She thanked the Builder her tent was big enough to house those poor people. They were frightened, tired, and injured. The children were crying, their poor little faces covered by soot. She made sure they had water to drink, that the children at least had food to eat, and she let them wash and warm themselves. She tried not to think about the Vasaath's hard words—she knew she would have to deal with him sooner or later.

She was told that the guards were turning the city on its head to find her, and the Kamani people were always the first ones to be suspected.

Several had been killed already; Juniper assumed the guards didn't care whether they were truly guilty or not. She assured them that they were safe within the encampment—she was quite convinced that the Vasaath and his soldiers would not harm them, but she felt uncertainty rise within the more she thought about his threats. Perhaps he wouldn't hurt them, but what if he turned them away?

She helped with what she could, comforting the children and tending to the wounded. Once the people seemed calm and content, she excused herself and left. She felt nauseous—panicked, almost. Those poor people had lost family because of her. She kept from crying, but only because she willed the sobs back down her throat.

She looked around. The camp had gone back to normal, it seemed, despite the desperate people housed inside the newest construction on the grounds. She sighed—it was time to face the general and his judgment.

He was in his tent. He didn't acknowledge her as she entered, but she could feel the thick bitterness hanging in the air.

She cleared her throat and said, "They have calmed now. They were tired, frightened, and grieving."

He was silently scribbling away at a piece of paper by his desk, but a twitch in his face revealed that he had at least heard her.

She sighed. "They will need food, and blankets for the cold."

"Then provide," was all he said.

Juniper felt sudden vexation shoot out through her fingers. "How can you be so cold?"

Slowly, he looked up. His expression was unfazed, unimpressed. "I told you, did I not? It is your responsibility, not mine."

"But I cannot order anyone to do anything!" she exclaimed and flung her arms out. "I can't issue food, or clothes!"

"No, you cannot." He straightened, locking his eyes onto hers. "It's because you are not in charge here, I am."

"Then please!" She advanced towards him, feeling frustratingly helpless. She knew there was no point in arguing with the man—and she didn't want to argue—but she cursed his bullheadedness! "Help me help them!"

"Why?" He furrowed his brows before slowly rising from his seat and walking around the desk.

She was used to his height, but now, she felt even smaller in comparison. "These people need us. They need you. I need you!" And there is was, the truth she had hidden for such a long time. Yes, she did need him; she needed his protection, his calmness, his presence. She needed his approval, his acceptance—and now, she needed his help.

His gaze was still cold like steel, but Juniper would not give up.

"I have promised to protect them, but I have no means." Gently, she reached to touch him. "I'm guilt-ridden, heartbroken." Her hand softly touched the skin on his arm and she felt blood rush to her head, making her quite dizzy.

The Vasaath tensed under her touch but said nothing.

"The first time we met, you told me that I relished in the rift between my people, remember?" she continued, walking closer still. It was as though she was compelled to.

The grey man stood firmly in place, barely looking at her.

She lowered her voice. "How can you expect me to mend that fault of mine if I am not given the opportunity?"

They stood close now—so close. Her heart thudded loudly in her ears; she felt the heat radiating from his body. Slowly, she let her hand trace upwards and his muscles rippled underneath his skin, like jolting spasms reacting to her touch. She was mesmerised by him, by the feel of his flesh against hers. She was shocked by the sensation that filled her, the desire that grew strong. She wanted him to touch her, to hold her, to kiss her, but he seemed unresponsive to her advances. She searched his eyes, but he did not meet her gaze.

She only saw his jaw twitch before he muttered lowly, "Kasethen will aid you. Do not bother me with it again."

It was as though she had been dipped through a hole in the ice, straight into the freezing water, and she pulled back. She felt the heat in her face and she curtsied deeply.

"Thank you, my lord," murmured she. "I am very grateful." She rose with her head bowed, careful not to let him see the tears that were flooding her eyes. Everything she had felt, everything she had thought he felt too, was wrong.

Heartbroken and embarrassed, she turned. Suddenly, she felt him gently clasp his hand around her arm. There was nothing she could do but to look at him, cursing the tears that rolled down her cheeks. His countenance was different now—soft, and troubled.

"Did I hurt you?" he asked, his voice gentle. "Before, I mean."

She shook her head and quickly dried her tears with the back of her free hand. "No."

"I didn't mean to grab you," he continued. "I don't know what came over me. I am sorry."

Despite his soft words and his tender touch, she was confused. Just a short moment before, he had rejected her with intent—she was sure of it. Now, his eyes were drawing her in, joining with her soul.

Again, she shook her head. "Do not think of it, my lord. I am unharmed." In truth, she had been too upset to even feel how painful his grip had been.

He, however, did not seem content with her answer. "Please, say you forgive me, Juniper. I would not want you frightened of me—I'd much rather have you angry with me."

She sighed, forced a smile upon her lips, and said, "I forgive you."

"No." He yanked her closer, gently but decisively, pulling her all the way to him. "Either you truly forgive me, or you don't. No lies."

They were standing awfully close to each other, her hands resting just below his chest. She had never touched him like this before, never felt the firmness of his body. His breath was hot on her face as he looked down on her. His other hand locked around her other arm, and if she wasn't mistaken, his breath was heavy.

He lowered his head, just a little, and said, his voice rough, "Are you afraid?"

She wet her lips, blinked slowly, and felt her heart hammer violently against her ribs. "No." It was barely a sound at all, but it was all she could muster. No, indeed, she wasn't afraid—she was nervous, anxious, and confused, but not afraid. She reached up, just an inch or so, waiting for his lips to come down upon hers. "And I do forgive you."

She thought she felt him lean in, she thought she felt him reach for her as well, but despite their lips hovering close to each other—so close!—they never met.

Instead, he sighed and gently laid his forehead against hers. "Good."

She pressed herself closer, and without thinking about it, she let her head fall to his chest. She feared he would push her away but after a deep sigh was released from his depths, he wrapped his arms around her and relaxed. She was bewildered but savoured this rare intimacy. He held her tightly, his arms enveloping her entire form. She breathed in his scent, drew from the heat of his skin, and revelled.

They stood, tightly embraced, for a few more moments before Juniper slowly pulled away. She was reluctant to do so, but she did not wish to give herself any more false hope. She didn't know what such intimacy meant to the Kas, and she couldn't be certain that it meant the same to him as it did to her. If it didn't, she would not want to live through such heartache. As soon as they were separated, she felt coldness surround her.

The Vasaath then muttered, "Where have you put them?"

"In my tent," said she. "It was the only place I could offer them."

He snorted. "So, you've had it for what, a fortnight?"

"Does that anger you?"

"It's yours. You do with it as you wish."

"That doesn't answer my question."

She saw him clench his jaw before he returned to his desk. "As I said, you do with it as you wish. Whether it angers me or not, is irrelevant."

Of course, it angered him—she could hear it in his voice. He was childish not to admit it, but she was glad he didn't hinder her. The freedom and agency she had been given, could easily be taken from her. Now that she had lent his generous gift to the newcomers, he might look at her with disapproval. She did not want that.

Carefully, with the softest voice she could muster, she said, "I am very grateful you allowed them amnesty, sir. If you allow me to find someplace else to shelter them tomorrow, perhaps down by the beach, I would get my tent back."

"Very well," he muttered. "But you'll sleep here tonight. I don't trust them, and I won't have you sleeping amongst them." He looked up, his brows furrowed. "If you don't mind, that is."

Her heart jolted, leapt with joy, but she tried to compose herself as she said, "No, sir, not at all! I'll return to the Kamani for a while, and then I'll be back by supper."

When he only replied with a hum, she decided to leave at last. She had to still her heart, calm herself, and let out the violent and nervous chuckles that were rising within her like a tidal wave.