Chapter 22
Chapter twenty-two
The journey to Eliam's chambers passed in a blur of shadow and stone. Briar couldn't stop shaking—from cold, from shock, from the phantom feel of Malachar's frost still burning beneath her skin. She curled tighter against Eliam's chest, hating herself for how desperate she was for his warmth.
He hadn't spoken since they’d left, and that terrified her more than rage would have.
When they reached his rooms, he set her down carefully, but her legs wouldn't hold. She crumpled, catching herself on the edge of a chair before sinking to her knees.
"I thought it was you at the door,” she said, the words spilling out in a rush. A small part of her feared he believed what Malachar had claimed. That she had invited him in. “I'm sorry, I should have known, I should have been more careful—"
"Briar." He knelt in front of her, catching her face between his hands. "Stop talking."
The command held weight, and her desperate apologies cut off, though tears still ran down her cheeks.
"I opened the door for him," she whispered. "I literally invited him in—"
"You opened the door thinking it was me." His thumbs brushed away tears, gentle against the phantom frost burns. "That's quite different from inviting him."
"But I should have been more careful, should have—"
"Should have what? Known a Great Lord would force his way into your chambers?" His hands tightened slightly on her face. "You bit him hard enough to draw blood. Do you have any idea how few living humans can make such a claim?"
"You're angry." She could feel it radiating from him, controlled but present.
"I'm furious, but not at you." He released her face and stood in one fluid movement. "The failure was mine, thinking he'd respect basic boundaries. For underestimating what he'd risk to test me."
He moved to his wardrobe, pulling out clothing. When he returned with one of his shirts, black silk that would dwarf her, his hands were gentle as they helped her out of the ruined nightgown.
"He marked you," Eliam murmured, tracing where frost had burned across her throat. "Put winter on what's mine."
"I’m sorry, I know you hate—"
"If you apologize again, I'll find something better for your mouth to do."
The threat should have frightened her. Instead, the warmth pulsed with weak interest, making her flush despite everything.
He helped her into his shirt, the silk falling to her thighs. She smoothed her hands across the fabric, rolling the hem between her fingers.
"What happens now?"
"Now you're staying here, where I can watch you properly." He sat back, studying her. "Your rooms need well… they’re unlivable at the moment, and until my guests leave, I find myself disinclined to let you out of my sight."
"The court will talk—"
"Let them talk while they count Malachar's remaining eye." He stood, moving to pour wine. "After tonight's display, they'll know exactly what happens to anyone who touches you without permission."
"You took his eye for me."
"I took his eye because he dared to look at what wasn't his.
" He returned with two glasses, pressing one into her still trembling hands.
His magic had taken care of most of the cold, but the chill that had settled in her bones would only be resolved with time.
"The blood debt is for touching. If he'd gone further, I'd have taken more than an eye. "
Briar brought the cup to her lips and swallowed its contents quickly. The wine burned warm down her throat, chasing away the last of Malachar's frost.
"He said you wouldn't kill him over a human toy," she said quietly. "That it would mean admitting I mattered."
Silence stretched between them before he spoke. "Malachar has always been a fool."
He took her empty glass and set it aside. When he looked at her again, something complex moved in his expression.
"You're mine," he said simply. "That means something to me, whether it should or not. Anyone who thinks otherwise learns differently."
The warmth in her chest pulsed at his words, recognizing truth even if her mind struggled with it.
"You need sleep," he said, moving toward his bed. "Tomorrow we'll figure out your sleeping arrangements, but tonight you stay where I can guard you properly."
He pulled back the covers with efficient movements, and she climbed in on trembling legs.
He extinguished most of the lights, leaving only the fire burning low.
She expected him to take the chair, to maintain distance like before.
Instead, he slid into bed beside her, though he stayed on top of the covers.
"You're staying?"
"You're still shaking hard enough to rattle the bed frame," he said, as if that explained everything. "And after tonight, I find myself... particular about your proximity."
She turned toward him slightly, finding him lying on his back, staring at the ceiling.
"I really am sorry for causing all this trouble."
"You cause me nothing but trouble," he agreed, but something in his voice had softened. "Sleep now, little thief. Tomorrow brings new challenges, but tonight you're safe here."
The warmth in her chest settled at his nearness, and despite everything, the terror, the pain, the violation, she believed him. She drifted toward sleep in the Forest King's bed, wearing his shirt, with him keeping guard beside her.
Warmth.
That was Briar's first conscious thought. Not the artificial heat of fae hearths or the burning of the mark, but body warmth. Solid and real against her back, an arm heavy around her waist, breath stirring her hair with clockwork rhythm.
Memory crashed back—Malachar's ice, Eliam's fury, falling asleep alone in his bed while he kept watch. But now…
She tried to shift away, mortified to find herself pressed against the Forest King like he was safety itself. His arm tightened, preventing escape.
"Stop moving." His voice came rough with sleep but fully aware. "You're finally quiet."
"I… when did you…"
"Three hours ago." He didn't release her. If anything, pulled her closer. "You were shaking hard enough to rattle the bed frame. And your teeth..." He made a sound of disgust. "Like dice in a cup. I have sensitive hearing."
Heat flooded her face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to—"
"Apologize again and I'll gag you." But his threat lacked bite, muffled against her hair. "The noise was... disruptive. This solved it."
She lay frozen, hyperaware of every point of contact. His chest against her back. His arm around her waist. The way they fit together like puzzle pieces. The warmth in her chest purred contentment, which only mortified her more.
"I can move to the floor—"
"You'll stay exactly where you are." His thumb traced lazy circles on her stomach through his shirt. "You're warm. Quiet. Acceptable."
A knock interrupted whatever protest she might have made.
"Enter," Eliam called without moving.
Servants bustled in with breakfast, studiously not looking at the bed where their lord held his human captive like a favored pet. They set up the small table by the window with practiced efficiency and fled.
"Hungry?" he asked against her ear.
Her stomach answered for her, growling loudly. He chuckled and finally released her.
"Eat," he commanded, rising with fluid grace. "We have much to discuss."
She slipped from the bed, tugging his shirt down to cover more of her thighs. It was a losing battle. The silk barely reached mid-thigh, and his eyes tracked the movement with interest.
"Sit," he said, gesturing to the table. "Before the tea gets cold."
She sat carefully, trying to arrange the shirt for maximum coverage. Pointless, really, given how he'd seen her in far less. But the morning light made everything feel more exposed.
He poured tea with surprising delicacy for someone who'd taken an eye last night. "Your new rooms are being prepared."
"Oh." She wasn't sure why that made her stomach sink. "Where?"
"The adjoining suite." He settled across from her, watching her over his cup. "The door between can remain locked. Usually."
"Usually?"
"When I don't require access."
"You can't just—"
"Can't I?" He selected a piece of fruit, offered it to her. When she didn't take it immediately, he raised an eyebrow. "Eat, or I'll feed you myself. And we both know how that ends."
She took the fruit, biting into it with perhaps more force than necessary. Juice ran down her chin, and his eyes darkened.
"Messy little thing." He leaned across the table, thumb catching the juice before it could drip. "We'll need to work on that too."
"Work on what?"
"Your education. It's been... insufficient." He settled back, but his gaze remained intent. "You know how to move, how to serve, how to hide your responses. But after last night, it's clear you need more."
"More?"
"Malachar shouldn't have been able to corner you so easily." His jaw tightened at the memory. "You fought, yes. But ineffectively. Blindly."
"I'm human. He's a centuries-old Winter Lord. What exactly was I supposed to—"
"Survive better." He stood abruptly. "Finish eating. Then we continue your lessons."
"What kind of lessons?"
His smile was sharp with promise. "The kind that ensures no one ever pins you against anything again. Unless it's me."
Heat crawled up her neck. "That's not—"
"Isn't it?" He moved behind her chair, hands settling on her shoulders.
"You need to understand leverage. How to use someone's strength against them.
" His fingers found the tension in her neck, pressed just hard enough to make his point.
"Even someone stronger can be made vulnerable if you know where to touch. "
"Like you're vulnerable?"
His hands stilled. "I didn't say that."
"But you implied—"
He spun her chair, caging her with arms braced on either side. "Lesson one: don't assume knowledge you don't have. It makes you reckless."
The warmth in her chest reached toward him without her permission.
"I'm not assuming. I'm learning."
"Are you?" One hand came up to trace her jaw. "Then tell me—what did you learn from last night?"