Heat creeps into my cheeks despite the water’s chill. I let out a weary sigh. “Add it to the list of other humiliations you’ve had the privilege to witness and the good sense not to speak of,” I say.
“Your secrets are safe here,” he says, voice softened by amusement. “I don’t share what’s mine to keep.”
A grin breaks across my face, wide and foolish, and I’m absurdly grateful he isn’t looking at me when it happens. The comfortable silence hums between us for a moment, then I lift my soaked, bandagedhands and flick water toward the edge of the tub, sending up a few careless splashes. “Thank you for nursing me back to life,” I say.
I can almost hear him grinding his teeth, likely fighting the urge to remind me that none of this would have been necessary if I’d simply used my magic. After a long breath, he swallows whatever argument he’s holding back.
“You’re an insufferable patient,” he says instead, “but it’s been my pleasure. It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to use my hands to help someone… instead of hurting them.”
Tenderness twists through me at his quiet admission. “You’re very good with your hands,” I say quickly, meaning to praise his healer skills.
The pause that follows hums with a strange energy. Then a low sound escapes him, half chuckle, half growl. “Oh, I know, Trouble,” he murmurs, leaning closer until his mouth grazes my ear, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. “But you still have no idea how good my hands can be.”
Heat curls low in my stomach, rising through me in slow, betraying waves. This time, it has nothing to do with fever. That single word—still—lingers, heavy with meaning I can’t quite untangle. Is it a joke, a promise?
A sudden, unfamiliar heat coils low in my body. The sensation is raw, electric, terrifying in its newness. I’ve never felt my body answer anyone this way, and the loss of control leaves me reeling, uncertain how to breathe, how to calm the wild rush beneath my skin.
I swallow, my pulse skittering. “I think I’ve cooled enough,” I blurt out as I begin to move away.
His arm around my waist tightens. “Let me help.” He rises first, moving with care so the water barely ripples. Beside the fire, an oversized robe waits draped over a chair. He lifts it and holds it open for me. “Can you stand?”
I nod, testing my balance before slowly, carefully pushing myself to my feet.
He turns his head aside to give me a measure of privacy as I climb out of the tub. The robe is plush and warm from the hearth, and I realize he must have thought ahead to place it there. The simpleconsideration pulls at my already racing heart. I do my best to ignore it.
Instead, I try to focus on the pain in my side. It has dulled to a throb, he must have added something to the water, an herbal remedy to ease the pain. But when I pull the robe closed around me, a wave of weakness sweeps through and the world tilts slightly.
I sway and he’s there, catching me against him. My cheek finds the solid plane of his chest, as he scoops me up again. The rhythm of his heart is steady and grounding against my ear. I stop fighting the pull of fatigue and close my eyes, then let myself breathe him in, the clean scent of water, the warmth of skin and fabric.
He carries me back to the bed and settles me beneath the sheets. When he reaches for my hands, his touch slows as he unwraps the soaked bandages with deliberate care. His fingers are gentle as they brush my skin more times than necessary—or perhaps I imagine that. I feel the feverish beat of my heart in response to his quiet focus as he cleans and rewraps each hand.
A brief touch to my forehead follows, a nod of approval, and then a cup of water pressed to my lips. I drink, the bitter taste of herbs blooming on my tongue.
“They’ll help you with a restful sleep so you won't open your wound again,” he says, and I manage a slurred murmur of thanks.
Drowsiness seeps through me like a warm current, smoothing the edges of thought. The world softens, slipping further from reach, the feeling strangely—terrifyingly—familiar. Suddenly, I don’t want to fall asleep, I want to say something. I try to hold onto consciousness, to examine this familiar sensation because it means something, but it drifts away like sand through my fingers.
He drugged me.Mael drugged me.
The thought pierces the fog as I claw back to consciousness. The sensation is unmistakable. That same slow, heavy warmth spreading through my limbs, the same languid haze that swallowed me that night. I’d told myself it was stress, exhaustion, too much wine. But after theherbs Kaelzar gave me last night, after feeling this again, I know better. It’s the same. Exactly the same.
My eyes snap open. “That conniving, venom-soaked bastard.” I snarl, my anger churns too violently to be swallowed.
A soft cough comes from beside me.
“And good morning to you too, sunshine,” Kaelzar says dryly.
I turn my head, my face half-buried in a pillow. “I wasn’t talking—” The words die in my throat when I see what he’s doing. He’s arranging a small, surprisingly beautiful bouquet of wildflowers on my nightstand. The sight disarms me. I inhale the sweet, earthy scent of the blooms filling the air.
“Taken up floristry in your spare time while I sleep my days away?” I manage, my voice rasping awkwardly.
He adjusts a white blossom slightly, eyes narrowing in concentration. Then, satisfied, he looks over at me. “Something like that.” Folding his arms, he adds, “Now, about that ‘conniving, venom-soaked bastard’. If we’re picking new nicknames, I’d like to hear all the options before we settle.”
A smile tugs at my lips. I move carefully, testing my body. When the pain stays manageable, I push myself upright, gesturing for Kaelzar to stand down when he moves to help. “I was talking about Mael,” I say, once I’m propped against the headboard. “The herbs you’ve been giving me—what are they?”
“Dreambane root,” he says, eyes narrowing.
“He must have slipped it in my wine,” I continue, voice shaking. “And then when I fell asleep, he—” The rest curdles in my throat. The nausea rises fast and hot. I can’t finish the sentence.
