The Keep is silent for once, and Elissa is surprised by how much she welcomes it - and how much she hates it, as well. She lies on her back in bed, staring up at the ceiling. The mattress is soft, like the ones back home used to be. Back when she was a silly girl, a noble born with a sword in hand and hated the idea of marrying for alliance, bloodlines, and everything else that was boring about the idea.
It hasn't yet even been two years since she was that girl. How strange that time could change so much about her, clipped and rubbed wrong until a Warden Commander stands where a girl used to be.
She sighs and gives up the idea of sleeping. It's not going to happen in the silence. Instead, she slips out of her room, letting the cold stone floor comfort her bare feet as she makes her way down the halls. She wanders in the dark because it's comforting, and because then she could see the light of others - if they, too, are unable to sleep.
It's a curious thing to find herself outside of Nathaniel Howe's room, then, the flicker of his candle telling her that he's still awake.
Some people would knock. Elissa thinks about it briefly before she simply opens his door and lets herself inside. She's a soldier and a Warden and his commander, and this is technically her place.
He's sitting at his desk with her back to him, shirtless. She closes the door quietly, the click barely audible. This is dangerous, she tells herself, padding silently over to him.
It's a joke, she thinks. A prank. She remembers pulling pranks. Remembers that, once, Nate used to be a subject to those plenty of times as children, and he was a poor sport about it all the time.
For a second, she hesitates. The memory hits her out of nowhere, emerging from a haze where she's tried to eradicate everything Howe from her life after his father… After Rendon had…
"You should work on your skills," he says suddenly, jolting her out of the memory.
"What?"
Nate twists in the chair, and she doesn't even pretend that her eyes aren't searching his chest, taking in old scars and new wounds. She's not bothered by the way his eyes roam over her for a brief second. That's what she gets for wearing an undershirt and a pair of loose trousers that barely hang onto her hips.
"You waited too long to attack me. I can sense you." He coughs, gaze on her face now. "The blood, I mean. I could sense that someone was there. And I thought to myself, who else would it be in the middle of the night? It must be that Cousland girl, coming to cut my hair off again."
"Oh please. that happened one time. I was five," Elissa protests. She holds up her hands. "Besides, I have no scissors or a knife."
"It was twice," he mutters before turning back around, bending over the desk again. She can't tell if he's insulting her by thinking she's not a threat now or complimenting her because he trusts her.
"Your hair could use a cut." She comes up behind him now, letting her fingers drag through his mess of hair. It's wet, likely from a bath, and unbrushed. Her fingers get tangled, and he sighs with immense exasperation.
"What are you doing?" With his free hand, he snatches her wrist and tugs her hand away.
"What are you doing?" she fires back. A small smirk plays at her lips.
"Writing a letter to my sister."
"This late at night?"
He still has her wrist caught in his grip, and he completely abandons the idea of writing said letter now. "It's late, Commander."
"Elissa."
"If you're looking for companionship, you've come to the wrong room."
Her lips purse, brow furrowing. Is that an insult? She feels like it should be, but there's no immediate rush of anger, no need to prove him wrong that bubbles up. She isn't even sure if she's come here for that sort of companionship.
"Yours was the first one with light inside of it."
He watches her for a moment, looking up at her from his seat. And then he leans over, blowing out the candle on his desk and tossing the both of them into darkness. "Now there is no light."
"Yes, but you've still imprisoned my wrist," she laughs.
He groans. "You are insufferable."
He stands and drops her wrist, but neither of them really move. She can still see him this close, the pinched look on his face, the way he looks down the slope of his nose at her.
"You could always pretend I'm not me," she finds herself saying. "In the dark, nobody has to know the truth."
"Better to not touch you than to pretend you're someone else," he mutters. "Who would I pretend you are, Elissa?"
Her fingers trail along the bare expanse of his abs. "Oh, I know. I could be a princess, and you can be my gallant knight, come to protect me from the dark."
His breath hitches, caught somewhere between a sigh and arousal. "This is a stupid game. I won't play it."
"Do you want to be the princess, then?" She presses herself against him, her lips against his shoulder. "I'll keep you safe, your highness."
"Your mouth is more likely to get us in trouble than to keep me safe," Nate growls.
Elissa grins up at him. "I can't tell if you're playing along or being your—"
His mouth descends on hers in an instant, cutting her off before she can even finish her thought. She's on the desk in another breath, her thighs wrapped loosely around his hips as his teeth cut into her lip.
"Mortal enemies," he breathes against her mouth.
"Oh, that's a good one," Elissa murmurs in agreement. "You better really commit to the role."
He does, surprisingly enough.