I let out a growl, too exhausted to put up another fight. “Fine. But if you come anywhere near me, I’ll rip your eyes out.”
Ashterion’s lips curved. “Your threats would be more convincing if you weren’t swaying on your feet from exhaustion.”
I hadn’t realised how visibly tired I was until he pointed it out. My body felt leaden, each limb heavy with days of strain and sleepless nights. The brief relief from the healing bath had long since faded.
“I’m fine,” I lied, even as I caught myself leaning against the wall for support.
“Of course you are,” he drawled, his eyes glinting. “Just as I’m known throughout the realm for my warmth and compassion.”
I shot him a withering glare. “Don’t try to be charming. It doesn’t suit you.”
He settled back into his chair, reaching for a book.“Go to bed fireling, I would like to do a bit more reading, but I expect you are rather tired.”
I clenched my fists, ready to argue. Except…
He was right. I hated that he was. Hated that themassive, sinfully soft-looking bedwasn’t just tempting—it wasaching. My body recognising the need for rest before my mind could shut it down.
A real bed.
Rest.
How long had it been since I’d had comfort?
I moved to the bed andslid beneath the covers. My intention had been to stay awake, not to let my guard drop for even a second. But the moment the warmthwrapped around me and the mattress cradled my aching body, something inside me cracked.
The blankets were warm, as though they had been left near a fire and had beenwaiting for me.
I hadn’t realised I wascolduntil I wasn’t. Sleep took me before I could truly fight it.
62
Ashterion wasn’t sure what the fuck he was doing.
He sat in the armchair across the room, watching her sleep, his body unnaturally still, shadows wafting across the floor.
It should have been nothing.
She was nothing to him.
And yet?—
Unbidden, his eyes drifted back to her.
The way she had melted into the bed despite herself, exhaustion dragging her under like a tide she hadn’t been able to fight. The way the firelight softened her edges, turned her skin golden against the darkness of his sheets.
She didn’t trust him. She despised him. And yet she slept.
His heart raced. A small spike of something he didn’t want to inspect burrowed into his ribs before he crushed it down.
It didn’t matter.
He exhaled slowly, rising from the chair as if he could outrun the thought forming in the back of his mind.
Shadow Drask.
Gods. He didn’t know why her saying it bothered him so much.
It had never mattered before. Not when the other courts spat it with ease. Not when they whispered behind goblets, half-mocking, half-terrified of the High Lord who could be traded for the right price. Xyliria called it his purpose. Said she’d found his use when no one else could.
