I carry her through into the only place in this world that belongs entirely to me.
The bed is in the corner. Absurdly expensive. Silk, down, the whole fucking performance. I've slept in it maybe thirty times in the past decade. Nightmares don't care what you're lying on.
I carry her to the bed and stand there.
Holding her.
Not ready to let go.
Her weight is perfect in my arms. Her breath is warm against my throat. Her body fits against mine in a way that makes my head go quiet and my cock stay hard and my chest go tight, all at once, too much to separate into individual sensations.
I lower her slowly. One hand under her head, guiding it to the pillow. One hand under her shoulders, easing her down. Her body sinks into the mattress and her face turns toward the light and I see all of it clearly—split lip swollen dark, bruise spreading across her cheekbone, throat marked with the shape of fingers that are no longer attached to a living hand.
I want to dig him up. I want to kill him again. I want to bring him back and break every bone in his body one by one and then start over with the small ones, the ones in his hands, the ones he used to touch her.
My knees hit the floor before I decide to kneel. My hand hovers over her face, close enough to feel the heat of her skin, not quite touching. If I touch her now, I won't stop. I'll strip her dress off and check every inch of her body. I'll put my mouth on every bruise. I'll spread her legs and taste her and I won't care that she's unconscious, won't care that she can't say yes, won't—
I would care.
I pull my hand back.
I stay on my knees beside the bed and breathe.
Renan appears in the doorway. "Healer's five minutes out. I've already told them not to make eye contact with you. Or her. Or anything in this room."
"Good."
"You need anything else?"
"No one comes in but them."
"Obviously." He pauses. I feel his attention on my back, curious and careful. "Koshin."
"What."
"You did good."
I don't know what to say to that. I don't know what it means. I killed people. I took her. I carried her through the dark to a place no one else has been. None of that feels like something I did. All of it feels like something that happened to me, through me, some force I don't control moving my body toward an outcome I didn't choose.
"She's still breathing," I say instead of answering.
"Yeah." Renan's voice is soft. Almost gentle. I didn't know he could sound gentle. "She is."
He leaves. The door closes.
I stay on my knees.
My hand reaches out and finds her wrist—just fingertips, pressing gently against the inside where the veins run close. Her pulse jumps under my touch. Steady. Strong. Still scared, but fighting.
Good. She should fight. She should keep fighting. I want her angry and alive and looking at me with those green eyes that don't flinch, that don't look away, that see me and don't run.
The night settles outside these walls. Coin is screaming about the breach. Faith is sharpening their legal arguments. War is watching from the edges, calculating angles. The whole divine order is about to shift because I walked into a room and took what I wanted.
I don't care.
I stay on my knees with my fingers on her pulse and I don't care about anything else.
She's in my bed. In my space. The only quiet thing in a world made of noise.
