“Better?” he asked.
“Yes.” My voice sounded drowsy, thick with relief.
“Good. Because I’m going to stay here until the storm passes. You’re not sending me away. You’re going to rest.”
“You’re bossy,” I mumbled, a half-smile curving my lips.
He laughed low. “I’m a king. It comes with the title.”
“You can’t just order me to?—”
“Rest?” he said. “Watch me.”
“Bossy,” I said again, even as I burrowed closer. His chest rose and fell under my cheek, and it was impossible not to sigh. “You’re lucky this is comfortable.”
“I’ll take that as a compliment.”
Lightning flickered again, but this time, it felt distant. Harmless. His warmth and the weight of his arm around me dulled the edges of my fear. I traced one of the seams of his tunic. “You know, I’m not in the habit of letting kings crawl into my bed.”
“Then it’s a good thing I burst in uninvited.”
“You’re impossible.”
“Noted.”
We stayed like that through the rest of the storm, wrapped in quiet, punctuated only by the sky’s fading surges. He didn’t move except to stroke my hair or adjust the blanket higher around us. His voice rumbled through his chest whenever he spoke, telling me inconsequential things. How Gavelle hated flying in the rain, how the healers scolded him for not eating properly, how he planned to assign guards near my corridor.
“I don’t need guards,” I said around a yawn.
“You’ll have them anyway.”
“Bossy,” I whispered again, but there was no heat behind it.
His laugh was quieter this time. “Sleep, Isi.”
“I’ll sleep when you do.”
“Then we’re doomed.”
I wanted to tell him I didn’t want him to leave. That for the first time in too long, I felt safe. But my eyelids grew heavy, and words tangled in the comfortable fog between waking and dreaming.
The last thing I felt was his hand brushing over my hair.
And the last thing I heard was him whispering. “You’re safe, Minx. Always.”
When I woke, the storm had passed. Pale light spilled across the bed, and the air smelled faintly of rain. The space beside me was empty, but the pillow still held the imprint of his shoulder and a trace of his warmth.
A tiny treasure rested beside where my head had laid.
I blinked and reached for the polished stone the size of my pinky nail, smooth and sea-green, with a silver loop at the top. Not grand, but personal. It shimmered in the light, a familiar kind of magic thrumming through it.
He’d left me a ward. A silent promise of protection I could wear next to Addie’s pendant.
My throat tightened as I pressed it to my lips.
“You wonderful man,” I whispered, my smile so bright it hurt my face.
A meal waited on the small table near the window—fresh bread, butter, honey, fruit, and a steaming mug of tea. My stomach growled.
