The table between us was scarred and uneven, lit by low lamplight and the dying fire. He slid my untouched plate away and replaced it with a heavy wooden bowl. The scent hit first—warm oats, cream, honey, something spiced.
He stirred the porridge once, testing the thickness. Steam rose in steady curls. He dipped the spoon, blew across it, then held it in front of my mouth. He didn’t rush me. Didn’t command.
“This will sit easy. Try it.”
His voice was low, rough at the edges. Controlled. It steadied something inside me that had been vibrating since the spike.
I opened my mouth.
The oats were soft. Sweet from honey. Nutmeg lingered at the back of my tongue. My stomach tightened, then eased. I swallowed and waited for pain that didn’t come.
He gave me another spoonful. Then another. I didn’t realize how hungry I was until the spoon scraped the bottom of the bowl.
The chair on my other side shifted. Boots against stone.
Thane.
I felt the slight touch of his shoulder on mine as he leaned in. In his hand was a warm roll split open and thick with herbed cheese. The scent made my mouth water again.
I reached for it. He pulled it back just out of reach.
“You let Malric feed you,” he said quietly. There was something in his tone—almost uncertain. “Let me?”
His storm-colored eyes searched mine like he expected refusal.
I opened my mouth.
He tore off a piece and pressed it to my lips. The bread was still warm from the hearth. The cheese was rich, salted, flecked with herbs I didn’t recognize. I chewed and swallowed. He fed me another bite. And another.
When a smear of cheese lingered at the corner of his thumb, I leaned forward without thinking and licked it away.
His breath caught.
I leaned back slowly, warmth settling low in my belly now that had nothing to do with food. I felt stuffed. Heavy in a good way. I shook my head when Malric reached for something else.
“That’s enough.”
“You’ll need to eat more often,” Malric said. “Small meals. Dense ones. You have to prepare for the next heat.”
The word made my spine tighten.
Heat.
The spike had been bad enough. Blinding. Consuming. Pain layered with something I didn’t understand. I didn’t want to imagine it worse.
But there was something else pressing harder against my thoughts.
“Why would he do that?” The question slipped out before I could swallow it back. “Why would he imprison his own daughter?”
The fire cracked behind us. Neither of them answered right away. Their silence wasn’t careless. It wasn’t avoiding the question. It was deliberate.
Thane spoke first, slower than usual. “We were sent into the Wyrdwood looking for something. The king was said to have hidden a weapon here. Something that could shift the war.”
A weapon. The word lodged under my ribs.
“A weapon,” I repeated. My fingers curled against the edge of the table. “You think that’s me.”
Malric didn’t dress it up. “We believe you’re central to whatever he’s hiding.”
