“And?”
“You take up far too much space in my cottage.”
A slow grin spreads across his face.
“That is the most diplomatic way anyone has ever described me.”
I cross my arms, trying very hard not to smile back.
“You insisted on staying.”
“You invited me.”
“I said you could stay so I could sleep.”
“Which you did,” he replies easily. “You are welcome.”
I hesitate. He is not wrong. The bond had remained calm all night with him nearby, the quiet steadiness of his presence smoothing the sharp edges of fear that had followed me since the alley.
Which is exactly why I invited him to remain. Even if I refuse to admit that part aloud. Instead I push the blankets aside and swing my feet to the floor.
“If you’re going to stay,” I say, “you might as well make yourself useful.”
“Oh?”
“You said you would help me learn control.”
His expression sharpens with interest.
“Are you asking me to train you?”
“I am asking you to prevent Briarthorn from burning down the next time someone throws a rock at my window.”
“That seems like a worthy objective.”
He rises from the couch in one smooth motion, towering over me with unsettling ease.
“Very well, princess,” he says, folding his arms. “Let us begin.”
The marsh pathoutside the cottage is quiet in the early morning light. Threxian walks beside me with the slow confidence of a creature entirely unconcerned about being seen, though the subtle distortion of shadow around him suggests he has chosen to remain partially hidden from mortal eyes.
“Control begins with understanding,” he says.
“I understand that my fear sets things on fire.”
“You understand the result,” he corrects. “Not the mechanism.”
I sigh softly.
“And you’re going to explain the mechanism.”
“Eventually.”
“That is not reassuring.”
He stops walking.
“So let us test something.”
