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The kitchen in the Lighthouse had a warmth to it, despite its lack of windows; a rare kind of peace, an oasis amid the chaos of the lives of the members of the Veilguard. The fire crackled in the hearth, casting long, flickering shadows across the walls. The large dining table sat empty, waiting for the evening meal to be served. The room smelled faintly of spices, herbs, and the unmistakable scent of fresh bread baking in a pot over the coals. Lucanis Dellamorte stood at the tiny counter, knife in hand, slicing vegetables with precision. His movements were sharp and controlled, a stark contrast to the slight furrow of his brow and the way his lips pressed into a thin line.
Lucanis was trying – desperately, almost comically – to focus on the task at hand. Supper wasn’t going to make itself, after all. But his focus was splintered, unraveled by the presence of one particular Shadow Dragon.
Brooke Mercar stood at the other end of the counter, practically pressed to his hip with the size of the work surface, her long ginger hair pulled back into a loose braid that swung softly as she moved. She had a small paring knife in hand and was diligently peeling potatoes, her expression one of calm concentration. Her mismatched eyes – one blue, one green – flicked toward him every so often, though she always glanced away quickly when he noticed.
Lucanis had volunteered for meal duty tonight, as he often did. The companions took turns, but not everyone’s culinary efforts were appreciated equally. Harding’s meals, for instance, were infamous – chaotic concoctions that she seemed to enjoy immensely, though no one else had the heart to tell her the truth. Lucanis, on the other hand, had a knack for remembering what everyone liked, and he took quiet pride in the simple act of making something they could all enjoy.
Tonight, however, was proving to be more challenging than usual. Not because of the meal itself, but because of Brooke’s very presence.
“Do you always cook like this?” Brooke asked, breaking the silence. Her voice was soft, carrying just a hint of curiosity.
“Like what?” Lucanis replied, glancing up from his cutting board. He immediately regretted it. Her eyes were on him, and the soft light of the fire made her hair glow like the brightest of embers.
“Like you’re planning a heist,” she said with a small smile, her tone teasing but kind. “You’re so precise.”
Lucanis huffed a quiet laugh, shaking his head as he returned his attention to the vegetables. “Old habits,” he said. “Besides, if I mess it up, I’ll never hear the end of it.”
“From who?” she asked, setting down another peeled potato. “Certainly not from me.”
“Everyone,” he said with mock gravity. “Even the stew will judge me.”
That earned him a soft laugh, and the sound of it made something in his chest tighten. He gripped the knife a little harder, focusing on the rhythmic slice of blade against the cutting board. Steady. Controlled. It didn’t matter that Brooke was only a few inches away, close enough for him to catch the faint scent of pine and something sweet, like honey. It didn’t matter that her presence seemed to fill the room, making the air feel heavier, charged with something unspoken.
Except it did matter. It mattered far more than he wanted to admit.
“You’re quiet tonight,” Brooke said after a moment, glancing at him from the corner of her eye. “Not like you.”
Lucanis smirked faintly. “I didn’t realize I had a reputation to uphold.”
“Oh, you do,” she said, her voice light. “You’re a Crow, a mysterious, brooding assassin. Always has something clever to say. Isn’t that what the stories say?”
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
They fell into a comfortable silence after that, the crackle of the fire and the soft scrape of knives filling the room. Lucanis risked another glance at her. She was focused on her task, her brows slightly furrowed, her lips pressed together in thought. The scar that ran down her torso was hidden beneath her shirt, but he’d seen it before. It was a stark reminder of the life she’d led, the battles she’d fought. But here, in the quiet of the kitchen, she seemed at ease. Soft, almost.
Too soft for someone like him.
Lucanis frowned, shaking the thought from his mind. He had no right to feel this way – to care for her, to want her. And yet, he couldn’t seem to help himself.
“Lucanis?” Brooke’s voice pulled him from his thoughts, and he looked up, realizing she was watching him once again.
“Hmm?” he managed, his voice rougher than he intended.
“Are you… Are you okay?” she asked, tilting her head slightly. Her braid shifted over her shoulder, and he had to force himself not to stare at the way it caught the firelight.
“I’m fine,” he said quickly. Too quickly. He cleared his throat, trying to sound more convincing. “Just… Focused.”
She didn’t look convinced, but she didn’t press him. Instead, she set down the last peeled potato and reached for the bowl of chopped vegetables at the same time he did. Their hands brushed, and Lucanis froze. Her fingers were warm against his, the touch sending a jolt of something sharp and electric through him.
“Sorry,” Brooke said, pulling her hand back quickly. Her cheeks flushed, a faint pink that he found entirely too endearing.
“No, it’s… It’s fine,” he said, though his voice was quieter now, unsteady. He turned back to the cutting board, gripping the knife much too tightly.
Lucanis could feel her eyes on him, but he didn’t dare look up. Instead, he focused on the stew, adding the vegetables with care, stirring the pot slowly. The warmth of the fire seemed to seep into his skin, but it wasn’t enough to quell the heat rising in his chest.
“You’re good at this,” Brooke said after a moment, her voice softer now. “Cooking, I mean.”
“I’ve had practice,” he said, his tone measured – or at least, he hoped. “Someone has to make sure we all survive Harding’s experiments.”
She laughed again, and this time it was louder, brighter. It filled the room, and Lucanis found himself smiling despite himself. When he finally dared to look at her, she was already watching him, her mismatched eyes bright with amusement.
Their gazes held for a moment longer than they should have, and Lucanis felt his stomach twist. He wanted to say something, anything, but the words caught in his throat. Brooke’s smile softened, and she looked away first, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear.
How he longed to do that for her.
“I think that’s everything,” she said, her voice quiet again. “Should I set the table?”
“Yeah,” Lucanis said, nodding. “That… That would be good.”
As she moved to gather the plates and utensils, Lucanis turned back to the stew, his jaw tight. He stirred the pot absently, his mind elsewhere. The tension in the room hadn’t dissipated, not entirely. It lingered, like the faint scent of pine and honey, like the warmth of her touch.
You like Rook, Spite cackled.
Lucanis sighed quietly, running a hand through his hair. This was going to be a long night.