Chapter 24 #3
“It’s beautiful," she said, unable to keep the wonder from her voice.
"It’s cold and wet…" His tone suggested he didn't enjoy it.
She pressed her hand against the glass, feeling the cold seep through. The snow was still falling, soft and steady, covering everything in pristine white.
"I want to go out," she said, the words escaping before she could think them through.
Eliam's expression shifted to something between disbelief and refusal. "You're recovering. You should be in bed."
"I've been in too many beds lately," she said, still watching the snow fall. "Too many rooms with locked doors. I want to be outside. Just for a little while."
Eliam moved to stand behind her, his hands settling on her shoulders. "You're exhausted. Your body needs rest."
"My body needs to move," she countered. "To feel something other than fear and pain for five minutes."
His hands tightened slightly on her shoulders. "The cold won't help with that."
"Maybe not. But being trapped inside will make it worse." She turned to face him, tilting her head back to meet his eyes. "Please."
Something flickered across his expression—surprise, maybe, or something softer. "You've gotten remarkably comfortable making demands of me."
"Is that a problem?"
"Prince Arion seems to think you're not my possession," he said, his voice carrying that dangerous edge. "That you have autonomy and choices."
Her heart sank slightly, the moment of lightness evaporating. Of course. She was still just—
"He's wrong, of course," Eliam continued, his hand moving to cup her face.
"You are mine. Which means I'm responsible for keeping you alive and well.
" His thumb brushed her cheekbone. "So if we're going outside, you'll wear something warm.
And you won't overexert yourself. And the moment you start looking tired, we're coming back inside. Do you understand?"
The relief that flooded through her was almost dizzying. Not a refusal. Not dismissal of what she needed. Just... conditions. Reasonable ones, even.
"I understand," she said.
"Good." He released her and moved to the wardrobe, pulling it open to reveal the array of clothes. His hands moved past the lighter dresses, settling on a heavier one in a warm chestnut brown trimmed with white. "This one. And you'll need stockings, proper boots, and a cloak."
She watched him gather the items, laying them out on the bed like he was preparing for battle rather than a walk in the garden. When he turned back to her, she was smiling despite herself.
"What?" he asked, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Nothing. Just... thank you."
His expression suggested he didn't quite know what to do with her gratitude, so he did what he always did—turned it into action. "Come here. Let me help you dress before you decide to argue about that too."
She crossed to him, letting him pull the sleep shirt over her head. The cool air raised goosebumps on her skin, but his hands were warm as he helped her step into the stockings, drawing them up her legs with careful attention to the bruises on her thighs.
The dress came next, the fabric soft and warm against her skin. He worked the laces carefully, his knuckles occasionally brushing her spine as he secured them.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the bed.
She sat, and he knelt to help her with sturdy boots lined with fur. They were perhaps a size too large, but thick socks would solve that problem. He laced them with the same methodical care he brought to everything, then stood and retrieved the cloak.
It was heavy, lined with what felt like rabbit fur, and when he settled it around her shoulders, the warmth was immediate and encompassing.
He fastened it at her throat, his fingers brushing the autumn marks there.
She saw something dark flicker through his expression at the contact—possession and frustration both, that these marks bound her to someone else.
"Ready?" he asked.
"Yes."
He guided her to the door, his hand at the small of her back, and they stepped out into the quiet hallway.
The Star Court was beautiful even in the corridors—crystalline surfaces catching light, tapestries that seemed to shift and change as they passed.
But Briar's attention was on the windows they passed, each one showing more snow falling, more white covering the gardens.
When they finally stepped outside, the cold hit her immediately despite the cloak. Sharp and biting, making her breath mist in the air. But it was the good kind of cold, the kind that made her feel alive and present rather than trapped in her own fear.
The snow was falling steadily now, accumulating on the garden paths, weighing down the impossible blooms. Everything looked softer under the white blanket, quieter, like the world was holding its breath.
She walked ahead of Eliam, her boots crunching through the fresh snow, and for a moment she could almost forget about Malus and bargains and the marks at her throat. Could almost pretend she was just a girl walking through a winter garden.
Behind her, she heard Eliam's measured footsteps. When she glanced back, he was watching her with that intensity he brought to everything, but something about his expression was softer than usual. Not quite bored, despite his earlier protests about the cold and her need for rest.
She turned back to the garden, breathing in the cold air, feeling some of the weight lift from her shoulders. The snow kept falling, peaceful and clean, covering everything in white.
Then the weight came crashing back.
She remembered Malus standing in snow just like this, calling to her through the marks. Remembered walking toward him, unable to stop, unable to fight the compulsion. Remembered his hand outstretched, beckoning, promising that she would come back to him eventually.
The marks at her throat pulsed once, as if responding to the memory, and suddenly the peaceful snow felt threatening. A reminder of how close she'd come to crossing that border, to being taken.
Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. She could feel panic building in her chest, the warmth starting to pulse frantically in response to her fear.
No.
She wasn't going to let him take this too. Wasn't going to let the memory of him poison every moment of peace she tried to find.
Briar bent down without thinking, scooping up a handful of snow, and threw it at Eliam before she could talk herself out of it.
It hit him square in the chest.
He stopped walking, looking down at the snow on his jacket, then up at her with an expression of complete disbelief.
"Did you just—" He stopped, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "My property just struck me?"
His tone was serious, but there was something underneath it. Something that wasn't quite anger.
"Your property is cold and trying not to think about last night," she said, surprising herself with her honesty. "And she needed something to do with her hands."
His expression shifted, something flickering across his features that she couldn't quite name. Understanding, maybe. Or recognition of what she was really doing, fighting back against fear the only way she knew how.
"I see," he said slowly, taking a step toward her. "And you thought assaulting your king would help with that?"
“Jury’s still out,” she replied before she bent down and scooped up another handful of snow. “I need to gather more evidence.” She threw it at him before he could close the distance. This one hit his shoulder.
He stopped again, staring at the snow like she'd done something incomprehensible. Then his lips curved into something that was almost—not quite, but almost—a genuine smile. Not the predatory smirk or the possessive curve she was used to. Something lighter.
"You dare strike me twice?" He bent down, gathering his own handful of snow with deliberate precision. "That requires punishment."
The snowball hit her middle with surprising accuracy, and she let out a surprised laugh, already gathering more ammunition. The sound of her own laughter startled her—when was the last time she'd laughed? Really laughed, not the bitter or desperate kind, but something genuine?
She threw her next attack before he could ready himself, and satisfaction flooded through her when snow exploded against his chest. He looked down at the white splatter, then back at her, and that almost-smile curved his lips again.
He bent smoothly, gathering snow with quick efficiency, and she was already moving, trying to put distance between them while she fumbled for more ammunition. Her throw went wide, sailing past his shoulder into a hedge.
His didn't.
The impact made her stumble, and she was laughing again before she could stop herself, the breathless kind that came from somewhere lighter than the places she'd been living in.
She scooped up more snow, her hands clumsy in the cold, and launched it in his general direction. It fell short by several feet. His next throw caught her as she was bending for more, and she felt the cold impact through the heavy cloak.
"You're showing off," she said, trying to pack the snow tighter.
"I'm merely competent." Another throw, and she barely dodged it, the snowball hitting the ground where she'd been standing a moment before.
She threw two in rapid succession, wild and uncoordinated. Both missed. His answering shot didn't, and she felt it hit somewhere near her shoulder, snow cascading down from the impact.
Her lungs burned from the cold air and laughter. Snow clung to her hair, melted against her face, and her fingers were going numb, but she felt present in a way she hadn't since she had first come to this world. Like she was fully in her body instead of trapped in her head with fear and memories.
Eliam was holding back—she could tell by the way his throws were precise but never too forceful, by the way he aimed for the cloak rather than anywhere more vulnerable.
When one of her shots actually connected with his side, she saw genuine surprise cross his face before something else replaced it. Something warm.
She bent to gather more snow, still catching her breath, when she noticed the figure standing motionless on one of the garden paths.
Thaine was staring at them with an expression of pure confusion, like he'd walked into a scene that couldn't possibly be real.
Eliam followed her gaze and immediately straightened, his expression shuttering back to something more controlled. But there was color in his cheeks from the cold and exertion, the gleam of snow in his white hair, and he looked more alive than she'd seen him in days.
"Thaine," Eliam said, his voice returning to its usual controlled tone. "Was there something you needed?"
Thaine's mouth opened, then closed. He looked between them, clearly trying to process what he'd just witnessed. The Forest King. Throwing snowballs. Smiling.
"Prince Arion has called for everyone to gather," Thaine finally managed. "He said it's urgent."
"We'll be there shortly," Eliam said, his hand finding her waist, pulling her against his side.
Thaine nodded and retreated, but not before giving them one more confused look over his shoulder.
They walked back toward the residence in silence, the playfulness from moments before evaporating like the snow melting on her cheeks. Eliam's expression had returned to its usual intensity, though his hand stayed warm on her waist.
"What do you think Arion wants?" she asked quietly.
"To discuss what happened last night. What Malus attempted." His jaw tightened. "And probably to push his case for why you should bind yourself to the Star Court instead."
She remembered Arion's declaration from last night, his promise that he'd take any opportunity to change her mind. The tension between him and Eliam hadn't been resolved, just postponed.
"We need to tell them," she said, her hand rising to her chest. "About the warmth. About what Malus said it is."
"I know." His arm tightened around her.
They reached the hallway leading to the council room, and Briar could hear voices from within. Her stomach tightened with apprehension.
"What aren't you telling me?" she asked, stopping him before they reached the door. "About what Malus might want with your power? You know something."
His expression went carefully neutral. "I have suspicions. But I'd rather confirm them before spreading fear."
"Eliam—"
"We'll discuss it," he cut her off, his hand finding hers, squeezing once. "After we hear what Arion has to say. After we understand what happened last night and why the marks were able to call to you through Star Court wards."
He was right. They needed information first. But she could see the worry in his eyes, the calculation happening behind them.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. When they reached the council room doors, Eliam paused, his hand still holding hers.
"Whatever happens in there," he said quietly, "whatever Arion says or offers, remember that you're mine. Not his. Not anyone else's. Mine."
"I know," she said, and felt the warmth in her chest pulse in agreement.