Behind me, I could hear Varyth speaking in low, urgent tones with someone. Probably giving orders about damage control, about explanations that would have to be made. But I couldn’t focus on anything except my children’s sleeping faces.
I wanted nothing more than to crawl into that bed beside them, to wrap them in my arms and never let go. To press myface against their hair and breathe in their warmth until the nightmare dissolved completely.
But I couldn’t. Not with shadow fire licking at the edges of my consciousness, not with power that had just carved through three floors of stone like it was parchment. What if I lost control again? What if the flames came back while I was holding them?
The thought of accidentally hurting them, of being the monster in their nightmares instead of the one protecting them from it, made bile rise in my throat.
“They need their rest,” Varyth said quietly from behind me, cutting through my spiral of terror. “And so do you.”
I wanted to argue. Wanted to plant myself in that chair and keep guard until dawn, until I was absolutely certain nothing would come for them in the dark. But my legs chose that moment to give out entirely, my knees buckling as the last of my strength finally crashed.
Varyth caught me, his arm sliding around my waist. “That’s what I thought.”
“I can’t leave them,” I whispered, even as I let him guide me toward the door. “What if?—”
“What if you collapse from exhaustion and can’t protect them at all?” His voice was gentle but implacable. “Lira will watch over them. The guards will be doubled. Nothing will reach this room.”
He led me through corridors I didn’t recognise, past tapestries and archways that spoke of wealth and power. The destruction from my nightmare was evident here too, scorch marks traced along the walls like accusations, servants hurrying to assess the damage with wide, frightened eyes.
The chamber he brought me to was unfamiliar. Large and beautiful in that casual way that screamed aristocracy. Silk hangings in deep burgundy, a fireplace carved from black marble, windows that looked out over moonlit gardens. The bedwas massive, draped in midnight blue velvet that seemed to drink the lamplight.
This wasn’t a guest room. This was personal space, lived-in space.
Hisspace.
“Varyth—”
“The guest quarters in your wing are uninhabitable,” he said simply, steering me toward the bed with hands that brooked no argument. “Everything within fifty feet of your room will need to be rebuilt.”
I let him settle me on the edge of the mattress, my body sinking into silk and down like it was hungry for comfort. The tremors were getting worse now, violent shudders that made my teeth chatter despite the warmth of the room.
Varyth knelt in front of me, studying my face with uncomfortable intensity. There was worry there, genuine concern that he wasn’t bothering to hide behind his usual mask of indifference.
“The power drain will pass,” he said, the words gentle. “But you need sleep. Real sleep, not the kind where you jolt awake every hour expecting attack.”
The simple fact that he was kneeling before me—this insufferably proud High Lord making himself smaller—made my throat tighten.
“What happened?” I asked, rough as gravel. “How did I end up...” I gestured vaguely back toward my room, the one that now looked like a bomb made of shadow and fury had detonated inside it. “The last thing I remember is Kaelen telling me to stop.”
Varyth went very still. That particular kind of stillness that predators get right before they strike, every muscle locked.
“Kaelen?” The name came out flat, neutral in a way that screamed significance.
“The dragon.” I blinked at him, confusion cutting through my exhaustion. “The green one. The one who caught me when I jumped off Thessarian’s back.”
“I know which dragon.” Varyth’s voice had gone very quiet. “The question is how you know its name.”
“He told me.” The words came out slow, my brain working through molasses. Why did that matter? “We talked during the fight. Well, he talked. I mostly just held on and tried not to die.”
Varyth’s hands tightened where they rested on his knees, his knuckles going white. “You could hear it speaking?”
“Yes?” I frowned at him, at the tension suddenly radiating off him in waves. “What does that mean?”
“It means—” He stopped himself, dragged a hand through his dark hair in a gesture of pure frustration. “Tell me exactly what happened. From the beginning.”
So I did. Told him about jumping from Thessarian’s back, about Kaelen catching me mid-fall with that liquid grace. About the shadow dragons pursuing us, about unleashing my fire while he flew. About the conversation that had seemed so natural in the moment, dry humour, his encouragement, the way he’d told me to stop before I tore myself apart.
About not listening.
