And then he vanished.
No sound or motion, only the fire, crackling as if it had never been disturbed, though the air still vibrated with something ancient brushing against her blood. Her gaze locked on the empty space where he had stood, on the echo of his voice, on the phantom violet glow of his pendant seared into her sight.
A ragged sound tore out of her before she could swallow it back. She clutched her temples, digging her nails into her scalp as if she could hold herself together, tether her soul back inside her skin.
What in the gods-forsaken realms was that? Another fever dream born of exhaustion? She wanted to believe that, but her mind whispered otherwise.
It was real.
She was grateful no one else was there to see her like this: stripped bare, rattled to her core, undone by a stranger’s words.
11
SILK AND SILENCE
Ella hadn’t touched her supper, and the prospect of sleep wasn’t promising either. Her body sagged with exhaustion, yet her mind burned with a restlessness that refused to quiet. The flare of violet light replayed behind her eyes, every word the green-eyed stranger had spoken reverberating in her skull, lingering long after he had vanished into nothingness.
The door creaked open, and Jakobav stepped inside. His gaze swept once over her before landing on the untouched tray of food on the table, and his eyes narrowed.
“You’ve been alone longer than promised,” he said at last. “That must’ve thrilled you.”
Ella forced herself upright, ribs protesting, a painful reminder of the wounds Bryn had stitched shut. She’d likely torn half of them open when she’d scrambled away from that man with the slightly pointed ears, crashing into the headboard harder than she’d realized at the time, but she was not about to explain any of that to Jakobav.
“Not nearly as much as you might think,” she muttered.
A mistake. The words slipped out, too honest and revealing.
His brow furrowed, and for a long, weighted moment, he studied her face as if searching for the reason she hadn’t been thrilled by his absence. And gods, she hated that he looked concerned. Despised it more than the ache in her ribs, because concern was not something she could afford from him. Yet the way he stood there, like he would have kept guard all day if she’d only asked, made her throat tighten.
She didn’t need him to protect her from the man in the shadows, or from the way her sigil had answered him. And yet…some traitorous part of her knew that Jakobav would have.
Should she tell him? Admit what had stood in this very room, close enough to touch?
The thought was as reckless as it was dangerous. Jakobav was Dravaryn. She couldn’t trust him. But the omission sat heavy on her chest, guilt curling inward like smoke.
Jakobav’s frown deepened. “What happened?” His voice was low and steady, but the concern beneath it was plain.
Ella’s fingers tightened around the blankets, knuckles whitening as she fixed her eyes on the fire rather than his face. “Nothing.”
But her body betrayed her, pulse hammering against her throat, and from the way his gaze sharpened, he’d clearly noticed.
She straightened and scrubbed at her eyes, but when she risked a glance at him, his attention wasn’t fixed on her face. His eyes lingered instead on the shirt she wore. His shirt, too large on her frame, still carrying the scent of him.
Gods.
Jakobav’s posture shifted. He drew a breath, his mouth parting as if he were about to speak.
Footsteps thudded down the corridor, firm and steady, and Jakobav went still.
His gaze snapped to the door, and in the space of a heartbeat, he was no longer across the room; he was on the bed, shoving her down beneath the covers. The movement was quick, controlled, suffocating. He slid toward the middle, using the dinner cart and his own body as a shield to block what would otherwise be a lump beneath the furs.
She was thin, thinner still from days of skipped meals born of spite, but she was not invisible. What in the hell was he doing?
He dragged a pillow across her shoulder, adjusting it to break the outline of her body.
His voice dropped, quiet but urgent, pitched like a command. “Hold still. And try not to breathe.”
“What?”
