“Good,” I whisper, blinking fast. “I couldn’t bear—”
Keiren presses a hand to my side—not hard, just enough to steady me again. “Don’t,” he says softly. “They’re safe. You’re safe. That’s what matters now.”
His thumb traces an absent circle over the bandage before he withdraws. I feel the loss of his touch like a wintry draft through an open door.
“You need rest,” he says, getting to his feet. “And food.”
Without another word, he disappears through the door, leaving me all alone to ponder what happened. How did a pair of assassins manage to break into the keep? Where did they come from, and how did they know we were here? Did someone send them? And, above all else,why?Who could possibly want us dead?
Minutes later, Keiren returns with a tray of warm bread, roasted fruit, and a bowl of stew that smells rich and spiced with cinnamon and smoke. The scent alone makes my stomach twist with hunger. I don’t have the strength—or the pride—to argue when he starts spoon-feeding me.
The comforting heat of the food grounds me in the present. Each bite eases the trembling in my hands. When we finish, he sets the tray aside, and we sit quietly before the fire together, the silence stretching warm and soft between us.
After a while, I turn and ask, “Why did you give me your bed?”
He leans his head back against the stone wall, the firelight gilding the sharp lines of his throat. “Because, despite what you think… I do try my best to be a gentleman.”
I stare at him. The flames dance across his face, catching in his lashes. His eyes meet mine and hold my gaze.
Neither of us dares break first. The space between us hums, feeling more and more fragile with every moment that passes. My chest tightens until, finally, I have to turn back toward the fire just to breathe.
The room feels warmer. Or maybe it’s just the ache twisting low in my ribs. I just want to survive long enough to see my sister again. To hold her one last time.
Then, inexplicably, he stands and paces toward the hearth.
“Stay here,” he says at last, his tone soft but final. “It isn’t safe for you elsewhere. You’ll remain in my room, under my protection.”
I open my mouth to protest, but one look from him silences me. His expression is calm, but his eyes carry a deeper warning, one I’m afraid to ask about.
Keiren pulls on a tunic and turns toward the door. “But if I come back tonight and find you still in my bed…” He glances over his shoulder, eyes glinting like gold caught in smoke. “I’ll take that as an invitation.” He winks, and even though I know he’s joking, the thought of sharing his bed stirs something in me.
Before I can come up with a clever retort, he’s gone, leaving me alone with the fire and the war in my chest.
“Keep dreaming, Your Majesty,” I mutter under my breath. But the defiance is half-hearted, laced with something I refuse to name.
I spend the rest of the day drifting in and out of sleep. By the time night falls, the chamber has gone quiet again. The shadows feel heavier, thicker, as if the mountain itself is holding its breath.
Keiren doesn’t return until late. By then, I’m already in his bed. I started out on the sofa, but the wood frame dug into my back until my desire for comfort and the impossibly soft mattress, his intoxicating scent lingering on the sheets, finally won out.
Despite his teasing threat, he doesn’t join me. Through half-lidded eyes, I watch him move across the room, silent and deliberate.
He doesn’t even glance toward the bed. Instead, he spreads a blanket before the hearth again and settles onto his side, his back turned to the fire, toward me, one arm bent beneath his head like a makeshift pillow.
For some reason, that small act—his choice to sleep on the cold floor when he could have claimed the warmth beside me—feels more intimate than anything else he’s ever done for me.
Our eyes meet once across the dim light. A silent word passes between us—something neither of us dares name.
I roll to my side and pull my blanket closer, pretending not to notice the steady rhythm of his breaths.
But I do. Every. Single. One.
The next morning, Keiren is gone. For a moment, I think I’ve dreamed him again—the warmth of his arms, the steadiness in his voice, the firelight painting his skin in gold. But when I blink awake, the space beside me is empty. Only a faint dip in the mattress where I must have turned over remains.
A folded blanket lies neatly by the hearth, reminding me of reality. Still, some foolish part of me misses the weight of him beside me, like those two nights in the forest.
Sunlight seeps through the high stone windows, pale and cold against the warmth still clinging to the air. I stretch carefully, my body protesting every movement. A dull ache radiates from my ribs where the bandages pull tight.
The scent of roasted meat and spiced bread drifts in before I even hear him return.
