"Stop crying," he commanded, but there was no force behind it. Just helplessness. "I don't—I can't—" He made another frustrated sound. "Just stop."
But he held her tighter even as he said it, his hand stroking her hair with unexpected gentleness.
Eventually, the tears began to slow and his hand continued stroking through her hair, like he was petting something wild that might bolt if he stopped.
"Humans," he said finally, "are absurdly fragile. Emotionally and otherwise. I should probably just keep you wrapped in cotton and locked in a room somewhere."
Despite everything, Briar huffed a laugh. "Deal with it," she managed, her voice muffled against his chest.
"I'm trying." His hand moved from her hair to her jaw, tilting her face up to his. Her eyes were swollen, her cheeks blotchy and wet, and she probably looked terrible, but he just studied her with that intense focus he brought to everything. "You're a disaster."
"Your disaster," she said without thinking.
Something shifted in his expression. His thumb traced along her jaw, then lower, finding the pulse beneath the bite marks. For a moment they just looked at each other, and she could see him weighing something, deciding something.
Then he kissed her.
It wasn't gentle, it was desperate and claiming and full of everything he couldn't put into words. His mouth moved against hers with an intensity that spoke of fear and relief and possessive need.
Her body went rigid.
She couldn't help it. The memories crashed over her without warning—Malus's mouth on hers, his hands holding her in place, the wine making her body respond while her mind screamed. The taste of autumn and rot and wrongness. The way he'd smiled against her lips, knowing exactly what he was doing to her.
Eliam felt it immediately. He pulled back like she'd burned him, his hands releasing her face, his whole body going still.
"Briar—"
She stared at him, her heart hammering, her breath coming too fast. The fear was still there. The memory of Malus's violation, the way he'd taken her choice, her control, her body's responses and twisted them into weapons against her. She could still feel the phantom weight of him, still taste that wrong autumn sweetness.
But she could also feel Eliam pulling away, could see him withdrawing, closing himself off, and she realized with sudden, fierce clarity that this was exactly what Malus would want. For her to flinch from Eliam's touch and the trauma to poison what they had, for it to continue violating her even now, even here, even safe in Star Court chambers.
He'd taken enough from her. Her dignity. Her sense of safety. Her body's autonomy. But he wouldn't take this. Wouldn't take Eliam, not again.
She grabbed Eliam's face between her hands and pulled him back down, crushing her mouth to his before fear could win.
Her hands rose to tangle in his hair, her body pressing against his. When his lips parted in surprise, she deepened the kiss. She poured everything into it—defiance and determination and a desperate need to replace Malus's touch with something that was hers.
Eliam made a sound against her mouth, half moan and half something darker. His hands came to her waist, and after a moment of letting her lead, something shifted. His grip tightened, turning possessive, and he took over the kiss with an intensity that stole her breath. His tongue swept into her mouth and she felt herself responding despite the lingering fear.
His hands moved from her waist to her hips, pulling her flush against him, and she gasped at the contact. The kiss turned rougher, his teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to sting. One hand slid up her back to tangle in her hair, tilting her head to give him deeper access.
She wanted this. Her body was responding, the warmth in her chest singing with recognition and need. But underneath it, anxiety threaded through like a dark current. The memory of hands that took without asking, of her body responding when she didn't want it to, of pleasure twisted into a weapon.
The kiss slowed.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes still dark with desire but searching her face. She opened her mouth to apologize, to explain, but he just shook his head. His hands released her hair, her hip, moving instead to pull her against his chest.
"You need more rest," he said, his voice rough. "Before I can properly bed you."
The words struck her as odd. She'd been half-drowned and hypothermic after the river, and that hadn't stopped him. This? This was different.
His mouth found her throat. His teeth scraped against the bite marks Malus had left there, then bit down. The pressure was hard, deliberate, and she gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders.
"You’re mine," he said against her throat. He bit again, lower this time, marking her collarbone. "Always mine."
Each bite was firm enough to leave a mark, firm enough to hurt. Even as he pulled back she could feel the bruises forming, a constellation of possession across her throat and shoulder.
He settled her back against the pillows, pulling her into his arms with a firmness that suggested argument would be useless. One arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against his chest, while his other hand splayed possessively across her stomach.
