But Ashterion, unfortunately, was not an idiot.
His eyes landed on my leg, on the way I hadn’t moved, hadn’t even attempted to brace myself.
“You can’t stand, can you?”His voice was dry.Matter of fact.
I clenched my jaw.Didn’t answer. Wouldn’t answer.
His sigh was slow, measured.Like he was trying to be patient. “If you will allow me to assist you into the bathing room, there is a tonic in the tub water that should help.”
But before I could stop it—before I could even shove the thought down—a pang ofdesperationran through me.
The pain was unbearable.Endless. And for a single, fractured second, I let myself imagine it. Relief. Even the smallest reprieve. Even knowing it was coming fromhim. I hated myself for it.
The thought was crushed a heartbeat later, shoved downdeepbeneath the instinct to fight, to resist, to crawl my way to the bathing chamber rather than let him touch me. I nearly did. Nearly tried.
But the exhaustion from the pain was worse than I thought.
It won.
And then one word. “Fine.” Came through my gritted teeth.
Ashterion crouched beside me, his presence looming but—shockingly—not suffocating. I braced myself for rough hands.Acareless yank to my arm, fingers clamping around my waist withdisdainful force. But when he moved, when his arm slid beneath mine, looping tenderly around my back, his grip steady—the pain was almost bearable. Because he half-lifted me instead.Not letting me bear weight on my leg at all.
I ignored it.Ignored the strange tenderness. The way he made the effort tonotjostle my ribs, to let me find my balance against him before shifting even an inch. I focused only on moving.Only on getting through this.
The bathing chamber was dimly lit, the air thick with steam. The tub was built into the floor, deep and wide, steam curling from the surface of the dark water. Ashterion set me down on the edge, before pulling back.His hands lingered for a breath too long.
“If you dip the leg in first,”he said, adjusting the sleeve of his tunic.”It should make it possible to undress on your own.”
I stopped listening.
Because my gaze had drifted past him, over his shoulder, to the empty frame in the wall.
Ashterion had already straightened, turning, moving away.
“There’s no door,” I said flatly.
Ashterion didn’t so much as pause. “How observant.”
“You expect me to bathe.” My hands curled into fists against the cool stone. “While you could walk in at any moment?”
“I expect you to bathe.” His tone bore the slightest hint of irritation. “What I choose to do with my time in my own chambers is hardly your concern.”
Without another word he turned and walked out.
I stared at his back, hatred burning in my throat. Every instinct screamed at me to refuse, to fight, to maintain what little dignity I had left. But beneath that was the cold, hard truth—I was powerless here. Whatever game Ashterion was playing, I had no choice but to participate.
With a bitter curse under my breath, I gripped the edge of the stone tub as I lowered my leg into the water.
The second it was submerged the pain faded.
Instant. Overwhelming.
An almost unbearable contrast to the unending agony I had grown used to.
The heat seeped into my skin, spreading through the shattered bone, loosening the relentless grip of pain.
Gods. I clenched my jaw, forcing myself to sit straighter.Forcing myself to remember.
