"You bastard," she said.
"Yes." He studied her face with what might have been satisfaction. "But a bastard whose authority is no longer in question. And you're still whole. For now."
"The bone garden—"
"Is survivable. If you're careful and attentive. If you remember that there are far worse things I could do." He paused. "It may not seem like it, but I protected you."
“You call that protection?”
His thumb brushed away a tear, the gesture at odds with his words. "Do you know what Lady Sarelle would have done if she thought me truly weak? What any of them would do to the human who made the Forest King look soft?"
"So I suffer for your pride?"
“Make no mistake, little thief. You suffer because you chose to defy me,” he said. “What I have done is made clear that you are thoroughly mine. Completely controlled. No threat to their order." His hand curved around her nape, thumb dragging over the thin line of blood left in the wake of his thorns. "Would you prefer I'd let them test you themselves? See how long you lasted against their court games?"
She had no answer for that.
"Your defiance has consequences," he continued. "Not just for you. For everyone who sees it. Remember that next time you think of running."
"There won't be a next time."
"No," he agreed. "There won't."
He stepped back, assessing the damage. Her dress hung in tatters, her skin marked with vine patterns that would fade in days. Or weeks. Or maybe never.
"Can you walk?"
She tested her legs. They were shaky but functional. "Yes."
"Then we return to your rooms. You'll bathe, change, and rest." He paused. "I'd hate for you to disappoint my garden by succumbing too quickly."
He turned and she followed, because she could no longer afford the luxury of defiance, not if she wished to survive this place. But that warmth in her chest, the one that had flared when she'd tried to resist, pulsed with what felt like promise.
Or warning.
Behind them, the throne sat empty. But the vines that had grown from the floor remained, twisted into new patterns. And if anyone had looked closely, they would have seen small golden flowers blooming among the white.
Chapter nine
The hand on her shoulder belonged to nightmares.
Briar jerked awake to find Thaine crouched beside her bed, his face too close, his smile too wide. Darkness pressed against the windows, true darkness, not the forest's eternal twilight.
"Rise and shine, rabbit," he whispered, his voice carrying barely contained delight. "Time for your gardening lesson."
Cold dread crept through her as memory returned. The bone garden. One night. The way even hardened fae had recoiled at the sentence.
"It’s the middle of the night," she said, voice rough with sleep.
"His lordship was very specific about the timing." Thaine straightened, moving to her wardrobe with disturbing familiarity. "Midnight to dawn. The garden prefers those hours. It’s far more... responsive."
He pulled out clothes, casting garments aside until finally producing one made of practical leather and thick fabric, nothing like the delicate dresses she'd been given before. "Up. Unless you'd prefer I dress you myself? I'm told I have very cold hands."
She snatched the clothes from him, clutching them against her chest. "Get out."
"Such modesty. How human." But he turned his back, studying her bookshelf with exaggerated interest. "I did try to warn you, you know. About the price of defiance. But no one ever listens to poor Thaine."
Briar dressed quickly, fingers fumbling with unfamiliar buckles. The leather was soft but sturdy, covering her from throat to wrist to ankle. Protection, she realized. Or at least the illusion of it.
