"Elias… would you… remove the mask?"
The words left Ilya's mouth before she had time to weigh them. They floated in the quiet between them—neither command nor plea, but something softer. Something uncertain.
He didn't answer right away.
His eyes, the color of winter stormclouds, searched her face. Not defensively—no wall slammed into place—but thoughtfully. As if he were turning the request over in his mind, examining it from every angle before responding.
"Are you sure you wish to see it?" he asked.
"I do." Her voice came out steady, though she couldn't quite say why her heart was pounding.
Elias gave a slow nod. "Then I will ask that you not pretend it does not bother you. I prefer truth, even if it is silence."
He lifted his hand to the leather strap that held the mask in place, strapped behind his head. The metal buckle gave a soft click, and he pulled the mask free, his movements practiced, deliberate. For a moment, he held it in one hand, the leather still warm from his skin. Then he set it down on the small table beside him and the doorway with care.
She saw him. Up close, this time
The burn wasn't grotesque- in fact, it was far less than what others made it out to be. A map of healed fire spread across the right side of his forehead and temple, twisting down across the upper cheekbone like a scar left by lightning. The skin was dark red and rough in places, discolored black in others, and the hair at the temple had grown back thinner, peppered with silver. It spoke of pain—pain that hadn't faded, only been mastered.
But the rest of him… gods.
The contrast made the unburned side much more striking. His features were cut from sharp stone—high cheekbones, a strong nose, lips not cruel, but firm. There was a quiet gravity to his expression, as though he had forgotten how to carry himself lightly and never found reason to remember.
He did not flinch beneath her gaze. If anything, he seemed to brace himself.
"Ilya?" he said quietly.
She continued to stare into his eyes, unblinking.
"You are beautiful..." she said.
He raised a brow—not in disbelief, but faint surprise as his cheeks pinked a little, some embarrassment causing him to clear his throat. He didn't know how to reply to that, but she continued.
"I am not frightened, Elias. Do not worry."
He hummed. "Most are. Or they pretend they aren't, which is worse."
"This scar does not frighten me- I only wish you wouldn't let it speak for you."
Elias's expression shifted—only slightly, but enough for her to see she had touched something unspoken.
"I used to wear it openly," he said after a moment. "But people stopped speaking to me. They spoke to the scar instead. Eyes of pity. Or disgust. Their stories. Their questions. The mask makes them forget what they think they know."
"And yet you removed it for me."
"You asked."
"I couldn't have been the first to ask."
"No...I suppose not."
He said nothing more. And neither did she.
Not at first.
The silence between them was neither tense nor tender—it simply was, a space suspended between two people still learning what it meant to occupy the same air.
"May I...ask a favor of you?" she said.
"You may."
She held his gaze, eyes sometimes glancing down to his lips.
"Do not wear the mask when you are with me. I find myself rather annoyed that such a pleasing view was kept from me in favor of cold metal and I've had to see much worse than a little dragons kiss."
He smiled then, just a little. It was lopsided—the right side of his face didn't bend into it quite the same way—but it was real.
"You've a sharp tongue for a young bride."
"You told me you liked that in a woman, so no complaints."
That pulled a soft laugh from him. "Fair enough."
They stood there in the quiet corridor for a while longer, the keep hushed around them. The scent of cedar smoke drifted from the solar down the hall, and she could hear distant footsteps—servants busying themselves, likely shooed away by Madam Therin to give them privacy.
"I had compresses brought to your solar," Ilya said finally. "For your back. I know the carriage makes it worse."
He blinked. "You did? I didn't....expect you to notice."
"I notice many things."
He didn't respond to that directly, only nodded once, and offered his arm—not out of romantic habit, but practical need, though perhaps that door was opening. She stepped beside him and placed a hand lightly at his elbow, guiding without coddling.
They walked together in silence, the weight of their respective roles unspoken but understood. She was no longer just the girl who'd arrived with wary eyes and practiced smiles. And he was not just the brooding noble hiding behind a mask.
They were something in-between.
"You didn't go to court," she said after a while.
"No," Elias replied. "I sent a letter."
"And the Count?"
"I spoke with him. He knows what will happen if his house ever dares test mine again."
Something in her throat tightened, but she swallowed it down.
"Did it satisfy you?" she asked.
"No," Elias said simply. "But it was enough."
They reached the solar, its hearth already lit with a bright, steady fire. The scent of spiced tea drifted from a tray left waiting. He moved slowly to the cushioned bench near the fire and sat down with a sigh, laying the cane gently beside him.
"Would you like me to leave you to rest?" she asked.
He looked up at her.
"No."
His lips parted in what might have been another smile, or simply the easing of tension. He reached to the side, where the compresses had been left, still warm beneath a thick cloth.
"You may stay," he said, "if you're not put off by silence."
She took a seat across from him, folding her hands in her lap.
"No...silence is an old friend. I'm more...concerned with what is left unsaid."
Then she looked at him again- she couldn't help it. He was stunning, to say the least. Any woman should want to marry a man who looked as he did. And for all his wealth...he dressed so simply. Dark leather breeches and a simple shirt. No jewels, necklaces, adornments. Just him.
"Are you still angry?" Elias asked after a long moment.
"I'm not," she replied. "I'm… adjusting."
"To what?"
"You. This place. Myself, maybe." She glanced at him. "It's not easy to belong to someone you barely know."
"You don't belong to me," Elias said evenly. "I'd prefer if you thought of it as standing beside me."
She looked away, but not to hide her face. She was simply thinking. Weighing those words.
"That's what I want," she said. "But it will take time."
He nodded. "Then we'll take time."
She would glance over the compress and his feet...then did something that caused him some surprise. She stood, walking over to where his legs were resting on the ottoman and slowly sinking to her knees. She reached out and undid the laces on his boots, while he watched in silence. The fire crackled in his eyes as he felt his heartbeat quicken.
She removed the other boot in silence and set them both by the fire before returning to her chair.
Several seconds went by before he said-
"Thank you."
She looked at him and dipped her head.
"No...thank you. For...coming to my defense. I can see now that, though you claim this a political marriage, you still intend to treat me as your wife beyond the words and responsibility."
She gave the smallest of smiles, eyes sparkling.
"I see no reason not to treat you as my Husband in kind."