Fear shot through her veins. "What?"
"I told you, everything here has a price." He caught her wrist, careful to avoid the wounds. "Did you think I'd let you bleed out on your first day? How disappointing that would be."
"Then heal it!"
"So demanding," his thumb traced the edge of her palm, making her shiver. "Ask nicely."
"I shouldn't have to ask at all! You made me take it!"
"Yes. To teach you a valuable lesson." He pulled her closer, until barely inches separated them. "And now I'll unmake the damage. But everything—"
"Has a price. I get it." She tried to pull away, but his grip simply tightened, refusing to yield. "What do you want? More groveling? Should I kneel?"
"Tempting." His free hand came up to cup her jaw, forcing her to meet his eyes. "But no. The price for this is simpler. You'll stand very still. You'll make no sound. And you'll let me work without resistance."
"Work how—"
He lifted her palm to his mouth.
Shock rippled through her at the first touch of his lips against the wounds. Heat bloomed from the contact, spreading up her arm in waves. His tongue traced one puncture, and the sensation shot straight through her core causing her to gasp.
"I said," he murmured against her skin, "no sound."
She bit her lip hard enough to taste copper, staying silent as he continued his ministrations. His mouth was fever-hot against her skin, tongue probingeach wound with deliberate care. Need pooled low in her belly when his teeth scraped the sensitive skin, her knees threatening to buckle.
The black lines began to recede. She could see them retreating as he worked, pulling back from their spread toward her wrist. But with each sweep of his tongue, each press of his lips, that warmth in her chest pulsed stronger.
He noticed. She saw the moment he felt it, in the slight stiffening of his shoulders, the pause in his movements. His eyes flicked up to hers, holding her gaze as he drew one punctured finger between his teeth and sucked.
The warmth flared. Just for an instant, but bright enough that she swore she saw gold flicker in his green eyes.
He released her hand abruptly, stepping back. The wounds were now closed, pink new skin where the punctures had been. No sign of the spreading poison.
"There." His voice was rougher than before. "Adequately healed."
She cradled her hand against her chest, skin still tingling from his mouth. "That was..."
"Necessary." He turned away, but she caught the tension in his shoulders. "Come. We're late."
"Eliam—"
"Move." The command cracked sharply. "Unless you'd prefer I demonstrate other healing methods? The next one involves significantly less clothing."
Briar followed in silence, but her palm burned with phantom sensation, and that warmth in her chest had settled into a steady glow.
She couldn’t help but notice the way he flexed his hand as they walked, or how he touched his lips briefly, as if tasting something unexpected.
The great hall was worse than the throne room.
Where that had been empty grandeur, this thrummed with life. Creatures filled the vast space in clusters and hierarchies she couldn't parse. Beings with antlers dripping moss. Females whose skin shifted between bark and flesh. Things that might have been human once but had stayed too long, twisted into new shapes by proximity to power.
All of them turned when Eliam entered. All of them looked at her.
Hunger and curiosity pressed against her skin from their collective attention. She fought not to shrink closer to Eliam, hating that he felt safer in comparison. But at least his danger was familiar. These creatures watched her with predatory calculation.
"Eyes down," Eliam said quietly, for her ears alone. "You're not their equal. Don't invite challenge by pretending otherwise."
She dropped her gaze to the living wood floor, tracking his movement by the sound of his steps. He led her to the raised dais where his throne waited, not the root-twisted seat from last night but something worse. This throne was made of carved wood and bones, though from what creatures she couldn't guess. They'd been polished white, woven together with dark vines that pulsed with their own heartbeat.
