“Malric did.”
“He went downstairs. He thought his scent was making it harder for you.”
The silence that followed had a different texture—processing rather than shutting out.
“That was—” she started, then stopped. “That was considerate.”
The surprise in her voice when she said it told me everything about what she had been taught to expect from alphas, and I filed it in the place where I kept the things that made me want to take apart the king’s system piece by piece until nothing of it remained.
“He’s not always what he sounds like,” I said carefully.
“Neither are you,” she said.
I leaned my head back against the door. Through the wood, I could feel the faint warmth of the nest on the other side, the tower’s temperature running slightly higher in that chamberthan in the corridor. “Sleep, if you can. The spike will finish faster if you rest.”
A long quiet.
Then, so softly I might have imagined it. “Thank you.”
I closed my eyes and stayed where I was, my back against her door, the thread between us running warm and tentative in the dark, and didn’t move until morning came.
The spike broke close to dawn.
I perceived the change in the thread before I heard it. The severe cramping that had been present for hours was diminishing, transforming from pain into a profound exhaustion. The urgency withdrew by degrees, the way a storm withdraws, the pressure dropping and the air thinning until what remained was simply the aftermath.
I stayed where I was for a while longer.
Her breathing on the other side of the door had steadied into something slower, the ragged quality gone. Her scent had changed with it—still present, still honey and silver blossom, but the desperate heat-edge had pulled back into something that was simply her. I let myself notice the difference and found I could breathe more easily without the acute note in the air.
I knocked softly. “Aveline.”
Silence.
“It’s Thane.” I kept my voice low, trying not to scare her more than she already was. “You don’t have to open the door. I just want to know how you’re doing.”
A long pause, then the bolt slid back.
The door opened a few inches. She looked through the gap, her eyes exhausted and uncertain with dark circles under them.Her hair was loose and tangled, her face still flushed with the remnants of fever. The gown was rumpled, her feet bare on the cold stone. She looked wrung out and not sure what was happening.
She looked at me and said nothing.
“You need something to drink. Water,” I said. “And food, when you’re ready. The bell hasn’t rung yet, but I can go down and see what the tower has. And then maybe a bath. You’ll feel better after.”
Her gaze moved past me to the empty corridor, then back. “Malric?”
“Downstairs.” I paused. “He thought his scent was making it harder. He was probably right.”
She processed that for a moment in silence, while I waited. After a moment, she opened the door fully and stepped into the corridor, pulling the door closed behind her. The gesture was deliberate—she was not inviting us into the nest. She was coming out on her terms.
I respected that considerably.
She swayed once on her feet. I moved my hand toward her elbow without touching it, close enough that she could lean if she chose to.
She chose to, briefly, then steadied herself.
“Can you walk?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said firmly, clearly determined to stand on her own, not willing to rely on anyone.
