"Six days total," she says, setting her book aside and reaching for a cup of water that she holds to my lips. I drink greedily, suddenly aware of my parched throat. "The fever breaks occasionally, but it always returns."
Another wave hits, worse than before. The shadows around the room respond, whipping into a frenzy that shatters a vase and sends books flying from shelves. Seraphina doesn't flinch, her hands remaining steady on my chest as she continues an incantation in an ancient language.
In the brief respite that follows, I find myself speaking again, compelled by pain and fever to unburden myself of truths I've never shared.
"The Light Court," I rasp, my voice barely recognizable. "Tell me what you know about the massacre."
Her hands pause momentarily before resuming their work. "I know what everyone knows. The Shadow Court slaughtered innocent citizens during what was supposed to be a peaceful annexation."
"Not at first," I admit, closing my eyes against memories that burn as fiercely as the curse. "I gave the order to protect the citizens. To show mercy. To prove we aren't the monsters they believed us to be."
I feel rather than see her surprise. The bond between us pulses with it.
"Then what happened?" she asks quietly.
"Emmett's mate was killed. Cut down while surrendering." My breath comes in short gasps now, each word an effort. "And I...changed the order. I was so angry. So full of rage. I said no mercy, no survivors." I turn my face away, unable to meet her eyes. "I became exactly what they feared. What I had sworn never to be."
The silence stretches between us, heavy with the weight of my confession.
"Why are you telling me this?" she finally asks.
"Because the fever is making me sentimental," I reply, attempting humor and failing miserably. "Or possibly because I'm dying and want someone to know the truth. My mate should know the truth."
"You're not dying," she says with surprising fierceness. "I won't allow it."
I manage a weak smile. "Giving orders to death now, are we? Bold strategy."
The fever spikes again, shadows writhing across my skin. Through the pain, I'm vaguely aware of Seraphina's voice—not cold or distant as usual, but urgent, almost pleading as she works to counter the curse.
When I wake again, the room is bathed in soft dawn light, and my mind is clearer than it has been in days. The fever has broken completely, leaving behind a bone-deep weariness but blessedly little pain.
Seraphina is asleep in the chair beside my bed, her body curled into an uncomfortable position that cannot possibly be restful. I find myself watching the steady rise and fall of her chest, a strange tightness in my own at the realization that she truly has not left my side throughout this ordeal.
As if sensing my attention, her eyes flutter open, immediately alert despite her exhaustion. She straightens, pushing hair from her face.
"You're not dead," she observes, her voice rough with sleep.
"Keen observation," I reply. "Your healing skills are clearly matched by your perceptiveness."
She ignores my sarcasm, leaning forward to press her palm to my forehead. The touch is clinical but not cold. "The fever's gone. How do you feel?"
"Like I've been trampled by a herd of shadow beasts, but otherwise remarkably alive." I sit up, pleased to find that the room remains stationary rather than spinning wildly. "Your potions worked."
As I move to stand, testing my strength, a glimmer of silver light catches my attention from the corner of the room. At first, I think it's a trick of the morning sun on glass, but then it moves—a distinctly humanoid shape that flickers in and out of visibility.
"What is that?" I demand shadows instinctively gathering despite my weakness.
She follows my gaze, her face draining of color. "What is what?"
"Don't play innocent," I growl, squinting at the shimmering figure that's becoming more distinct by the second. "That...thing in the corner."
"He can see me," a female voice announces with cheerful curiosity. "How fascinating! The curse temporarily opened his perception to see beings from other realms, but when it fully clears, so will those memories."
The figure materializes fully—a small woman with wildly shifting silver-blonde hair and oversized eyes that gleam with mischief. Translucent wings shimmer behind her, casting prismatic patterns on the wall where they catch the light.
"Ivy!" Seraphina hisses, panic evident in her voice. "What are you doing here?"
"Checking on you, obviously," the woman—Ivy—replies with a dismissive wave. "You've been here for days. I was starting to think you'd eloped with Shadow Boy here and were enjoying a very extended honeymoon. All those moans coming from this room..." She winks suggestively.
