I knock once on the study door before entering. Daryn sits upright in the chair by his desk, a book open before him, looking almost like himself.Almost.His silver hair catches the dying light, his posture straight, his expression alert. But he's thinner than he was even a week ago. The bones of his face stand in sharper relief, his silver-blue eyes sunken deeper. His skin has taken on a translucent quality, like parchment stretched too tight.
He's dying by inches, and I can't stop watching it happen.
"Val." His smile is genuine, touched with that familiar sardonic edge. "Run out of other patients to experiment on?"
"Just ones that don't give me shit. What can I say? It's my love language, so I came to see you." I close the door behind me, moving into the room with practiced ease. This study has become a second home—dark wood and leather-bound books, the scent of ink and old paper, afternoon light slanting through tall windows. "How are you feeling?"
"Like a man being slowly devoured from the inside." He waves a hand dismissively. "So, the usual. You're here with another miracle cure that won't work?"
The casual cruelty of it—directed at himself, not me—makes my jaw tighten. I pull the vial from my pocket, holding it up to the light. The liquid inside gleams deep crimson, almost black in the shadows. "From Ter. An alchemist there claims it's helped with magical consumption. Different approach than what we've tried before."
Daryn's eyebrows lift. "Ter? That's quite the journey for a maybe."
"I had it sent." The correspondence took three weeks, the shipment another two. I've been waiting for this remedy with the kind of hope that feels increasingly foolish. "Worth trying."
"Everything is worth trying when the alternative is death." He leans back, studying me with an intensity that makes me want to retreat. "Though I suspect you didn't rush here in the early eveningjustto deliver mysterious potions."
Heat crawls up the back of my neck. "I thought?—"
"You thought you might catch a glimpse of the nanny." His grin turns wicked, despite the hollowness in his cheeks. "Don't bother denying it. You've been pining after Keira for months now like some tragic poet in a second-rate ballad."
"I'm not—" I stop. Start again. "This isn't about her."
"Val. Brother." He leans forward, elbows on the desk. "You're here to flirt with the nanny more than heal me. At least be honest about it."
The accusation lands with uncomfortable accuracy. I could deny it. Should deny it. Instead, I find myself sinking into the chair across from his desk, the vial still clutched in my hand. The fight goes out of me all at once, replaced by bone-deep exhaustion.
"I'm not flirting," I say quietly. "I wouldn't know where to begin."
Daryn's expression gentles slightly. Waiting. He's always been better at silences than I am, knows how to let them stretch until the truth spills out just to fill the void.
I roll the vial between my fingers, watching crimson liquid catch the light. "I've tried. I know you said to be her friend, but she doesn't want that. So, I tried to be there for her in actions, since she won't talk to me. Left that book she mentioned wanting in the library. Made sure the kitchen staff know she prefers hertea with meadowmint." Small things. Meaningless things. "But I can't get her to open up. Can't become her friend. She barely speaks to me beyond basic pleasantries."
"Maybe she's afraid."
"Of me?" The thought twists something painful in my gut. "I've never—I would never?—"
"Not afraid you'll hurt her." Daryn's voice carries that particular patience he reserves for when I'm being deliberately obtuse. "Afraid you'll make her hope. Afraid she'll start believing whatever this is between you could be real."
I shake my head. "There's nothing between us."
"There's everything between you. The entire house sees it except you two." He reaches for the glass of water on his desk, drinks slowly. Even that simple motion seems to cost him. "So what's stopping you? Buy her contract. Make her yours properly. Half the nobility is taking human lovers now. It's practically fashionable."
The suggestion makes my teeth clench. "I don't want her that way."
"What way?"
"Purchased." The word tastes bitter. "Owned. I want—" I stop, because putting it into words makes it real and impossible at once. "I want her willing. I want her to choose. Not because I bought her freedom or because I outrank her or because she's grateful to me for something. I want her to want me because she actually wants me."
I want her to get to know me. I want her to let me in. I want to understand her, to comfort her, to finally have her look at me with a soft smile and those gorgeous eyes lit up.
And I can't have it.
The silence that follows feels weighted. Daryn studies me with an expression I can't quite read—something between amusement and sorrow.
"You're already half in love with her," he says finally. Not a question.
"That's not—" But I can't finish the denial. Can't force the lie past my lips when we both know the truth. "It doesn't matter. She'll never choose me."
