"Ow," she hissed and he looked up from his notes.
"Are you alright?"
"Just a papercut," she waved him off but he was already on his feet.
"Let me see," he took the book from her hand, intent on inspecting her injury, and was surprised when she grabbed for it. Interest piqued, he took a closer look to find that she was not reading Foist's Compendium of Vertebrates , as he had thought, but had slid the dust jacket over another book entirely.
"Lilac in Winter?" He grinned, holding the book out of reach.
"Numair," she groaned, turning red.
"Daine, I had no idea you were such a romantic." He couldn't help but tease her. Of all the women he knew she might be the last he expected to wile away their hours with romance novels. Well, Onua might be the last. Daine was a close second, though.
"You don't know everything about me." She scowled, holding out her hand, and he returned the book to her.
"So you read these often?" He raised an eyebrow when she turned even redder than before.
"Not all the time. Besides, Onua said this is a classic," she grumbled and stuffed the offending tome into her bag. Well, wrong on both counts then.
"It is, actually." She cast him a sharp look and he shrugged, "I've read it."
"And here you are, teasing me !"
"Well, I wouldn't boast it as one of my greatest accomplishments. It's decent enough, for the genre. Sappy, angsty—star-crossed lovers. You know the drill." Her expression changed to something he couldn't place, and so he brushed it aside. If he remembered correctly, it was actually a very sad but very well-written book. The young lovers never do end up finding the right time. "Let me know what you think."
A week later, he was interrupted by knocking at his door. The hour was late, and the pounding frantic—and so it was with a sinking feeling he answered it. Immortals attack, siege, gods above—another war; his mind cycled through all of the things that were probably going wrong at that very moment when he opened the door to find Daine. She looked small; eyes wide, face pale, curls sticking to her face his first clue that it must be raining.
He opened his mouth to speak, reaching out to her, but she held up the book and shook her head, "Numair, I don't want this to be us."