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He did not care what was real. It no longer mattered. If this was fake, he could live like this forever.

"Yes." He held out his hand.

They walked to his chambers together.

He woke exhausted, his head pounding.

A few times in the night he had opened his eyes to find her head against his chest. It had given him a feeling he was not sure he had a name for. Something close to joy, which was not a word he had much occasion to use.

When he opened his eyes this morning the bed was empty.

He sat up and rubbed his face. She had likely gone back to her rooms. Did not want the staff whispering. He understood that. Him sleeping in her room was one thing. But this was a realm full of creatures — they would smell the intimacy, the arousal. Many of them were likely Axar's spies.

Fucking Axar.

He stood. “Shyall.”

"Yes, Majesty?" The voice came from outside the door. Shyall was one of the few creatures he found reliable.

"I should like blood at breakfast. Fresh, directly from the source."

"Understood."

"And have the princess join me." Something in his chest felt strange at that. He wondered if she would come. What it would be like to sit across from her at a table in the daylight.

"What would she like to eat, Majesty?"

He stopped.

He did not know. He had spent months consumed by her and had never once asked about her favorite foods. He knew she liked strange fruit. He knew that much. But what kind? He could not remember. Those days in the forest those months ago she had talked incessantly about what she liked and did not like. He had found his thoughts often drifting as he imagined what it would be like to listen to her talk about things he did not care about all the time. Even then he imagined it would be…blissful.

At any rate, he did not know if Morrath had any fruit at all. It certainly did not seem like it.

He frowned. Perhaps she liked simple fruit? They had access to Vaelor ships so there must be some sort of trade that happens, even if they do not grow it themselves⁠—

“Majesty?”

Fuck. So fruits were clearly not a reliable option. What would she want to eat? Why had he never thought to ask her?

He bet Colsar would know.

Fuck him.

He remembered the night he had found her in the woods. She had hunted. She had been hungry.

Meat. She clearly liked meat. Something in his chest eased.

"Breakfast meat," he said.

"It will be done, Majesty."

He turned to the mirror and picked up the comb. Normally he tied his dark burgundy hair back without thought. Occasionally in front of his men he made sure he looked immaculate. But typically he did not care.

Colsar always looked immaculate.

He frowned at his reflection. Colsar used to look immaculate. But since leaving Veynar the man had turned into someone he barely recognized. In Shalvar his hair had been loose at his shoulders, almost unkempt, a copper strand there that annoyed Teorin because he suspected it always hung in his face.

He also suspected that Asharin liked the stupid strand. She probably liked his hair long, too.