Still nothing.
“I’m going to be so insufferable when you wake up,” I warned him. “I’m going to hover. I’m going to fuss. I’m going to make you eat soup and rest and you’re going to hate every second of itand I don’t care because you scared me and you deserve to suffer through my overprotective phase.”
His breathing stayed steady. His pulse stayed weak but present.
I didn’t leave his side. What if he woke up and I wasn’t there? What if something went wrong?
Sometime deep into the night, exhaustion finally won. I was still holding his hand, my head resting on the edge of his bed, my eyes burning from tears and lack of sleep. I tried to stay awake but my body had other ideas.
My eyes slid closed…And, I didn’t know how long later, I woke up to someone stroking my hair.
The touch was gentle, familiar, achingly beloved. For a moment I didn’t move, caught between sleep and waking, not quite believing it was real. I’d dreamed this. Dreamed him waking up, dreamed everything being fine, only to jolt awake and find him still unconscious.
Then my head jerked up.
Mal was awake. His eyes were open and clear, looking at me with so much love it made my chest ache. His hand was still in my hair, fingers tangled in the strands that had come loose from my braid during my restless vigil.
“Hi,” he said softly, his voice rough from disuse but unmistakably him.
I burst into tears.
Just completely broke down. Ugly crying, the kind with the hiccupping and the snot and the complete loss of dignity that I would be embarrassed about later but couldn’t bring myself to care about now. Relief and joy and residual panic all crashing together at once in a wave that knocked every coherent thought out of my head.
“Don’t cry,” he said, looking genuinely concerned, trying to sit up.
“DON’T MOVE!” I launched myself at him, hugging him gently but unable to not touch him, unable to not hold him. I buried my face in his neck and let the sobs come. “How dare you. How DARE you scare me like that. I thought you were dead. I thought you left me. I thought I’d have to tell Killian his father was gone and I was going to kill you myself for breaking your promise and...”
“I am here,” he said quietly, his arms coming up to hold me despite what it clearly cost him. I could feel him wince but he didn’t let go. “I promised you forever, remember?”
“You’re an idiot,” I sobbed into his neck. “A reckless, stupid, wonderful idiot and I’m going to kill you myself for making me worry.”
He was laughing, his chest shaking under me despite his injuries. “I love you too.”
“This isn’t funny!”
“You are threatening to kill me while simultaneously hugging me,” he pointed out, his voice warm with amusement. “It is a little funny.”
I tried to maintain my glare but I couldn’t do it. He was awake. He was alive. He was here, talking to me, teasing me, being completely himself.
My Mal.
I kissed him instead of arguing, desperate and relieved and full of everything I couldn’t find words for. When I pulled back, he was watching me with that soft look he reserved just for me and Killian.
“How long was I out?” he asked.
“A day and a half. Your body just shut down. They said you pushed too hard.”
“But we won,” he said, searching my face.
“King Igrid is dead. Gregyor took control. It’s over.”
He exhaled slowly. “Good. That is good.”
The medical team rushed in, alerted by the noise. They surrounded the bed, checking vitals, examining him. Their expressions shifted from concerned to confused to pleased.
“The healing has accelerated,” the head healer announced. “Whatever was blocking it has cleared. You are on the mend, Your Majesty.”
“When can I leave?” Mal asked immediately.
