"Bring a cushion," he said, interrupting the lord mid-sentence.
The entire court froze.
"My lord?" The petitioner looked confused.
"Not for you." Eliam's gaze remained on the petitioner. "Continue."
A brownie scurried forward with a deep green cushion, rich velvet embroidered with thorns. It placed it carefully at Eliam's feet, to his right, andvanished.
"Sit," Eliam commanded softly, still not looking at her.
The hall erupted in whispers. She sank onto the cushion gratefully, legs screaming relief. From this position, she was still elevated above the court on the dais, but unmistakably at his feet. His hand settled on her hair, possessive and absent, like she was a favored hound.
Except hounds didn't get cushions.
Humans didn't get cushions.
The Forest King didn't notice human discomfort, didn't accommodate mortal weakness.
But he just had.
The petitioner stumbled over his next words, clearly thrown by what he'd witnessed. Others in the crowd exchanged glances—shocked, calculating, reassessing.
"Continue," Eliam said, fingers still tangled in Briar's hair. "You were saying about the grain stores?"
But the damage was done. Every fae in the hall had seen the Forest King notice his human's discomfort and address it. Without explanation. Without justification. Simply because he chose to.
As the petitions continued, Briar sat on her cushion, the warmth in her chest purring with a contentment she didn't want to examine. His fingers occasionally tightened in her hair when a petitioner said something that displeased him, loosened when he was amused. She was learning to read his moods through touch alone.
One petitioner, a river sprite with a complaint about territorial boundaries, kept staring at her. Not with hunger or contempt, but with genuine confusion.
"Is the human to... witness all proceedings now?" the sprite finally asked.
Eliam's hand stilled in her hair. "The human is where I choose to place her. Your business is with me, not my property."
"Of course, my lord. I only wondered—"
"Wonder silently." His tone brooked no argument. "Or wonder elsewhere."
The sprite bowed hastily and concluded his petition with remarkable speed.
Hours passed. The cushion helped, but her back ached from maintaining posture, and the elaborate hairstyle pulled at her scalp. Still, she remained perfectly still, letting the court see her in this new position—not kneeling in subjugation at the bottom of the steps, but not standing as equal either.
Something in between, unprecedented. Something that suggested a shift they couldn't quite categorize.
When the last petitioner departed and the hall began to empty, Eliam finally stood. He offered her his hand, pulling her to her feet with ease.
"Your legs are numb," he observed, steadying her when she swayed.
"Yes."
"But you didn't fall. Didn't complain. Didn't show weakness until I chose to address it." He guided her down from the dais, hand returning to her back. "The court will talk about that cushion for weeks."
A flare of heat surged in her chest. Was it Anger? Embarrassment? Frustration? It was difficult to discern one from the other. Was that the reason he had brought the cushion? Because of the court’s reaction? Because the idea of gossip and whispers amused him?
"Because you showed mercy to a human?"
"Because I noticed a human. There's a difference." They walked through emptying halls, servants bowing low before moving from their path. "Mercy implies compassion. Noticing implies value."
