"The garden needed rearranging," she said finally. "The night-blooming vines were suffering in their previous position."
"Were they?" He moved closer, circling her slowly. Seraphin remained frozen, a trembling statue among the flowers. "And you've become an expert on my gardens now?"
"No. I just—"
"Just what?" He stopped directly in front of her, too close, forcing her to crane her neck to meet his eyes. "Decided to befriend the help? How... democratic of you."
"She warned me about the flowers. I would have touched them if she hadn’t."
"Memory blooms." His attention shifted briefly to the cascading wall of pink-tinged petals. "Pretty things. They'd have shown you your sister, most likely. Happy. Healthy. Laughing." His eyes found hers again. "Right before stealing the sound of her voice from your mind forever."
Ice flooded Briar's veins. "What?"
"Did you think the trade would be kind? A pleasant memory for an unpleasant memory?" He reached past her, fingers hovering near the blooms. They swayed toward him eagerly. "They show you what you want most, then take something equally precious. Your sister's voice. Your mother's face. Your father's name."
"I didn't know."
"Because you're still thinking like a human." He pulled his hand back, attention returning fully to her. "Everything here has teeth, little thief. Even kindness."
His gaze flicked meaningfully to where Seraphin knelt.
"Speaking of which." He stepped around Briar, approaching the trembling servant. "Seraphin, isn't it?"
"Y-yes, my lord."
"Look at me."
The woman raised her head slowly, amber eyes wide with terror.
"Tell me," Eliam said softly, "what price do you think kindness carries in my domain?"
"My lord, I only—"
"Only what? Helped my property? Gave warnings I didn't authorize?" He tilted his head, studying her. "Or were you perhaps hoping to gain something? A friend? An ally? Someone who might speak for you?"
"No! I would never presume—"
"Wouldn't you?" He reached down, fingers grazing the bark-like texture of Seraphin's cheek. She flinched but didn't dare pull away. "Everyone wants something, Seraphin. Even servants who've been here long enough to know better."
Briar stepped forward before she could stop herself. "She was just being helpful."
Eliam's hand stilled. He didn't turn, but she felt his attention shift to her like a physical weight.
"Was she?" His voice carried dark amusement. "And what do you know of her intentions?"
"I know she warned me about the flowers. I know she—"
"You know nothing." He straightened, turning to face her fully. "You've been here a few weeks and you think you understand my servants? My domain? The delicate balance of fear and function that keeps this place running?"
Heat flared in Briar's chest, her anger mixing with that strange warmth that always responded to him. "I understand cruelty disguised as order."
"Do you?" He moved toward her again, leaving Seraphin gasping in the dirt. "Then you should understand this: every kindness here is calculated. Every warning has a price. Every gesture of help creates debt." He stopped inches from her, close enough that she could feel the cold radiating from him. "So tell me, what debt has she created? What will you owe her when I'm done here?"
"Nothing. She owes me nothing and I owe her the same."
"Lying doesn't become you." His hand came up, fingers tracing the air near her face without quite touching. "But let's test your conviction. Shall I punish her for overstepping? A day as stone for giving unauthorized warnings? A week as morning dew for moving planters with my property?"
"Stop." The word came out harder than intended.
