"I don't knowhow—"
"No, of course you don't." His grip tightened slightly. "Pure instinct, pure protection. How beautifully primitive."
The flowers continued blooming, their petals fully open now, trembling slightly though there was no breeze. She could see golden dust beginning to form in their centers, gathering like tiny storms.
"They're quite lovely," he said, returning his attention to her partially exposed form in the mirror. "Harmless things. Though I suppose even rabbits try to run when cornered."
His mouth returned to her shoulder, teeth grazing skin. "Where were we?"
The golden dust swirled deeper in the flowers' centers. She recognized the signs, they were about to release. Eliam's warning echoed in her memory: "Hold your breath if you're ever near them when they spread their pollen."
She inhaled deeply just as the flowers erupted.
Golden clouds burst from every bloom simultaneously, filling the air with shimmering dust that caught the afternoon light like suspended gold. Malachar, mid-sentence about her warmth, took a full breath of it directly.
The effect was instantaneous.
His eye rolled back, showing white. His grip on her shoulders went slack, then his knees buckled. He dropped like a puppet with cut strings, hitting the floor with a heavy thud that shook the vanity.
But she'd breathed some too—just a small amount before holding her breath, but enough. The room tilted strangely. Her limbs felt heavy, disconnected. The collar, sensing her attempt to flee, began draining what little strength remained.
Frederick. She had to get Frederick.
She stumbled forward, pulling her arms free of the dress, hiking the skirts up to keep from tripping. The bowl. There—on the vanity where she'd left it. Her fingers felt thick and clumsy as she grabbed it, water sloshing. Frederick bobbed anxiously, his bubble expanding and contracting with distress.
The door. She needed the door.
But the golden pollen hung everywhere, a beautiful glittering cloud she had to move through. Each step required conscious thought. Lift foot. Put down. Balance. The collar pulled at her energy, interpreting her escape as defiance, making her knees weak.
She made it to the door, fumbling with the handle. Locked. Of course it was locked.
Malachar groaned behind her, already fighting the pollen's effect. His body was fae, stronger than human. He wouldn't stay unconscious long.
The keys. He had to have keys.
She stumbled back to his prone form, dropping to her knees beside him, Frederick's bowl clutched in one hand while the other searched his pockets. The pollen was settling now, coating every surface in fine golden dust. She tried not to breathe, but her lungs burned for air.
There—a ring of keys in his inner pocket. Her fingers were barely working, the combination of pollen and collar making everything feel distant and strange. She grabbed them, stumbling back to the door.
Five keys on the ring. Her hands shook so badly she could barely get the first one to the lock. It scraped against the metal, missing the keyhole entirely. Finally in. Didn't turn.
The second key went in but jammed halfway. Wrong one. Behind her, Malachar groaned, his body shifting on the floor.
"Come on, come on—" The third key. Her vision was blurring, the edges going dark. The key slipped from her numb fingers, the whole ring clattering to the floor.
She dropped to her knees, Frederick's bowl hitting the ground hard, water sloshing out. The sprite swirled in distress as she frantically felt for the keys with fingers that barely responded. There—cold metal against her palm.
Back to standing took everything she had. The room spun violently. The third key again, hands shaking so badly it took three tries to find the keyhole. It slid in. Turned.
The lock clicked open.
She practically fell into the corridor, gasping for clean air. But that was a mistake. The deep breath made the pollen in her lungs activate more fully. The world swam, edges going soft.
"No, no, no—" She pressed one hand against the wall for support, Frederick's bowl in the other. The water sprite was agitated, creating tiny spouts that wet her hand.
Which way? She couldn't remember which way led to the stairs. The collar continued its steady drain, punishing her for running. Combined with the pollen, she could barely stand.
Behind her, she heard movement from the room. Malachar waking. Fighting through the sleep.
