"Fae."
I turn back. The vampire has moved closer, close enough that I could strike him if I were suicidal enough to try.
"Remember, her life depends on this charade," he says quietly. "If you truly care about her healing, you'll keep this from her. You'll play the role of helpful healer and nothing more."
I nod, understanding the threat beneath his words.
"I came to repay a debt," I say softly. "Not to take what isn't mine."
"And yet here we are." Arescaine's eyes are hollow. "Fate has other plans."
"I didn't ask for this."
"Neither did I." He turns away, dismissing me. "Go. Do your work. Save her life, healer."
I leave the north tower before I say something I'll regret. Before the bond pulls me into doing something stupid.
The white walls of the healing house gleam in the night light. Healers move between rooms, tending to wounded from the recent battles. They give me wide berth, their eyes tracking me with suspicion and fear.
My feet carry me outside into the cold night. The street is nearly empty, most people having retreated indoors as the temperature drops. I don't blame them. I'm the enemy in their midst. A viper they've allowed into their sanctuary.
I find my wyvern resting on the hill overlooking the city. Dorcha's great red head turns toward me as I approach, her golden eyes immediately sensing my turmoil through our bond. We've been connected for over a century. She knows me better than anyone.
"She's my mate," I tell her, slumping against her warm scales. "The Elven Queen is my mate."
Dorcha rumbles deep in her chest. A sound somewhere between sympathy and amusement. She's seen too much in her long life to be surprised by anything.
I press my forehead against her scales, feeling the steady rhythm of her breathing. The heat radiating from her body is comforting, familiar. When the King's mistress turned on us, Dorcha was there. The wyvern saw the fires and the slaughter of my legion. She carried my broken body from the Western Marches while my warriors died screaming behind me, all theway to the cave-root springs where I rotted for three days. I was half-dead as fever burned through me while poison ate at my insides.
"I don't want her," I tell Dorcha. But the words sound false even to my own ears.
The wyvern shifts, settling more comfortably. Her tail curls around me like a protective barrier.
"I've met her twice before," I tell Dorcha. "The first time she violated my home. Broke into my chambers and stole my painting."
The wyvern tilts her head, listening.
"Then I saw her again at Calanmai."
I'd been required to attend despite hating court politics. I was standing around making pleasant conversation with nobles I despised when I noticed her. A beautiful masked courtier in a cerulean dress. We danced and I found myself actually enjoying her company, rare for me at court functions. Then she said something about my red hair.
My red hair.
Before the betrayal, only Finnbheara had seen my face without the glamour. Only he knew what I truly looked like. When I revealed who she was, she froze like a deer caught by hunters. Her mask came off and I saw her face.
I felt it then, a pull I didn't understand. The first whisper of the bond between us.
But she bolted before I could stop her.
"She made a fool of me," I tell my wyvern.
Dorcha shifts her weight, nearly dislodging me. Her message is clear.You're being ridiculous.
A thought pushes into my mind through our bond.You searched for her. You liked her.
I go quiet. It's true.
"It doesn't matter what I felt. She's married. To a vampire." I shake my head slightly, shutting down any notion of pursuing her. "Once she's well enough that the bond isn't necessary for her survival, the vampire might very well kill me."
