Ella stiffened, her chest suddenly light, as though the air itself was both too much and not enough. Bryn’s cheerful farewell still hung in the corridor like a curse, while Jakobav remained planted at her side, every inch of him radiating irritation at the healer’s mistake.
He didn’t speak, but his silence was louder than any shout; she could see the strain of his jaw, could feel the storm rolling off him, could picture him dragging Bryn back into the room just to make him choke on his own herbs.
Finally, Jakobav broke the quiet, his voice low. “How are you feeling?”
Ella gave him a slow blink, her lips parting into something that might have been a smile. “Like the ceiling is plotting against me.”
He ignored her, turned on his heel, and vanished, only to return moments later with a cup of water glinting in his hand. He thrust it toward her. “Drink.”
She eyed it as if it might bite. Her words dragged slowly from her tongue. “That’s commanding…you overbearing commander.” She shook her head as though she could shake away the fog. “What if I don’t want your water?”
His jaw flexed. “You’ll drink.”
“No.” She pushed herself upright, swaying with the effort, stubbornness threading through her unsteady limbs. “You don’t get to order me about in your…oversized dungeon bedroom.”
His gaze darkened with outrage, and for a moment, he closed his eyes as if in prayer for patience. When he spoke again, his voice was harder, every syllable pressed with authority. “As commander of the Dravaryn military, I’ve had more practice with Kethramin than you could ever imagine. Now listen and drink. I won’t ask again.”
Her hand rose, unsteady but defiant, and she jabbed a finger into his chest. “Do.” Another poke, sharper. “Not.” A third,lingering. “Command.” The final poke pressed hard enough to feel the warmth of him through the leather. “Me.”
He didn’t flinch. He only watched her, brooding, weighing every reckless syllable.
And when that last poke lingered too long, he caught her hand before she could pull away, his fingers warm and unyielding as they closed around hers. He lifted it slowly, deliberately, bringing that pointed finger close to his mouth, his eyes locking on hers, black fire simmering there.
“Do you know what happens to people who touch me?” His voice was quiet, lethal, the sound of a blade sliding from its sheath, and as he spoke he brushed the pad of her finger against his lips, almost a kiss, undeniably a threat. “Most beg for mercy. The rest forget their own names by the time I am finished with them.”
Her breath stuttered, heat flashing under her skin until every nerve was alive, and she swore it was only the Kethramin making her pulse stumble, only the drug that made her imagine the taste of his mouth and the promise buried inside his words. But her mind betrayed her, spinning instead to Jakobav himself. Jakobav with his impossible shoulders, carved for war. Who smelled of burnt amber and stormfire, a scent she had no business finding intoxicating, and whose touch had branded her as surely as ink.
He lowered her hand inch by inch, still holding it even as the words sank in, and when he finally let go, it felt like mercy, though deep down, she knew it was nothing of the sort.
“Go,” Ella rasped, the single syllable tripping over her tongue, and she forced it out because she had to get him away before he saw what effect he was having on her.
Jakobav’s eyes narrowed, a promise of refusal written in the black fire of his gaze.
She tried again, softer this time, desperation slipping through. “Please. I don’t want anyone to see me like this.”
That word seemed to still him. Please. His breath left him in one harsh exhale, and then he leaned closer, so close her skin prickled from the heat of him. “I’ll be back soon. Don’t think you’re rid of me.” He gestured to the cup by her bed, his tone hard enough to strike sparks. “Drink some godsdamned water before I pour it down your throat myself.”
When he finally left, the room shifted around her. The walls seemed to breathe, the ceiling tilted overhead, and Ella pulled the blanket over her face and laughed into the linen because gods, she was floating, every nerve alight, every breath dipped in sunlight, and still he would not leave her thoughts.
She wondered what those hands would feel like if they weren’t gripping a blade, if they slid slowly down her spine, if they cupped her hips and claimed her throat while pushing her up against a castle wall. She imagined his mouth, lips too soft for a voice so cruel, tracing her neck, her chest, lower still, and heat flared through her until she choked out a single word.
“Fuck.”
She wasn’t even sure if she’d said it aloud. Did she want him?
In ways that made no sense, in ways that would end her? Maybe it was only the Kethramin.
The sheet slipped from her face, and she grinned like an idiot, cheeks flushed and fever-warm. “Two Dravaryns,” she muttered, staring up at the ceiling beams that swam like shifting constellations. “A prince and a healer…and neither of them has tried to kill me. Yet.”
And still, her traitor of a mind circled back to one of them, the wrong one.
His voice, gravel-low when he promised to return. His eyes, dark and dangerous, when he had all but threatened Bryn for gifting her this beautiful herb. Gods, Jakobav was probablyterrifying even in sleep. Did he sleep? Or did he just lie awake sharpening swords and glaring at the ceiling? The thought made her snort, a laugh bubbling despite herself. The healer had definitely overdone the dose.
And then her brain betrayed her entirely, tossing up a thought that was as outrageous as it was undeniable. Jakobav would look unfairly good shirtless. Absolutely, ruinously unfair. And what about pantless?
Her stomach flipped, half with nerves, half with the strange effervescent euphoria coursing through her veins, and she shoved a pillow hard over her face to smother the thought.
Gods, what would her parents say? Her father would have scorched this place from the map without blinking if he had the chance. He used to say,“Dravaryn-borns are bastards by blood. Show them mercy, and they’ll show you your own entrails.”
