The word scorched.
Wife.
His throat closed on it.
The nurse dipped the cloth into the basin again, brushing it across Amerei’s brow. Her lashes flickered, a soft sound escaping her throat as she stirred.
“My lady,” the nurse said firmly, none of the deference others would offer a queen. “You are going to rest whether you like it or not.”
Amerei blinked, disoriented, trying to push herself upright.
“I—I must—”
“No.”
The she-elf pressed her back down with surprising strength.
“What you must do is stay alive.”
She glanced toward Xavien.
“Bring me strong spirits.”
Xavien didn’t hesitate. He crossed to the cabinet, pulling free a decanter of amber liquor—torac, a harsh elven whiskeythat burned like flame. He poured a measure into a goblet, brought it back, and set it in the nurse’s waiting hand.
She sniffed, unimpressed. “More.”
His brow lifted, but he obeyed, pouring until the glass was nearly full. The nurse slid an arm behind Amerei’s shoulders, lifting her just enough to drink.
“Steady now,” she instructed. “All of it.”
The first swallow scorched Amerei’s throat, fire racing down into her belly. She coughed, but the nurse tipped the glass again. By the time it was empty, her eyes watered and her chest heaved—but her color was returning.
The nurse set the goblet aside with a satisfied nod.
“That will keep you down. But hear me well, my lady—you will eat, or that tonic will turn your stomach inside out.”
With that, she gathered her linens, gave Xavien a look of warning, and swept out the door.
Silence fell.
Amerei sagged against the pillows, breathing hard. He could see the stubborn refusal there, the queen who would rather starve than yield. And then she exhaled, soft, defeated, “Bread.”
Relief surged.
Xavien brought it quickly, watching as her trembling fingers tore the crust. He lowered himself to her side, closer than propriety allowed, his gaze fixed on her as though she might vanish again if he looked away.
They were alone.
He tugged the coverlet over her, his hand lingering near her arm.
“You’re in my bed,” he murmured, almost teasing, as though naming it stripped the scandal of it. “But do not fret, Elarien. I will sleep in the room next door.”
Her brows knit faintly. “Next door?”
“A hidden fold-down bed,” he explained with a bitter curl of his mouth. “Hard as stone, twice as unforgiving. My wife sent me there often enough.”
His eyes lingered, softer.
