He wheezed. “You’re not a lady. You’re a bitch.”
Esther sat frozen on the bed, clutching her stained blanket like a lifeline.
The painting-perfect duo from before now rolled around like two alley cats fighting over a fish bone. Their hair was wild, noses bloodied, and insults flew like arrows.
Most importantly… they were definitely not flirting.
Relief bubbled up in her chest, warm and unexpected. She found herself smiling. Luna wasn’t a rival. She was… something else. Complicated, dangerous, unpredictable—but not competition. Still, maybe an enemy. That part remained up for debate.
Nythir finally pinned Luna’s wrists to the floor, face flushed, breathing hard.
“Explain yourself!” he snarled.
Luna smirked up at him. “You’re bleeding. It’s a good color on you.”
“Oh my saints,” Esther blurted. “Both of you stop! You are bleeding on my clean floor!”
Both froze.
Both looked at her.
Both immediately resumed arguing about whose fault the blood was.
Esther dropped her face into her pillow and groaned. This was her life now. And unfortunately, the pillow muffled, but did not hide her final, exasperated scream:
“I wasn’t even awake for fifteen minutes!”
16
Nythir
How to keep your princess alive when the universe clearly wants her dead.
Nythir burst through the doorway so hard the hinges screamed. Luna barely had time to blink before he threw himself at her, knocking both of them to the floor.
She fought like a feral kitten, all claws and cheap tricks.
He fought like someone who’d been awake for five seconds and already regretted everything.
By the time they’d rolled halfway across the room and back, Essie’s voice cut through the chaos like a dagger:
“You are bleeding on my clean floor!”
Nythir froze mid-headlock.
Luna froze with her teeth an inch from his wrist.
They both slowly turned toward Essie.
She looked… small. Shaken. Eyes pink with fading tears. And that made something inside Nythir snap clean in half.
The pressure behind his eyes did not fade when he saw her. It intensified. Sharp and focused, like a lens snapping into place. His magic did not surge outward—it drew inward, tightening its hold as if preparing to shield something fragile. That reaction bothered him. Healing magic responded to injury, not proximity. There were no injuries…yet.
His magic stirred low and insistent, humming beneath his skin like it wanted to surge forward and shield her from everything at once—the room, the people in it, the very air she had breathed moments before. He forced it down, breathing carefully. Healing magic responded best to control, not fury.
But stars—he was furious.
Luna noticed it too. She eased up, sliding out from under him like a cat deciding it was bored with the fight.
