"Was it?"
She looked at him sharply. He knew. Of course he knew. Dreams were doors, and fae understood doors better than humans ever could.
"He can't actually reach me here. Can he?"
Arion's hesitation was answer enough.
"He can't hurt you," he said finally. "Not physically. Not across my borders. But dreams..." He released her shoulders, sitting back. "Dreams are neutral territory. He can speak. Threaten. Show you things."
"Wonderful." She drew her knees up, wrapping her arms around them. "So I can't even sleep safely."
"I could ward them, your dreams. It would help."
"What's the cost?"
Genuine hurt flickered across his face. "No cost. Just help."
"There's always a cost." Eliam had taught her that, had all but burned it into her bones. "What's yours?"
"The cost is I might see them too. The wards would connect us, briefly. You'd have to trust me that far."
Trust. Such a simple word. Such an impossible thing.
But the thought of closing her eyes and finding Eliam waiting again with his threats and promises...
"Do it."
He nodded, moving closer. "Give me your hand. The unmarked one."
She extended her right hand. He took it carefully, his touch light but steady. With his free hand, he traced symbols in the air that glowed faintly silver.
"Think of something peaceful," he instructed. "Something that makes you feel safe."
Stars, she thought. Allegra's laughter. Bread that was just bread.
The symbols flared brighter, then sank into her skin. Where they touched, she felt... quiet. Protected. The sensation of being wrapped in moonlight.
"There. He can still speak to you if you dream of him, but he can't force his way in and he can't make you dream of him."
"Thank you." The words felt inadequate.
"Try to sleep. Dawn's still hours away."
He rose to leave, but she caught his sleeve. "Stay? Just... just until I fall asleep?"
She expected him to refuse. To set boundaries and remind her that she belonged to another.
Instead, he settled into the chair by her bed. "Of course."
She lay back, pulling blankets to her chin. The mark still pulsed angry on her arm, but the silver protection made it distant. Manageable.
"Tell me about the stars again," she said into the darkness. "The happy ones."
So he did. Quiet stories of constellations that danced, that laughed, that loved. His voice followed her down into sleep, and this time she dreamed of nothing at all.
Which was its own kind of blessing.
One day left.
