Briar stood where she'd stood months ago, staring at the flowers that had drunk her blood that first day. Her hand ghosted over her palm where the scars had long since faded. Such a small beginning to everything that followed.
This was for the best. His memory loss was a blessing, a chance for her to leave without the messy pain of rejection. He didn't remember marking her, claiming her, wanting her. Didn't remember the way he’d said her name like ownership and promise combined. It was cleaner this way. Kinder, even.
Her heart disagreed violently.
She reached toward one of the roses, careful now in a way she hadn't been then. The thorns were sharp as ever, gleaming with that hungry intelligence. One prickedher finger despite her caution, and she watched the blood well up, remembering how fascinated he'd been by the sight.
Footsteps echoed on the glass floor. That particular measured pace—not hurried but purposeful and predatory. She'd heard it so many times, but never directed at her like this. Not since those first days.
"What is a human doing in my conservatory?"
She turned slowly, her bleeding finger curling into her palm. He stood in the doorway, blocking the exit without seeming to. He wore black, as always, but there was something different about how he carried himself. He was colder and more distant. The way he'd been before she'd started mattering.
"I needed air," she said.
"The gardens are full of air. Yet you chose to enter a private space." He stepped closer, and her body remembered this—the way he moved when he was about to be deliberately cruel. "Wandering about as though you have some right to be here. As though you belong."
"Idobelong here." The words came out desperate. "You brought me here months ago. You taught me about your world, about the roses, about—"
"Stop." The word cut through her rambling. He was closer now, close enough that she could feel the heat emanating from him. "I don't know what delusion you're nursing, but I've never brought a human here, let alone taught one anything."
"You did. You gave me a rose and it drank my blood and you said everything here has a price, especially gifts."
His eyes narrowed. Something flickered in them—not recognition but something worse. Interest. The kind of interest a cat shows in a mouse that's behaving strangely.
"You're very familiar with my habits for someone I don't know." His voice dropped to that dangerous softness she knew too well. "Tell me, little human, why do you think you know me?"
"Because you marked me." Her voice cracked. "Because you claimed me in front of your entire court. Because you—"
He moved fast, backing her against the pillar. The roses rustled, eager, remembering her blood.
"Careful," he said, and his breath ghosted across her face. "Lying about a fae lord is dangerous. Claiming intimacy where none exists is... unwise."
"I'm not lying."
"No?" His hand came up, fingers wrapping around her throat, feeling her pulse race. "Then why does my mind not know you? Why does my magic not recognize you?"
Tears burned her eyes. "I don't know."
He studied her face with that clinical curiosity that used to precede either cruelty or unexpected gentleness. Now it was just cold assessment. His thumb traced along her jaw, and her traitorous body responded, remembering this touch even if he didn't.
"Interesting," he murmured. "You react as though you know me. Your body expects my touch."
"Because you've touched me a hundred times."
"Have I?" His head tilted, predatory interest sharpening. "Then you won't mind if I test that claim."
Before she could respond, his mouth was on hers.
It was nothing like before. No careful control, no possessive tenderness, no dark affection. This was meant to prove a point, to frighten her, to show her what happened when humans overstepped. His kiss was cruel, invasive, taking without giving.
But his body betrayed him. She felt the moment he registered how perfectly she fit against him, how her mouth opened under his without hesitation, how she knew exactly how he liked to be kissed. He made a sound—confusion, frustration, want he didn't understand—and pressed closer.
That's when she shoved him.
Her palms hit his chest and pushed hard, and he actually stepped back. The old Eliam would never have allowed it, would have grabbed her wrists and held her in place. But this Eliam let her push him away, and somehow that was worse.
"There," he said, his breathing slightly uneven. "You see? You know you don't belong here. Your body knows I'm a threat."
