Night had fully settled by the time Soren returned. The castle had quieted into that heavy stillness that made everything feel closer than it was—too aware, too contained.
Freya was already in bed when he entered. She was not asleep, just still, listening without meaning to.
The door clicked shut behind him. There was a brief pause before his footsteps crossed the room, unhurried and certain.
"You're awake,"
Soren said simply.
Freya did not turn.
"Unfortunately."
That earned a faint exhale from him, almost amused.
He did not leave, but he did not keep his distance either. The mattress dipped slightly as he sat beside her. He did not touch her at first—just his presence.
"Eugene thinks I should take you somewhere," he said.
That made Freya shift slightly, though she did not fully turn toward him yet.
"Somewhere?" she asked.
Soren's gaze lingered on her.
"Lysara."
Freya frowned faintly.
"Why there?"
"The sea," Soren replied simply.
He paused briefly before adding,
"And fewer places to disappear into."
Freya let out a quiet huff.
"So it's still about control."
Soren did not deny it. He rarely bothered when it was obvious.
"It's about predictability," he corrected.
Freya finally turned her head slightly toward him.
"And you're calling that a trip."
His expression shifted just a fraction—not defensive, almost entertained.
"You don't like it," he said.
"I don't trust it," she replied.
That earned a slow, measured look from him, as though he were reading the exact line where resistance and curiosity overlapped.
"You've never seen the ocean," he said.
It was not a question.
Freya hesitated, just long enough.
"…No," she admitted.
That small crack in her certainty changed the air immediately.
Soren leaned back slightly against the headboard, more relaxed but no less aware.
"It's louder than you expect," he said. "Unpredictable. Constant."
Freya glanced at him.
"That sounds like something you'd hate."
"I didn't say I hated it," he replied. After a brief pause, he added,
"I said it doesn't obey anything."
That made her quiet, because that part she understood too easily.
Silence stretched between them. It was not uncomfortable, just weighted.
Soren shifted slightly, turning toward her more fully. His elbow rested on the mattress beside her, close enough that she felt the space change.
"You're thinking about going," he said quietly.
Freya's expression tightened.
"I'm thinking about not wanting to be moved around."
"That's not a denial," he said.
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
"Neither was that observation."
That earned the faintest curve at the corner of his mouth. Not quite a smile—something sharper, more personal.
"You're difficult when you're honest," he murmured.
Freya scoffed softly.
"You prefer me dishonest?"
Soren's gaze held hers longer this time.
"I prefer knowing what I'm dealing with," he said. After a pause, he added,
"And you are not that simple."
That landed differently than it should have.
Freya looked away first, more annoyed at that fact than at his words.
"So I go," she said quietly.
It was not fully agreement, and not fully refusal either.
Soren did not respond immediately. Instead, he shifted slightly closer, just enough that she became more aware of him again. He was not crowding her, just impossible to ignore.
"You're curious," he said.
Freya stiffened slightly.
"No."
There was a pause before she corrected herself more quietly.
"…Yes."
That earned a low, almost inaudible hum from him.
Freya turned her head sharply.
"That's not—"
He cut her off gently, but firmly.
"It's information," he said.
Silence followed again.
Freya stared at him for a moment before exhaling slowly.
"I don't like you."
"You say that often," he replied.
"Because it's true."
Soren studied her for a moment longer, then leaned back slightly again. He did not move away.
"Rest," he said quietly.
Freya hesitated.
"And Lysara?"
His gaze flicked back to her, calm and certain.
"You'll see it," he said. After a pause, he added,
"Whether you decide to or not."
And somehow, that did not sound like a threat.
It sounded like inevitability.
***
The carriage settled into a steady rhythm as it left the gates behind.
The sound of wheels over stone softened into something almost soothing.
Freya shifted slightly in her seat, stretching carefully as if testing whether her body would complain about it.
"…You're frowning," he said.
Freya glanced at him.
"…I'm thinking."
"That usually involves less suffering," he replied.
That earned a look from her.
"…Are you always this charming in the morning?"
Soren leaned back slightly.
"…Only when I'm observing poor posture."
Freya scoffed softly.
"…My posture is fine."
"It's defensive," he corrected.
A pause.
"…There's a difference."
Freya stared at him for a moment.
Then deliberately sat up straighter.
Overcorrecting.
Soren's gaze flicked over her.
"…Now it's theatrical," he said.
That made her exhale through her nose, something between annoyance and reluctant amusement.
"…You're impossible."
"So I've been told," he replied.
A quiet pause followed.
Not uncomfortable.
Just… occupied.
Freya glanced out the window again, then back at him.
"…Do you ever actually relax?" she asked.
Soren considered that.
Not immediately dismissing it.
That alone felt unusual.
"…I am relaxed," he said at last.
Freya gave him a look.
"…That's terrifying."
A faint shift at the corner of his mouth.
Not quite a smile.
But close enough to notice.
"…You assume relaxation requires visible softness," he said.
Freya tilted her head slightly.
"…And you assume it doesn't."
"That's because it doesn't," he replied calmly.
She let out a quiet laugh under her breath before she could stop it.
"…You really are insufferable."
Soren's gaze held hers a moment longer than necessary.
"…And yet," he said,
"…you're still here."
Freya's expression flickered—just slightly—before she looked away again.
"…Unfortunately for both of us."
Silence followed again.
But it wasn't sharp.
Soren shifted slightly, reaching for a folded document beside him, glancing at it briefly before setting it down again.
Then, without looking at her:
"…You're quieter when you're comfortable," he said.
Freya blinked.
"…I'm not comfortable."
"Mm," he murmured.
"…Not yet."
That made her glance at him again.
"…You're very confident about my emotional state for someone who claims to just be 'observing'."
Soren finally looked at her fully.
"…Observation requires patterns," he said.
A pause.
Freya frowned slightly.
"…That sounds like a threat."
"It isn't," he said.
Then, after a beat—
"…It's inconvenient."
That got an actual laugh from her this time.
Soren noticed immediately.
And something in his expression softened in a way he didn't comment on.
"…There," he said quietly.
Freya frowned.
"…There what?"
"That," he replied.
"…Less suffering."
She rolled her eyes.
"…You're unbearable."
"And yet," he said again, tone lighter now,
"…still here."
Freya didn't answer this time.
But she didn't look away either.
And for the rest of the ride—
the silence between them stayed easier than it had any right to be.
***
The coastline appeared gradually, as if the world itself was reluctant to reveal it all at once.
At first, it was only the change in air.
Salt carried on the wind.
Then the sound came.
A distant, steady rhythm Freya couldn't immediately place.
She leaned slightly toward the window before she could stop herself.
Just a fraction.
Just enough.
Soren noticed.
But he didn't comment.
He simply watched her the way he had been doing more often lately.
As if waiting for something to happen rather than directing it.
Freya shifted back quickly, smoothing her expression as though she had done nothing at all.
"…It's just wind," she said lightly.
Soren's gaze didn't leave her.
"…It isn't wind," he replied.
That made her glance at him again.
"…Then what is it?"
He leaned slightly toward the window instead of answering right away.
"…You'll recognize it when we arrive."
Freya frowned.
"…That's not helpful."
"It isn't meant to be," he said calmly.
The carriage continued forward.
And then—
the road opened.
The village of Lysara came into view like a breath held too long finally released.
White stone buildings softened by sea air.
Docks stretching into restless water.
Sails shifting in the distance.
And beyond everything—
the ocean itself.
Endless.
Alive in a way nothing inland ever was.
Freya went still.
Not completely.
Not outwardly.
But something in her posture changed immediately.
Soren saw it.
The subtle shift she thought she was hiding.
The way her attention locked forward.
The way her breath changed just slightly as if she had forgotten how to regulate it.
"…You're doing it again," he said quietly.
Freya blinked.
"…Doing what?"
"Failing to look unimpressed," he replied.
That earned a faint sound from her—half scoff, half disbelief.
"…I am unimpressed."
Soren's eyes flicked to her.
"…That's a lie."
Freya opened her mouth.
Then closed it again.
Because she had nothing convincing to say.
The carriage slowed as they entered the village.
People glanced briefly at them, then away again—recognizing enough authority not to linger.
Soren stepped out first when they stopped.
Then offered his hand, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Freya hesitated only a moment longer than necessary.
Then took it.
Not because she needed it.
But because refusing it suddenly felt louder than accepting it.
The moment her feet touched the ground, the sound of the ocean deepened again.
Closer now.
Freya turned slightly toward it before she could stop herself.
Just a glance.
Then another.
Soren watched the direction of her gaze.
Not the ocean.
Her reaction to it.
"…We'll stay here," he said, motioning toward a stone-built inn near the center of the village.
Freya tore her attention back reluctantly.
"…We're staying?"
"Yes," Soren replied.
"…We're not camping on the beach."
That made her exhale something almost like relief, though she tried to hide it.
Soren's expression shifted faintly.
Soren gestured toward the inn again.
Inside, the space was warm.
Wood and salt air and quiet voices in the background.
A place that felt like it belonged to nothing but itself.
Freya sat down the moment she was allowed to.
Just for a second.
Longer than she meant to.
Soren observed her from a short distance.
"…We'll go to the ocean tomorrow," he said.
Freya's head lifted slightly.
"…Tomorrow?"
"…And I'd prefer you not fall asleep standing on a dock." He said.
That earned a faint huff from her.
"…I can handle a walk."
"Mm," he said.
the smallest flicker of something like anticipation crossed her face before she could stop it.
"…Fine," she said quietly.
"…Tomorrow."
Soren studied her for a moment.
Then, softer than before:
Freya looked away quickly, as if the conversation had ended too naturally.
But her fingers didn't stop lightly tapping against the table.
Soren noticed that too.
And this time—
he didn't hide the faint satisfaction in it.