Niz rose slowly as I scooted toward his side of the bed. His hand was out in an offer of help before I could even try to stand, steadying me as I tested my balance. Ronan was already stripping the bed with brisk efficiency at the mention of my grime.
“I’m fine,” I insisted to Niz, but he didn’t let go as I stared up at him.
“Let’s walk to the shower, My Fire,” he rumbled, guiding me toward the bathroom with quiet finality.
The command rolled through the air, heavy with authority—the kind of weight only a prince could carry. Once upon a time, words like that would have ruffled me, scraped at old wounds of being ordered around and controlled. But from Niz? It didn’t sting. Maybe because underneath the command, I could always feel the truth of him: that every syllable was rooted in his single-minded need to see me happy, safe, and whole.
Niz pushed the adjoined room’s door open, his size swallowing the small space as we stepped in. As his hand left mine and with a pointed, narrowed look that screameddon’t you dare fall, he turned the knobs of the shower with careful precision, testing the spray with his palm until he was satisfied and steam began to fill the room.
“I can manage from here,” I started to say, but my words faltered when his sharp black eyes pinned me, unyielding in his desire to assist me.
“Don’t argue,” he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to reverberate against the tiles. “After watching you die, I just…I need to feel useful right now. We all do.”
The steam curled around us as his admission filled the space. My pulse skipped as he reached for the hem of my clothes. His hands moved with surprising gentleness as he began to strip me. I swallowed hard, forcing myself to breathe as he eased the fabric from my body. My muscles stiffened out of instinct, not shame—just the strange, vulnerable awareness of being bared under someone’s unwavering gaze. But Niz didn’t look at me the way others might have in the moment. His attention wasn’t hungry or lingering. It was practical and protective. He treated me like I was something fragile he had to handle with care, not something to consume and own.
“Step in,” he ordered softly as my cheeks burned with heat, though not from the humid air. The tone of his voice pulled a memory from when we’d been in the wyvern kingdom—commanding then too, in an equally humid space, causing chills to race across my body.
The water hit my skin in a shock of heat, dragging a gasp from my throat as it slid down, washing away dried dirt, blood, and ash. For a moment, I swore I could still feel the ghost of the dagger against my neck, the slice of my father’s hand, thechoke of my own blood. My knees threatened to buckle under the memory.
And then Niz was there again, steadying me with one strong hand until I found my balance. “I’ve got you,” he said roughly, his reassurance nearly bringing tears to my eyes.
I swallowed the heavy emotion and took a deep, settling breath. I wouldn’t let my father’s ghost haunt every breath I took.
“I can finish on my own,” I whispered, my voice raspy but firm. “Thank you, Niz.”
There must have been a confidence in my voice now that convinced him I wouldn’t break. He leaned closer without hesitation, ignoring the spray that dampened his face as he did. His lips pressed to my forehead, warm even against the water. The gesture was quiet, reverent, and gone in an instant.
“Yell if you need me.”
When he was gone, I turned in the shower to let the water rush over my back, rinsing away more grime and soot, though it couldn’t erase the memory of steel splitting my throat. It couldn’t wash away the ache of loss, or the weight of my father’s last words.
“I won’t give up, Mom,” I whispered, the words breaking free before I could swallow them back. “I will ensure the future is one we both deserved all along.”
The promise hung there in the mist, swallowed by the hiss of the shower but rooted deep in my chest, searing into me with the same force as the water.
Refreshed. Reset. Alive.
By the time I finished my routine and stepped out of the shower, steam still curled around me but I felt lighter. My hair clung damp against my neck, my robe soft against skin that still tingled with the memory of heat. I tied the sash loosely and breathed deeply, bracing myself.
The robe clung against my damp skin, heavy where it was soaked from my still-dripping hair as I padded back into my room. I was just cinching the sash tighter when a knock sounded, low and careful.
“Kieran?”
Gabe.
My heart stuttered at the sound of his voice and in an instant, I was back in his arms the night before with blood in my throat, his voice cracking as he begged me not to leave him. It all came rushing back now.
I love you, Little Star.
“Come in,” I managed to croak out as his emotional confession tore through my chest.
He loved me.
The door eased open, and there he was. Gabe filled the frame, all tan skin and broad shoulders, his hair mussed like he hadn’t slept. He stepped inside, slow and deliberate, like he was afraid to move too quickly.
So far each of my guys were treating me more delicately than they had last night. Had they just been in shock like I was? Was the truth of my death finally settling in for us all?
His gaze swept me—robe, damp hair, bare feet—before darting away, his jaw flexing tight.
