A Court of Graves and Flowers

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Tamlin awoke to the softest touch, a gentle warmth pressed in the crook between his neck and shoulder. He smiled, a silent secret shared with the morning light that peeked through the curtains. Callisto's face, serene and peaceful, was nestled against his skin, her breath a whisper against his pulse.

Gently, he brushed a stray strand of midnight hair from her cheek. His fingertips tracing the delicate curve of her jawline, so light that it didn't wake her. The guilt he had carried had softened into admiration, then bloomed into friendship. But as he watched the sunlight paint her face with gold, a new realization dawned, sharp and undeniable. This was not just friendship, not anymore. It was a tide rising within him, a torrent of emotions that threatened to explode.

He was in love. Hopelessly, irrevocably, in love.

It was a love that bloomed in quiet moments like this.

A love that roared in the face of danger.

A love that ached in the silence between them.

The realization struck him like a bolt of lightning, illuminating the corners of his heart he hadn't dared to explore. The ache in his chest, long attributed to regret, now pulsed with a desperate longing. But the words tangled in his throat, strangled by fear and uncertainty. He feared shattering this fragile peace, this stolen moment of intimacy, with a confession that might be met with rejection.

He ached with the impossible choice: to love in silence, or risk losing everything.

Tamlin sighed, the sound a whisper against the quiet morning. He couldn't keep it bottled up forever. But for now, there were more pressing issues at hand. So, he nudged her gently, the touch hesitant yet filled with tenderness. "Good morning," he murmured, smiling as Callisto groaned and snuggled closer to him, burying her face in his chest. "I hate to wake you, but Rhysand mentioned something about sending Amren here."

He watched as Callisto stirred; those purple eyes that seemed to contain galaxies within them blinked up at him. Her smile, sleepy and warm, lit a fire underneath his skin. "Good morning. Is it that day already?"

"I'm afraid so."

Callisto groaned, looking back up at him with a pout. Gods, what he would give to feel those lips against his. "Can't we just hide here forever until Amren goes away?"

His need for her was momentarily replaced by amusement as he imagined Rhys's tiny second scowling in annoyance when there was no on there to receive her. "As tempting as that sounds, I don't think we want to get on Amren's bad side. If the stories I've heard of her are true, she isn't one to be trifled with."

"You're right," Callisto said with resignation before finally rolling out of his arms. The world suddenly felt empty. She sat at the edge of the bed, glancing over her shoulder at him. "Thank you, Tamlin. Not just for getting me out of bed this morning, but for . . . for staying."

"Always," he replied, the word heavy with the weight of his unspoken love.

As Callisto rose, her midnight hair swirling like liquid shadows, Tamlin also got out of bed. For now, he had to ensure that the servants prepared breakfast before he, too, got dressed for the day.

⭐|🌙|⭐

Tamlin stood poised in the heart of the grand dining hall, a solitary figure bathed in the morning's golden light. The scent of spiced honey and freshly baked bread hung heavy in the air, a testament to the unseen kitchen faeries already bustling about their duties. Yet, his attention was not on the sumptuous breakfast laid out before him, but on the doorway, where he waited, anticipation coiled tight in his chest.