The familiar weight of Arthur's hand in mine sent a wave of contentment through my carefully controlled composure. One month. One month since I'd felt this simple contact, and my body remembered every detail—the calluses from sword practice, the warmth that seemed to radiate from his skin, the way his fingers automatically adjusted to provide the perfect grip.
'Finally,' I thought, allowing myself a small internal smile while maintaining my serene exterior.
We walked through the academy's corridors in comfortable silence, a rhythm we'd perfected over the years of our relationship. Arthur understood that I didn't fill empty air with meaningless chatter, and I appreciated that he never pressured me to perform the bubbly princess act that seemed to come so naturally to Rachel.
