Page 18 of Elemental Becoming

Then, she mouths,You’re definitely having sex tonight.

I choke back a laugh, poking her harder.

“Stop it,” I hiss under my breath.

Lyra shrugs, entirely too pleased with herself. But she doesn’t stop—just gives me that mischievous look of hers, the one that saysI have waited my entire life for this moment and I will not let you ruin it for me.

I glare at her, but I’m grinning too. I’ll always love her kid-at-heart ways. She makes theheavyfeel less heavy, effortlessly.

Sera doesn’t turn around, but I swear I catch the faintest shake of her head, a twitch of her ear like she’s smiling. Instead, she keeps leading us forward. Straight to his chambers.

The higher we climb, the quieter the castle becomes. The sounds of the Keep, conversations of staff and the distant footsteps of guards at their posts, fade away. This part of the castle just feels more intimate.

Sera stops in front of a heavy wooden door carved with the sigil of the Fire Clan, its deep grooves worn smooth from years of use. I stare at the iron handle, the polished dark wood, the sheer weight of it.

And hesitate.

Because this isn’t justadoor.

It’shisdoor.

Stepping inside feels like stepping into something much bigger than just a room.

I take a steadying breath, then push the door open and peek inside.

The chamber is large but not extravagant—designed for function, not indulgence. A massive sitting area occupies one side, anchored by a long wooden table and sturdy chairs with gray cushions on each seat.

To the right is a private bathing chamber. Through the arched entryway, I see the stone tub deep enough to submerge entirely. And against the far wall rests the bed.

It’s massive. Dark sheets. Thick furs piled high. Built for warmth. For comfort. For solitude.

And suddenly I understand.

This room has never been shared; Thane has lived here alone for years.

The furnishings are minimal—clean lines and dark wood. Stone floors are softened by worn rugs. The faint scent of cedar and leather lingers in the air.

And yet there’s warmth here. Not in opulence or softness, but in presence.

It feels like a retreat from the burdens of the world. A space carved out of duty and solitude, of the kind of silence only those who lead need. Built for someone who has always carried the weight of command alone.

And now—impossibly—it’s also mine.

Not because I claimed it, but because Thane chose to include me in this space.

And that means more than I know how to say. I swallow the lump of emotion rising in my throat.

Sera points to the wall by a desk. Above it hangs a textile, about the size of a window, depicting a farm.

“The Warlord had that commissioned for you,” Sera explains.“He sent sketch artists to your farm to capture it. Then had the capital’s finest tapestry weavers recreate it.”

I step closer, squinting slightly. A pang of nostalgia hits when I notice the details: the wind chime on the porch, the rocking chairs arranged angled towards one another instead of facing the fields, the faded blue door.

Tears sting my eyes.

Lyra gasps from the doorway. “Mara! It’s your home!”

I press my fingers to the corners of my eyes, shaking my head.