"Kindness." Seraphin said the word like she was tasting something foreign. "That's dangerous here."
"So everyone keeps telling me," Briar said, noting the dirt under her fingernails from the planter. Such a human thing. Such a normal thing. It made her feel more like herself than she had in days. Seraphin glanced at Briar again, that confusion still there.
"What could be worth this? What could be worth trading your freedom to him?"
"My sister." The words came out raw. "She's twelve. She's dying. Or was dying. I don't even know if..." Briar's throat closed. "My mother said he could save her. That he'd take me instead."
"Family." Something in Seraphin's expression softened and hardened simultaneously. "Always family. He knows exactly which chains are strongest."
"Are you trapped here too? Did you make a deal with him?"
Seraphin's expression grew distant, closed off. "That's not… we shouldn’t…"
"I’m sorry. You don't have to tell me. I just..." Briar gestured vaguely at the impossible garden around them. "Sometimes I wonder if I'm the only one who didn't choose this."
"None of us chose this..." Seraphin admitted at last. "I was born into service here. My mother served the forest court, as did hers before her."
"So no bargain? You just... live here?"
"Where else would we go?" Seraphin's voice held quiet resignation. "This is our world. Our purpose." She paused, adjusting one of the plants in the newly placed planter. "Though it feels different now than when I was young."
"Different how?"
Seraphin seemed to consider her words carefully. "The rules were clearer then. You knew where the lines were." She shrugged, a small, barely perceptible gesture. "But perhaps I just understand less as I grow older."
Before Briar could ask what she meant, Seraphin's head snapped up, alert as a deer scenting danger. "Someone's coming."
"I don't hear anyone," Briar said, looking back in the direction Seraphin was watching.
"Go. Now." Seraphin was already gathering her tools, movements quick and efficient. "Please. If he finds us talking—"
But it was too late. Briar felt the temperature drop and a hush fell over the garden, as though it was holding its breath. Even before he rounded the hedge, she knew it was him.
Eliam emerged from between the night-blooming vines, and Briar's heart stuttered at the sight of him. He wore burgundy today, the color of wine or old blood, the shirt open at the collar in casual disarray. Black leather pants molded to his legs in a way that made heat crawl up her neck. She jerked her gaze away, fixing it firmly on the wall behind him. Soft boots, no crown, no formal layers, and somehow that made him more dangerous. More real.
Don't look,she told herself firmly, but her peripheral vision betrayed her, tracking the way he moved in those fitted leathers. Her treacherous eyes kept drifting to the exposed skin at his throat, the casual confidence in how he wore such simple clothes. No. This was her captor, not someone to—she cut that thought off before it could finish.
"Such dedicated interest in that wall." His voice held dark amusement. "One might think it had done something fascinating, or perhaps offensive."
Heat flooded her face as his eyes found hers, holding them for a moment before flicking to where Seraphin was trying to become invisible among the plants.
"My lord," Seraphin whispered, already dropping to her knees among the soil.
He didn't acknowledge her. His attention fixed on Briar with an intensity that made her skin prickle.
"Enjoying the gardens?" His tone was mild, conversational. The tone that meant danger.
"The plants are less aggressive here," Briar managed, keeping her voice steady despite her racing heart.
"Mmm." He stepped fully into the small clearing, and the flowers seemed to lean away from him. "And such interesting company you've found."
Seraphin pressed lower to the ground, trembling among the freshly turned soil.
"She was just—"
"Working. Yes. I can see that." His gaze never left Briar's face. "Though the planter seems to have moved. Heavy thing for one person to manage."
The words hung in the air, a test disguised as observation. Briar's mind raced. Deny it? Admit it? Either path led to punishment, just different kinds.
