Kira sat quietly on the edge of the command tent's raised platform, the leather flaps rustling faintly in the wind outside. The scent of firewood and rain lingered on her clothes. Behind her, Lexa's cloak was draped over a wooden chair, its edges still damp from the morning fog. The rain had stopped an hour ago, but the heavy clouds overhead suggested it wasn't finished with them yet.
The silence between them stretched like taut string.
Lexa stood at the war table, hands clasped behind her back. Her jaw was tense, lips pressed into a fine line as she examined the latest map updates. Kira watched her with sharp eyes—keenly aware of every twitch, every subtle shift in posture. She wasn't just a warrior. She was a leader bearing the weight of hundreds of lives.
Kira finally broke the silence. "You're planning something big. I can see it in your shoulders."
Lexa didn't turn around. "There are movements along the southern borders. Trikru scouts spotted Azgeda banners near the edge of their forest line. Too close."
"And?"
"We can't afford to strike first. But we may not have a choice."
Kira rose and walked up beside her. "Then give them a reason not to. Show strength—without the sword. You're good at that."
Lexa looked at her now, and something flickered in her eyes. Not doubt, but the ache of calculation. The burden of choosing who lived and who died.
Kira reached out and placed a hand gently on Lexa's shoulder. "Let them believe the sword is coming, but don't draw it until they do."
Lexa exhaled slowly, then nodded. "You always speak like you've led armies."
Kira gave her a sidelong glance. "You don't need to lead armies to know how to survive them."
There was a beat of quiet.
Lexa's voice dropped. "I have a meeting with the ambassadors in an hour."
Kira arched a brow. "Want me there?"
"Always."
Kira paused, warmth creeping into her chest. Lexa rarely said things like that so plainly. The honesty of it sat heavy between them, unspoken but heard.
The ambassador meeting dragged for nearly two hours. Kira stood near the back of the tent, arms crossed, her gaze flicking between every face that dared raise a voice against Lexa's decisions. There was tension in the air—charged like a storm about to break. And yet Lexa held it all with an iron composure, her words laced with diplomacy and steel.
Kira noticed the way the Floukru envoy kept watching her. Studying. Measuring.
When the meeting finally ended and the tent cleared, Kira waited until only she and Lexa remained.
"They're testing you," Kira said.
Lexa walked to her and handed over a small scroll. "And they'll keep testing me until I give them a reason to fear the outcome."
Kira tucked the scroll away. "Then maybe it's time you gave them one."
That night, the rain returned.
Kira sat outside her tent under the shelter of a heavy canopy, sharpening her blades by lantern light. The soft rasp of stone on metal was meditative. A rhythm.
Footsteps approached, slow and deliberate.
Lexa appeared, drenched despite the hood drawn low over her head. Her armor was gone—replaced by soft, loose robes in deep green and black.
Kira raised an eyebrow. "Not the usual nightwear."
Lexa smiled faintly. "I needed to get out of my own skin for a moment."
Kira stood and wordlessly gestured her inside.
Once the flaps were drawn shut, Lexa pulled back her hood, water dripping from the ends of her hair. She looked tired. But underneath it—worn edges, frayed heart—there was a fire still lit.
Kira stepped closer and gently reached for a dry cloth. "You'll catch cold."
Lexa didn't move away. She let Kira blot the rain from her cheeks, her neck, her hair. The intimacy of the moment wasn't loud or dramatic. It was quiet. Real.
Kira's hands paused at Lexa's shoulders. "You came for a reason."
Lexa looked at her with unreadable eyes. "You ground me. Even when everything else feels like sand slipping between fingers."
Kira didn't smile. She just leaned forward, forehead resting against Lexa's. "Then stay. Just for tonight. Not as the Commander. Just as you."
Lexa nodded. Slowly. Deliberately.
Their kiss started hesitant—an uncertain exploration. But once the dam broke, it surged forward. Lexa's hands found Kira's waist, pulling her close as their lips deepened. Kira pressed her against the wooden post, heat blooming between them.
Clothes were discarded with unhurried care, each layer a silent agreement. There was no need for urgency. Only the desire to feel, to touch, to know.
Their bodies moved like dancers in the dark—synchronized, instinctive. Lexa's mouth traced along Kira's neck, while Kira's fingers explored every inch of her skin with reverent purpose.
The furs cushioned them, tangled and warm. Kira hovered above her for a moment, eyes drinking her in. Lexa looked up, vulnerable and sure all at once.
Kira whispered, "You're safe."
Lexa responded with a kiss that spoke of trust and something deeper.
They moved together in waves, breathing each other in. When Lexa cried out softly, Kira held her tighter—hands trembling, not from fear, but from emotion too vast to name.
The night was long. But neither of them slept.
Morning came with muted light and distant camp noises.
Lexa was already dressing when Kira stirred. She glanced over her shoulder. "You should sleep more."
Kira propped herself up on an elbow. "You're a lot of work."
Lexa allowed a rare smile. "Then I'm worth the effort."
Kira chuckled, then sobered. "Last night... it wasn't just stress, was it?"
Lexa paused. "No."
She turned, her expression bare. "It was something I wanted. Not something I needed."
Kira nodded. That answer, more than any vow, settled something deep inside her.
They didn't label it. Didn't rush to define what it was becoming. But as Lexa left the tent, Kira knew that something between them had shifted.
And it wasn't going back.
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