals and roots that didn't quite align with the usual palace blends. Suspicion etched his features as he lifted the lid slightly, inhaling the sharp, medicinal scent. 'What is this for?' he asked, his tone laced with caution, turning to face her.
Mirha met his eyes steadily, though a flicker of hesitation crossed her own. 'To prevent pregnancies,' she replied softly, her fingers twisting the edge of her sleeve as she moved to the table.
The words hung in the air, striking Arvin like a sudden gust. Confusion clouded his expression first, brows knitting together, then a deeper hurt bloomed in his chest, tightening like a vise. His face paled slightly, the color draining as the implications settled— the careful distance she maintained, the barriers she erected even in their most vulnerable moments. He nodded slowly, the motion mechanical, masking the swirl of emotions beneath. Without another word, he sank into the high-backed chair nearby, the leather creaking under his weight. His arms crossed over his chest as he watched her, silent and intent, as she began to mix the brew.
Mirha's hands moved with practiced efficiency, pouring the hot liquid into the cups and stirring in a pinch of pale powder from a small vial on the tray. The steam rose in lazy curls, carrying that same bitter tang, and she added a spoonful of honey to each, tempering the flavor. Her back was to him for a moment, but she felt his stare like a physical weight, heavy with unspoken questions. When she turned, offering him one of the cups, her eyes searched his face, a quiet plea for understanding lingering there.
Mirha lifted the cup to her lips once more, forcing down the last bitter dregs of the brew. Her face twisted in revulsion as the acrid aftertaste coated her tongue, sharp and unforgiving like wilted herbs left too long in the sun. She set the cup down with a clink, her nose wrinkling as she stuck out her tongue in a childish grimace. 'That was disgusting,' she muttered, her voice laced with a mix of disgust and reluctant amusement, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.
Arvin's lips curved into a soft giggle, the sound low and warm, cutting through the tension that had lingered between them. His eyes sparkled with affection, the earlier hurt easing slightly at the sight of her unfiltered reaction. He extended a hand toward her, his voice gentle but commanding. 'Come here, little one.'
She hesitated for a heartbeat, her tongue still protruding in protest, before padding across the room on bare feet. The floorboards were cool beneath her soles, a stark contrast to the heat building in her cheeks. Arvin reached out as she neared, his strong arms encircling her waist and drawing her down onto his lap with effortless strength. She settled against him, her thighs straddling his, the fabric of her dress bunching up slightly as she leaned into his chest. His hands rested on her hips, steady and possessive.
'Let me taste,' he murmured, his breath warm against her ear, a hint of playfulness threading through the words.
Mirha shook her head lightly, her tongue darting back in as she swallowed the remnants of the flavor. 'It's done,' she replied, her tone half-protesting, half-inviting, her fingers tracing idle patterns on his shoulder.
But Arvin wasn't deterred. He cupped her face with one hand, his thumb brushing her lower lip, coaxing it to part. Leaning in, he captured her mouth in a deep kiss, his lips firm and insistent against hers. She melted into it, her body relaxing as his tongue slipped past her teeth, exploring the lingering bitterness with unhurried strokes. He pulled back just enough to whisper against her lips, his voice husky, 'In here.'
Before she could respond, his mouth claimed hers again, hungrier this time. Their tongues tangled in a slow, sensual dance, the sharp tang of the tea mingling with the sweetness of their shared breath. Arvin's free hand slid up her back, fingers threading into her hair to hold her close, deepening the kiss until she was breathless, her hands clutching at his tunic. The world narrowed to the press of their bodies, the soft sounds of their making out filling the study—the wet slide of lips, the quiet gasps between presses. Outside, the storm raged on, but in that moment, nothing existed beyond the intimate heat building between them.