"Think about what I said earlier, Briar. About choices."
Eliam's hand tightened slightly against her back, and they walked in silence back to their rooms. She could feel tension radiating from him, controlled but present. He was angry about the pendant, about finding her with Arion. His silence was one Briar had grown to recognize, it was the kind that came before storms.
The fire had burned down to embers, casting the room in shadows and faint orange light. Beside her, Eliam slept with the stillness of someone who never questioned his right to anything—not power, not possession, not her. His arm lay heavy across her waist, and normally the weight would be comforting. Tonight it felt like a chain.
Arion's words wouldn't leave her alone.
His essence lives inside of you. Did you ever think that if it wasn't there, you wouldn't be so easily swayed?
Briar stared at the ceiling, trying to trace back through her memories. The first time she'd seen Eliam in the forest, the immediate pull she'd felt—was that her or the essence recognizing him? When he'd saved her from the river, the way she'd trusted him despite having every reason not to, was that instinct or magical influence?
The warmth pulsed gently in her chest, a constant presence she'd grown so accustomed to she barely noticed it anymore. But now she was acutely aware of it, of how it responded to Eliam even in sleep, reaching toward him like a plant toward sunlight.
Twenty-five years. It had been inside her for twenty-five years, since before she could form memories. How could she possibly separate what was her from what was it?
She thought about every moment with Eliam. The way her body responded to his touch, the pull she felt toward him even when he frightened her, the forgiveness that came too easily after he'd cast her out. Had any of that been real? Or was she just a puppet dancing to the essence's pull?
But no—she'd resisted him. Multiple times. She'd been furious when he'd sent her to the Wild Hunt, had tried to escape, had fought against the bargain. If the essence controlled her, wouldn't she have simply accepted everything?
Unless that was part of it too. The illusion of resistance to make the surrender feel like choice.
Her chest tightened with something approaching panic. Every emotion she'd thought was hers could be questioned now. The love she'd confessed, was it love or magical compulsion? The desire she felt, was it attraction or the essence seeking its other half?
She turned her head to look at Eliam in the dim light. Even in sleep, there was something predatory about him, something dangerous. Why had she been drawn to that? She'd never been attracted to danger in her old life, had dated safe, boring men who would never dream of throwing her to wolves or marking her as property.
But then she thought about Arion, and the warmth pulled toward him too. She felt that same physical draw, that recognition. Yet she didn't love him. She could acknowledge he was beautiful, that there was attraction, but it didn't go deeper.
Or was that just what she was telling herself to make this bearable?
Eliam shifted in his sleep, his arm tightening around her, and the warmth surged with contentment. She felt it like a separate entity almost, pleased by the contact. Was any of what she felt actually hers?
The spiral of doubt pulled her deeper. Every kiss, every touch, every moment of tenderness—all of it could be false. She was corrupted by magic she'd never asked for, bound to a man who might only want her because of what she carried. What had started as a curiosity, a thing to be discovered, had become an obsession.
Would Eliam even look at her twice if the warmth hadn’t been there? Or would she just be another human, insignificant and forgettable?
She pressed her hand against her chest, feeling the warmth pulse under her palm. It was part of her now, woven so deeply she'd probably die if it was removed. She'd never know what she would have chosen without it. Never know if this love was real or manufactured.
The thought made her feel hollow, like something had scooped out her insides and left only questions behind.
"Whatever you’re thinking about, don’t," Eliam murmured against her shoulder, startling her. She hadn't realized he'd woken.
"Sorry," she whispered. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
His hand moved to cover hers where it pressed against her chest. "What troubles you?"
She couldn't tell him. Couldn't voice the doubts that would sound like betrayal. So she said, "Tomorrow. The journey. Everything."
He was quiet for a moment, and she wondered if he sensed the lie. Then his lips found her neck, pressing against the marks there.
"Sleep," he commanded softly. "Whatever tomorrow brings, you'll face it better rested."
The warmth pulsed at his touch, reaching for him eagerly, and she wanted to cry. Because she couldn't tell anymore if the comfort she felt was hers or its. Couldn't tell if she turned into his embrace because she wanted to or because the magic somehow demanded it.
But she turned anyway, burying her face against his chest, trying to lose herself in his solid presence. Even if it wasn't real, even if it was all magical manipulation, it was all she had.
The doubt had taken root though, spreading through her like corruption of a different kind, and she didn't know how to stop it.
Chapter twenty-eight
