"Now food," he said, guiding her to the table by the windows.
The tray held more than she could possibly eat—bread, cheese, sliced fruit, cold meat, honey, butter. Simple but substantial. Her stomach reminded her that she'd burned a lot of energy in the past twelve hours.
She sat and began eating while he poured water from a pitcher, setting the glass in front of her with a firmness that suggested he'd be monitoring how much she drank.
"Eat all of it," he said, settling into the chair across from her.
"I can't possibly—"
"You can and you will." His tone left no room for argument. "Your body needs fuel to recover."
She picked up a piece of bread, tearing it into smaller pieces. The food was good, and once she started eating, she realized how hungry she actually was. She made her way through the bread and cheese, then the fruit, while Eliam watched with that intensity he brought to everything.
"More," he said when she slowed, pushing the plate of meat toward her.
"I'm full—"
"You're not." He leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. "You've barely eaten in days. You need more than fruit and bread."
She sighed but took a piece of the meat. He was right, annoyingly. Her body needed the protein, needed to rebuild after everything it had been through.
The silence was comfortable as she ate, broken only by the clink of her fork against the plate and the distant sound of wind beyond the windows. When she finally pushed the plate away, genuinely full, he seemed satisfied.
"Better," he said.
She looked out the windows for the first time, really looked, and saw what she'd barely registered in the panic of last night. The Star Court gardens were blanketed inwhite, snow covering the impossible blooms and turning everything into a winter scene that looked like something from a dream.
“It’s beautiful," she said, unable to keep the wonder from her voice.
"It’s cold and wet…" His tone suggested he didn't enjoy it.
She pressed her hand against the glass, feeling the cold seep through. The snow was still falling, soft and steady, covering everything in pristine white.
"I want to go out," she said, the words escaping before she could think them through.
Eliam's expression shifted to something between disbelief and refusal. "You're recovering. You should be in bed."
"I've been in too many beds lately," she said, still watching the snow fall. "Too many rooms with locked doors. I want to be outside. Just for a little while."
Eliam moved to stand behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders. "You're exhausted. Your body needs rest."
"My body needs to move," she countered. "To feel something other than fear and pain for five minutes."
His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders. "The cold won't help with that."
"Maybe not. But being trapped inside will make it worse." She turned to face him, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "Please."
Something flickered across his expression—surprise, maybe, or something softer. "You've gotten remarkably comfortable making demands of me."
"Is that a problem?"
"Prince Arion seems to think you're not my possession," he said, his voice carrying that dangerous edge. "That you have autonomy and choices."
Her heart sank slightly, the moment of lightness evaporating. Of course. She was still just—
"He's wrong, of course," Eliam continued, his hand moving to cup her face. "You are mine. Which means I'm responsible for keeping you alive and well." His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "So if we're going outside, you'll wear something warm. And you won't overexert yourself. And the moment you start looking tired, we're coming back inside. Do you understand?"
The relief that flooded through her was almost dizzying. Not a refusal. Not dismissal of what she needed. Just... conditions. Reasonable ones, even.
