Page 18 of Nansar
"Both of us," I repeated, my voice coming out flat despite the sudden acceleration of my heartbeat.
"The terrain ahead is unforgiving. We will make better time riding." His eyes found mine, and there was something in that gaze—a challenge, yes, but also understanding. "Unless you would prefer to walk?"
Despite every instinct screaming at me to keep my distance, I found myself drawn forward. Starfield's coat shimmered in the dappled light, and up close, I could see the subtle dance of colors beneath the surface—like oil on water, or the aurora borealis captured in living flesh. She was magnificent. Otherworldly. The kind of beautiful that made your chest tight and your breath shallow.
"She's beautiful," I whispered, the admission slipping past my defenses before I could stop it.
Something shifted in Nansar's expression—a softening around his eyes, a warmth that hadn't been there before. "She is." He extended his hand toward me, palm up, an invitation rather than a demand. "Come. I will help you mount."
The reality of what he was suggesting crashed over me like a wave. Both of us. Riding together. On that creature. My mind conjured the image unbidden—my back pressed flush against the solid wall of his chest, or worse, facing him with our legs tangled together, his thighs bracketing mine. His arms would have to come around me to hold the reins. Every shift of Starfield's powerful body would press us closer, closer, until there was no space left between us at all.
Heat flooded my face even as my stomach twisted. "I don't—" The words caught in my throat. I took a step back, then another. "I don't like to be touched."
Nansar's hand lowered slowly, deliberately. Those luminous eyes studied me with an magnitude that made my skinprickle, and I steeled myself for what always came next. The arguments. The dismissal. The inevitable frustration.
It's not a big deal.
Don't be so difficult.
Just deal with it.
"Starfield is large," he said, his voice careful, measured, "but if we ride together, we will touch. It is inevitable."
Inevitable. The word hung between us like a verdict. I'd seen horses before, watched riders double up in movies and shows. There was no pretending otherwise—no way to share that space without bodies pressed together, without feeling every breath, every movement. I looked at Starfield again, her magnificent form somehow both promise and threat, then at the unforgiving landscape stretching endlessly ahead.
Logic warred with instinct. The practical choice was obvious.
But my body had already made its decision, muscles coiling tight, heart hammering against my ribs.
"I'd rather walk," I said, forcing my chin up even as my voice wavered.
The silence that followed felt eternal. I waited for the inevitable pushback, for him to catalog all the reasons I was being unreasonable. For the exasperated sigh, the thinly veiled irritation, the lecture about how we didn't have time for my issues.
Instead, Nansar tilted his head, studying me with that same intense focus he'd given the landscape earlier. But there was no frustration in his gaze. No judgment. Just... curiosity. Like I was a mystery he genuinely wanted to understand rather than an obstacle to overcome.
"Then we walk," he said, as if it were the simplest thing in the world.
My breath caught. "What?"
"We walk." He turned to Starfield, running his hand along the creature's neck with obvious affection. "The terrain will grow more difficult ahead—steep climbs, narrow paths. We will save Starfield's strength for when we truly need it." His gaze found mine again, steady and sure. "For now, we both have legs. We use them."
No argument. No lecture about efficiency or wasted time. No heavy sigh of masculine martyrdom. Just... acceptance.
The knot in my chest loosened, unraveling thread by thread.
"You're sure?" The question escaped before I could stop it, and I hated how small I sounded, how uncertain.
Something flickered across Nansar's face—his expression softening in a way that transformed his features from merely striking to devastatingly beautiful. He gathered Starfield's reins loosely in one hand. "Come. The day grows long, and we have distance to cover." A shadow crossed his face as he glanced over his shoulder, tension returning to his jaw. "We need to move swift and silent."
He started walking, leading Starfield with easy confidence, not looking back to check if I'd follow. Not making a production of his accommodation. Not making me feel like my boundary was some burden he was nobly shouldering.
I stood frozen, watching the play of muscles beneath his vest as he moved, the way he navigated the uneven ground with that preternatural grace. Wind caught his platinum hair, and Starfield's hooves struck a steady rhythm against the rocky soil.
He was nothing—absolutely nothing—like what I'd expected to find on a prison planet.
My feet moved before my mind caught up, closing the distance between us until I fell into step a few paces behind. Close enough to follow his lead. Far enough to remember how to breathe.
Chapter 6
