Chapter 28
Chapter twenty-eight
Three days after nearly drowning, after he'd carried her wrapped in his cloak through the castle, ignoring the shocked stares of servants who'd never seen their lord carry anything, let alone a human and with such careful possession, Briar was beginning to understand that near-drowning had consequences she hadn't anticipated.
Morning light streamed through her windows, late morning, she realized with a start. She never slept this late. But then again, she never had the Forest King personally ensuring she "rested properly" by ordering servants to add sleeping draughts to her evening tea.
She stretched, muscles protesting the enforced bed rest, and froze at the sound of her door opening.
"You're awake." Eliam entered the room, carrying yet another breakfast tray. The third morning in a row he'd personally brought her food. "Good. You slept through yesterday's lunch."
"Because you drugged me."
"I ensured proper rest." He moved into the room with that predatory grace, setting the tray on her bedside table. "There's a difference."
She pushed herself up against the pillows, trying not to notice how his eyes tracked every movement. "I don't need—"
"You do." He began arranging the tray with meticulous care. Toast cut into perfect triangles, crusts removed. Fresh berries in a delicate bowl. Tea that steamed at exactly the right temperature. "The healer says—"
"The healer says I'm fine."
"The healer says you're recovering." He adjusted the placement of a spoon, as if its angle was crucial. "From nearly freezing to death. In water. Again."
She watched him fuss with the tray, this immortal creature who commanded forests and inspired fear in Winter Lords, now concerned with whether her napkin was folded properly.
"You know," she said carefully, "for someone so worried about my fragile human constitution, you didn't seem concerned about it in that cave."
His hands stilled.
"When you took me against the furs," she continued, taking a perverse pleasure in making him acknowledge it. "Multiple times. Rather... enthusiastically."
He turned to face her fully, and she caught something flicker across his face, not embarrassment, exactly, but something close.
"That was different."
"Different how?"
"You were conscious. Responsive. Very responsive," he smirked. "Not blue-lipped and barely breathing."
"So my fragility is conditional?"
"Your fragility," he said, voice dropping to that dangerous register, "is irrelevant when you're begging me to take you."
Heat flooded her face, but she refused to back down. "Then surely I've recovered enough to walk to the bathroom."
"No."
"Eliam—"
"You'll call for assistance." He moved to his chair while Briar tried to determine when the ornate piece had been moved into her room. She distinctly remembered it being in his study three days ago. "Or I'll assist you myself."
The thought of him helping her bathe made her stomach flip in ways that were not wholly unpleasant.
"That's not necessary."
"Neither was throwing yourself at a magical ice construct." He picked up a stack of documents from the side table. "Yet here we are."
She reached for the tea, needing something to do with her hands. Taking a sip she looked down in surprise. It was perfect. A bit of honey and just a touch of milk, exactly how she liked it. When had he learned that?
"Don’t overthink it," he said without looking up from his papers.
"I’m not overthinking anything,” she protested. “I'm drinking tea."
"You're analyzing. I can feel it from here." He made a note in the margin of whatever he was reading. "Eat the berries first. They have vitamins."
"I didn't realize the Forest King was an expert in human nutrition."
"I'm an expert in many things." He glanced up, eyes narrowing. "You're too pale."
"You said that yesterday."
"It's still true today." He set down his papers, rising with that fluid grace that made her mouth dry. "And you have shadows under your eyes."
"Because someone keeps waking me every two hours to check my temperature."
"Fevers can spike suddenly." He crossed to her bed, and her traitorous pulse quickened. "Speaking of which."
Before she could protest, his hand was on her forehead. Cool fingers against her skin, checking with an intensity that belonged to doctors in healing halls, not fae overlords in bedchambers.
"No fever," he murmured, but his hand didn't move. Instead, his fingers shifted to her cheek, thumb brushing the shadow beneath her eye. "But you're still too cold."
"Your hands are just warm," she managed, trying not to lean into the touch.
"Perhaps." His other hand came up to frame her face, tilting it toward the light. "Your color is better than yesterday. But your lips..."
"What about my lips?"
"Still too pale." His thumb traced her lower lip, and her breath caught. "They should be darker. Fuller. Like when you're..."
"When I'm what?" The question came out breathier than intended.
His eyes darkened, and for a moment she thought he might show her exactly what he meant. Then he stepped back, control snapping back into place.
"When you're properly warm. Which you're not." He returned to his chair, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. "Finish your breakfast. All of it."
She picked up a piece of bread, trying to focus on eating rather than the way her lip still tingled from his touch. The bread was perfect—still warm, buttered exactly right. Even the way he'd removed the crusts felt oddly tender.
"There's a flower," she said suddenly, noticing the small addition to her tray. A single violet bloom in a tiny crystal vase.
He didn't look up from his papers. "The healer says pleasant surroundings aid in recovery."
"The healer says flowers help?"
"The healer says many things. I simply do as instructed." He turned a page with more force than necessary. "Are you going to question fae healers now?"
"I'm questioning whether the healer specifically prescribed purple flowers with breakfast."
"Eat your berries."
She hid a smile, popping a raspberry into her mouth. It burst sweet and tart on her tongue, perfectly ripe. Everything on the tray was perfect, actually. As if someone had taken great care in selecting each item.
"How long have you been awake?" she asked.
"Why?"
"This breakfast is elaborate. Fresh berries, perfectly prepared toast, tea at exactly the right temperature..." She gestured at the tray. "This took time to arrange."
"The kitchen staff are efficient."
"The kitchen staff don't remove crusts in perfect triangles or know that I prefer raspberry jam to strawberry."
He set down his papers entirely, giving her his full attention. It was like being studied by a particularly elegant predator.
"You're observing unnecessary details."
"Am I?" She took another sip of tea. "Like how you've moved half your study into my room? Or how you've memorized my tea preferences? Or how you keep checking on me every two hours despite claiming I need uninterrupted rest?"
"Supervision ensures proper healing."
"Supervision doesn't require personally delivering every meal."
"The servants are incompetent."
"The servants are terrified because you threatened to turn the last one who 'disturbed my rest' into garden mulch."
A muscle in his jaw ticked. "He was loud."
"He sneezed."
"Loudly." He rose again, pacing to the window. "You need quiet to recover. Peace. Not servants crashing about with their various bodily functions."
She watched him stand there, backlit by morning sun, all coiled tension and barely leashed concern. It was so at odds with the cold, controlled lord who'd first claimed her. She wasn’t sure what to make of it or when things would change again. Eliam was anything but predictable.
"Why?" The question slipped out before she could stop it.
"Why what?"
"Why do you care so much? I'm just property, remember? Just a human pet who happens to carry mysteries in her chest."
He turned from the window, and something in his expression made her heart skip. Not the calculated possession she knew, but something rawer. More confused.
"You..." He paused, seeming to search for words. "You threw yourself at danger. For me. Without thought or hesitation."
"So?"
"So?" He crossed back to her bed in three quick strides. "So you nearly died. Again. Do you know what I felt when you went under that ice?"
“You’ve told me many times how—”
“Not how,” he interrupted. “What.”
She shook her head, caught by the intensity in his eyes.
"Nothing." The word came out harsh. "For one moment, I felt nothing. No mark connection. No warmth. Just... absence. Like something had been torn out." His hands gripped the bedpost. "I didn't enjoy it."
"Oh."
"Oh?" He laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You nearly died, and when I pulled you out, you were so cold. So still. And all I could think was that I was going to lose you before I understood..."
"Understood what?"
He stared at her for a long moment, then shook his head. "It doesn't matter. What matters is you healing. Properly. Without any more heroics."
"I can't promise that."
"You will promise exactly that." He leaned down, bracing his hands on either side of her. "No more protecting me. No more rivers. No more anything that puts you at risk unless I deem it."
"That's not reasonable."
"I'm not reasonable." His face was inches from hers now. "I'm possessive and controlling and apparently I bring you flowers with breakfast because seeing color in your cheeks matters more than my dignity."
The admission hung between them, raw and unexpected.
"Eliam," she breathed.
"Don't." He pulled back, but not far. "Don't look at me like that. Like I'm... something I'm not."
"Like what?"
"Like someone capable of caring." But his hand came up to cup her cheek anyway, thumb tracing her cheekbone with devastating gentleness. "I'm not. I just... require you to be functional. For my purposes."
"Of course." She turned her face into his palm, feeling him shudder. "Very practical."
"Stop that."
"Stop what?"