Arrow Lake abbatia

She looked at him—truly looked at him. The simmering gaze—the tension that coiled in him, held back only by the facade he maintain a soldier’s intentions of following an order—or one that imposed them, keeping emotion at bay should it falter the task that required accomplishment.

A downturn at the edges of her lips at his words—her eyes sharp as they moved over him, consideration. She had been a balm to him at one point—that she understood. A pleasant distraction from the leave of his wife when he sought the solace of an ear who held no judgement for a man of his rank having something as mundane as pesky emotions. “I don’t think I’ve ever actually seen you happy,” she spoke—the words soft from her lips, despite the venom she had meant to leech into the statement. Nonsensical—for he had apologized for his previous words. Still—she wore her hurt as a shield.

And he wanted to leave. That arrow shot at her twisting just a little further, digging a little deeper—enough to take her breath away with a shaky exhale, her nares flaring and her lips pinching together. “And where will Mereo go?”