Ashterion considered me for a long moment, as though looking for some hidden trap. Finally, he stepped back, giving me space to breathe again.
The shadows at his feet twisted, then snaked up his legs, his torso, his arms—until they pooled in his palm.
“This will hurt,” Ashterion warned, “but only for a moment.”
I steadied myself against the wall, my heart racing. “Just do it.”
He pressed his shadow-coated hand to my forearm. Fire erupted across my skin, a flash of pain so intense it stole my breath. I bit down hard on my lip to keep from crying out.
Then, nothing.
No lingering ache. No throbbing wound. But when I looked down, a jagged gash ran the length of my forearm, blood welling from it, dripping onto the stone floor.
I stared at the gash.
Itbled.Thick and red, running warm down my skin. But there was no pain. No throb beneath it. No searing bite where shadow should’ve burned.
I reached with trembling fingers, expecting to touch torn flesh and feel it scream.
But my hand passed over it like mist.
My heart jolted. “It’s not real.”
Ashterion’s voice came from somewhere near my shoulder. “I told you it wouldn’t be.”
“Could’ve been anelaboratetrick. You seem the type.”
That strange, unreadable mouth of his twitched.
And then, gods help me, he made a sound. A soft one. Rough around the edges. Almost a laugh.
“I’ll do the rest in the morning,” he said, turning away. “You’ll ruin my bedsheets if I finish them now.”
I went still. Not because of the joke. Because of theimplication.
My response was steel. “I’m not going to bed with you.”
He paused mid-step, back to me.
“She said one night a week in yourchambersfor the healers,” I went on, slow and deliberate. “Notyour bed.If that’s changed, you can shove your illusions and your little shadow games.”
Ashterion turned, shadows curling low at his boots, but his expression was blank. “No one said anything aboutthat.”
“You implied it.”
“I implied,” he said coldly, “that I would prefer not to have to remake an entire blood-soaked bed when I could finish the work tomorrow. You’re the one who leapt to another conclusion.”
I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest. “Then what exactly are you suggesting? That I sleep on your luxurious floor while you take the bed?”
“The bed is large enough for two people to maintain a respectable distance,” Ashterion said, maddeningly reasonable. “I have no interest in you beyond keeping us both alive.”
“Absolutely not.” The words shot from me like daggers. “I’ll take the floor.”
Ashterion pinched the bridge of his nose, looking suddenly tired. “Don’t be stubborn. This isn’t a matter of preference.”
“It absolutely is. My preference is to not share a bed with you.”
“As I told you, Xyliria has certain expectations about our arrangement.” An edge of disgust crept into his tone. “If someone were to enter—a guard, a servant, Xyliria herself—and find me sleeping on the floor while you took the bed, it would cost us both.”
