She left before Briar could respond.
The dress was deep green that shifted to brown at the hem, with a high collar that would hide most of the thorn patterns. Practical but elegant. She wondered if he'd chosen it to cover the marks or to frame what remained visible at her wrists and the delicate line that crept up from her collar.
Her breakfast sat heavy in her stomach as she made her way to the library, taking two wrong turns before finally finding her way.
He was already there when she arrived, surrounded by the same books on binding and contracts. He didn't look up from the book he was reading, but she saw the slight tension in his shoulders that meant he knew she'd arrived.
"Sit," he said without preamble. "Your education was interrupted. We'll continue where we left off."
No mention of last night. No acknowledgment that he'd spent hours in her room, guarding her sleep. The casual dismissal stung more than it should have.
Briar took the seat across from him, noting the fresh stack of books waiting. "More contracts?"
"Court etiquette. You nearly caused three separate incidents yesterday through ignorance." He finally looked up, expression neutral. "Kneeling when you should have stood. Meeting Lady Sarelle's eyes directly. Speaking when not addressed."
"You told me to kneel."
"I told you to kneel beside my throne. The position matters. The context matters." He pushed a leather-bound volume toward her. "Everything here has meaning. Every gesture, every word, every breath you take in the wrong moment could be seen as a challenge or an insult under the wrong conditions."
She opened the book to find diagrams of hand positions, body postures, acceptable distances between various ranks. Her head swam looking at it.
"This is insane," she muttered.
"It's survival. Unless you prefer what almost happened in the garden?" His tone was cutting, but when she glanced up, she caught him watching her with an expression that vanished too quickly to read.
They worked in tense silence. He corrected her posture with sharp precision, made her practice bows and curtseys until her legs ached. But sometimes, when she struggled with particularly complex movements, he'd demonstrate himself. Not touching her. Just moving through the forms with a grace that made her chest tight.
"You're thinking too much again," he said after her fifth failed attempt at something called the Twilight Reverence. "Your body knows how to move here. Let it."
"My body knows how to move like a human."
"Does it?" He moved closer, circling her slowly. "The way you walked in my hall yesterday after the binding. The way you move when that warmth guides you. That's not human grace."
The thorn patterns pulsed at his words, sending heat through her veins. She pressed her hand against her throat, trying to calm them.
His eyes tracked the movement. "Do they hurt?"
The question surprised her. "Not... not anymore. They're just warm."
"Warm." He stopped in front of her, and she caught that same tension from before. "Show me."
"They're fine."
"Show me."
She lowered her hand slowly. The collar hid most of the marks, but one delicate line curved up toward her jaw, visible against her pale skin. He studied it with an intensity that made her pulse quicken.
"The patterns are... unusual," he said finally. "They shouldn't be warm. My marks typically run cool, like forest shade."
"Maybe I'm just special," she said, aiming for levity.
"Maybe you are." The words were quiet, almost to himself. Then he stepped back, the moment lost. "Again. The Twilight Reverence. And this time, stop thinking about each movement."
She tried again, and this time when she stopped overthinking, something did guide her. The warmth in her chest spread through her limbs, demonstrating how to sink into the bow, how to hold the position with steady grace.
"Better," he admitted grudgingly. "Now the Forest Greeting. Arms like this." He demonstrated, and she copied. "No, your wrist is wrong."
He moved behind her, adjusting her arm position with careful touches. His chest nearly brushed her back, his breath stirring her hair. The thorn patterns flared with heat.
