"No fever," he murmured, but his hand didn't move. Instead, his fingers shifted to her cheek, thumb brushing the shadow beneath her eye. "But you're still too cold."
"Your hands are just warm," she managed, trying not to lean into the touch.
"Perhaps." His other hand came up to frame her face, tilting it toward the light. "Your color is better than yesterday. But your lips..."
"What about my lips?"
"Still too pale." His thumb traced her lower lip, and her breath caught. "They should be darker. Fuller. Like when you're..."
"When I'm what?" The question came out breathier than intended.
His eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought he might show her exactly what he meant. Then he stepped back, control snapping back into place.
"When you're properly warm. Which you're not." He returned to his chair, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. "Finish your breakfast. All of it."
She picked up a piece of bread, trying to focus on eating rather than the way her lip still tingled from his touch. The bread was perfect—still warm, buttered exactly right. Even the way he'd removed the crusts felt oddly tender.
"There's a flower," she said suddenly, noticing the small addition to her tray. A single violet bloom in a tiny crystal vase.
He didn't look up from his papers. "The healer says pleasant surroundings aid in recovery."
"The healer says flowers help?"
"The healer says many things. I simply do as instructed." He turned a page with more force than necessary. "Are you going to question fae healers now?"
"I'm questioning whether the healer specifically prescribed purple flowers with breakfast."
"Eat your berries."
She hid a smile, popping a raspberry into her mouth. It burst sweet and tart on her tongue, perfectly ripe. Everything on the tray was perfect, actually. As if someone had taken great care in selecting each item.
"How long have you been awake?" she asked.
"Why?"
"This breakfast is elaborate. Fresh berries, perfectly prepared toast, tea at exactly the right temperature..." She gestured at the tray. "This took time to arrange."
"The kitchen staff are efficient."
"The kitchen staff don't remove crusts in perfect triangles or know that I prefer raspberry jam to strawberry."
He set down his papers entirely, giving her his full attention. It was like being studied by a particularly elegant predator.
"You're observing unnecessary details."
"Am I?" She took another sip of tea. "Like how you've moved half your study into my room? Or how you've memorized my tea preferences? Or how you keep checking on me every two hours despite claiming I need uninterrupted rest?"
"Supervision ensures proper healing."
"Supervision doesn't require personally delivering every meal."
"The servants are incompetent."
"The servants are terrified because you threatened to turn the last one who 'disturbed my rest' into garden mulch."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "He was loud."
"He sneezed."
