The bitterness tastes like poison on my tongue.
Once, he actually tries to enter. The doorknob turns and I hear his voice, soft and wrecked. "Keira, please. I just want to talk?—"
"Not now," I call back, keeping my voice level. Professional. The voice of a servant addressing her employer. "Amisra is resting."
A pause. Then, quieter: "Areyoualright?"
The concern in his voice nearly breaks me. I close my eyes, press my forehead against Amisra's hair. "I'm fine."
"You're not. I can?—"
"I said I'm fine." Harder now. Cold. "Please leave us alone."
Silence stretches. I think he's going to argue, going to push, but then I hear footsteps retreating down the hallway. The relief that floods through me is tinged with something that feels dangerously like grief.
I hate this. Hate the way my heart still aches for him. Hate that some traitorous part of me wants to throw open that door and fall into his arms and let him tell me that everything will be alright.
But it won't be alright.
Because he owns me now. And no amount of soft words or gentle touches can change that fundamental truth.
By the third day, even the servants are getting worried. Maella brings trays of food that we barely touch. She hovers in the doorway, wringing her hands.
"Keira, the child needs to eat. And you—when's the last time you had a proper meal?"
"We're managing." I don't look at her, just continue braiding Amisra's hair with mechanical precision. "Thank you for your concern."
"Healer Morthen asked me to check on you both. He's worried?—"
"Tell him we're fine."
Maella's mouth tightens. She's not fooled. None of them are. "He wants to see Amisra. To make sure she's?—"
"No." The word comes out sharper than I intend. Amisra flinches in my lap and I force myself to soften my tone. "She's not ready to see anyone yet."
"It's been three days?—"
"I'm aware." I meet her eyes finally, let her see the steel in my gaze. "When she's ready, I'll let you know."
She leaves, shaking her head. I know what she's thinking. That I'm being unreasonable. That I'm keeping Valas from his niece out of spite or stubbornness or whatever motivation she's ascribed to me.
Maybe she's right.
Maybe I am being petty. Maybe I should let him in, let him try to comfort Amisra, let him do his job as her guardian.
But every time I imagine opening that door, imagine letting him into this small sanctuary we've built, my throat closes up. Because if I see him, if I have to look into those moon-violet eyes and remember what it felt like when he touched me—when I thought I had a choice in being touched—I'm going to shatter.
And Amisra needs me whole.
So I stay. We both stay. Locked away in this room like it's the only safe place left in the world.
Even if safety is just another lie I'm telling myself.
On the fourth morning, Amisra finally speaks more than a few words.
"Keira?"
I look down at her, stroke her tangled hair. "Yes, sweet girl?"
