Page 19 of A Kingdom's Heart
I smiled despite myself. “Good.”
She nudged my arm lightly. “Enough talking. The quicker we finish, the quicker we can leave.”
I nodded, not wanting to press further. I reached for the next shelf. The room was quiet again, filled only with the soft clatter of glass and metal. I could already imagine the relief of my bed, the feel of sleep pulling me under after a long day.
Then the door opened.
The sound was sharp against the stillness, and both of us turned at once.
A man stood in the doorway, tall and broad-shouldered. His hair was dark, and wet from the night and his jaw was sharp beneath the light. His deep brown eyes swept the room before settling on us.
My breath caught.
For a moment, my mind refused to name him. I could feel my pulse rise, the sound of it in my ears.
Raven moved first, her tone brisk. “He’s hurt,” she said, already crossing the room toward him. “Get a table ready.”
But I couldn’t move. The world seemed to narrow around the
sound of her voice and the sight of him stepping into the light. His tunic was torn at the shoulder, blood darkening the fabric. He looked pale, unsteady, but still somehow composed. Too composed for a man bleeding through his clothes.
It was him.
William.
My stomach twisted. Heat rushed to my face, chased by panic.
His eyes found mine almost at once. For a heartbeat, the world seemed to still.
Recognition hit like a spark. His brow furrowed slightly, his expression shifting, first surprise, then disbelief, then something softer that made my chest tighten.
“Elara,” he said quietly.
Raven turned at the name, confusion flickering across her face. “Who’s Ela—”
I cut her off with a quick glance. The look must have been enough; her words died in her throat
Raven hesitated, her eyes flickering between us. Something unreadable crossed her face. Curiosity, maybe suspicion, but she said nothing. Instead, she stepped forward and caught William gently by the arm. “Sit down before you fall down,” she said, her tone brisk again.
He did as she told him, lowering himself onto the nearest stool. His breathing was slow but heavy, his hand pressed tightly against
the wound.
I forced myself to move. My mind raced, but my body knew what to do. I reached for a clean cloth and a bowl of water as my fingers trembled.
Raven looked over her shoulder. “You take the cloth.” she said.
I nodded quickly. My throat felt dry.
Kneeling beside him, I pressed the cloth against his shoulder.
The torchlight glinted along his jaw, tracing the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. Up close, he smelled of iron and rain. He was watching me, really watching me with that same steady intensity I remembered from the night he opened his door.
My heart thudded painfully. I focused on the wound, not his eyes. “Hold still,” I said softly.
For a moment, neither of us spoke. The only sound was the soft splash of water and the quiet rasp of cloth on skin.
Then he said, low enough that Raven couldn’t quite hear, “So we do meet again after all.”
