Chapter 28 #2
"Making this... complicated."
She wanted to point out that he'd made it complicated. By fussing and bringing flowers. By looking at her like she'd torn something open in him when she fell through the ice.
Instead, she just said, "Finish your work. I'll eat my medicinal berries."
He stared at her for another moment, then returned to his chair. But she noticed he positioned it differently now, had angled it so he could see her without looking up from his papers.
They sat in companionable silence while she finished her meal and he pretended to work. Every few minutes, his gaze would flick to her, checking. When she shivered once, from memory, not cold, he immediately rose.
"You're cold."
"I'm not—"
But he was already pulling blankets from a chest at the foot of the bed. Thick, soft things that smelled of pine and age.
"You don't need to do all of this."
"Clearly I do." He arranged them over her with careful precision. "You're incapable of basic self-care."
"Says the man who ravaged me in a cave a week ago."
He paused, hands stilling on the blanket. "That's the second time you've mentioned that."
"It seems relevant to your current mother hen behavior."
"I'm not..." He straightened, glaring at her. "This isn't mother hen behavior. This is ensuring my property doesn't expire from preventable causes."
"Ah yes. Very lordly. Very practical." She snuggled deeper into the blankets he'd just arranged. "No emotional investment whatsoever."
"Exactly."
"Which is why you've spent three days in my room."
"Supervision."
"And why you keep bringing me flowers?"
"Medicinal purposes."
"And why you look physically pained when I try to get out of bed?"
"Because you're an idiot who doesn't understand the concept of recovery!" The words burst out louder than intended. He took a breath, visibly collecting himself. "You almost died. In water. Again. Forgive me for wanting to ensure it doesn't happen a third time."
The raw honesty in his voice made her chest tight.
"I'm okay," she said softly. "I'm here. I'm safe."
"Are you?" He moved closer again, drawn like a magnet. "Because from where I'm standing, you're a fragile human who thinks throwing herself at magical constructs is acceptable behavior."
"Only when they're about to kill you."
"I can't be killed by parlor tricks."
"You can be hurt." The words slipped out before she could stop them. "You can be damaged. And I... I didn't want that."
They stared at each other, the admission hanging between them like a physical thing.
"This is what I mean by complicated," he said finally.
"I know."
"I don't..." He ran a hand through his hair, messing the perfect strands. "I don't know what to do with you."
"You could start by letting me walk to the bath room."
"Absolutely not." But there was a hint of a smile at the corner of his mouth. "I am impressed by your continued efforts."
"Worth a shot." She settled back against the pillows. "So what now? You're going to keep me bed-bound forever?"
"Until you're healed."
"I am healed."
"Your opinion, lacking in any medical expertise, is noted and dismissed." He returned to his chair but didn't pick up his papers. Instead, he watched her openly now, cataloguing every detail. "You'll stay in that bed until I'm satisfied you won't keel over."
"And how long will that take?"
"As long as necessary."
She wanted to argue more, but the truth was... she didn't hate this. This strange, almost-soft version of him that brought her breakfast and counted her breaths. It was confusing and probably dangerous for entirely different reasons than his cruelty.
But it wasn't just the warmth in her chest that hummed contentment every time he fussed, or checked her temperature or adjusted her blankets or brought her tiny purple flowers that served no medicinal purpose whatsoever.
It was her too. Her own traitorous heart that sped up when he entered the room.
Her body relaxing under his careful touch.
Her eyes that tracked him when he moved about her chambers, memorizing this unfamiliar tenderness.
She was starting to anticipate his visits, to listen for his footsteps, to feel disappointed when he left.
That was the truly dangerous part, not the magical warmth reaching for him, but her own very human self doing the same.
"Stop smiling," he said.
"I'm not smiling."
"You are. I can see it."
"Then stop looking."
"No."
And there it was, that strange new honesty between them. He wouldn't stop looking. She wouldn't stop noticing. And neither of them would acknowledge what was actually happening here.
It was safer that way.
Even if safety was starting to feel more dangerous than drowning.
The healer arrived the next morning, announced by a brownie who looked terrified.
She was ancient, that much was clear from the way even the air seemed to defer to her. When she entered, she inclined her head to Eliam. Respectful, but not subservient.
"Lord Eliam. You requested my assessment."
"Yes." He set down his documents but remained in his chair. "I want to know if she's fully recovered."
The healer moved to Briar's bedside with practiced efficiency. "Lady Briar. I need to examine you."
"Of course," Briar said, sitting up straighter.
The healer's hands were gentle but thorough—checking pulse, breathing, reflexes. She examined the fading bruises from the river, tested Briar's grip strength, had her follow a finger with her eyes.
"Any lingering pain?"
"No."
"Dizziness? Weakness?"
"Only from being in bed so long."
The healer nodded, continuing her examination. When she pressed against Briar's ribs, checking for tenderness, Eliam shifted in his chair.
"Well?" he demanded.
"Her lungs are clear. No fluid retention. No fever. Bruising is healing normally." The healer straightened. "She's recovered, my lord."
"It's only been a week."
"A week of consistent care, proper nutrition, and adequate rest." The healer's tone was carefully neutral. "Human bodies are fragile, but they heal. Hers has healed."
"Perhaps another day or two of rest would be—"
"Unnecessary, my lord. Extended bed rest could actually weaken her muscles further." The healer began packing her instruments. "She should resume normal activities."
Eliam stood abruptly. "Define normal."
"Walking. Eating in the dining hall. Bathing—"
"Supervised bathing."
The healer paused. "If my lord insists. Though I see no medical necessity for it."
"The medical necessity is that she's nearly drowned twice."
"That's not a medical issue, my lord. That's a behavioral one." The healer turned to Briar with what might have been sympathy. "Avoid large bodies of water for your own sake, child. Your lord seems particularly concerned about them."
"I'll be careful," Briar promised.
The healer inclined her head. "Will that be all, my lord?"
Eliam looked reluctant. "Yes."
She offered a bow of her head and left quietly. The silence that followed felt heavy.
"So," Briar said carefully once they were alone again. "I'm recovered."
Eliam stared at the closed door for a moment longer, then turned to the window. She could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his hands clenched and unclenched.
"You can get up."
The words hung in the air between them. After a week of being told to stay still, to rest, to not even think about leaving the bed, the simple permission felt surreal.
Briar stared at him, waiting for the addition of conditions, restrictions, supervised walking schedules.
But he remained silent, rigid at the window.
Freedom. The word whispered through her mind, though freedom was relative when you belonged to the Forest King. Her muscles ached with disuse, practically screaming to move, to stretch, to remember what it felt like to be more than a carefully monitored invalid.
She swung her legs out of bed experimentally, half-expecting him to materialize at her side with warnings about taking things slowly. But he remained at the window, gripping the sill with enough force to make the wood creak.
"Are you alright?"
"Fine." The word came out clipped. "Get dressed. You'll want to... walk. Or whatever it is you do when not actively drowning."
Something was wrong. After a week of mother-henning, checking her temperature every few hours, personally delivering every meal, he was suddenly distant. Cold.
No, not cold. Struggling.
She rose carefully, grateful that her legs were steadier than she'd expected after a week in bed. The simple pleasure of standing without him hovering, without immediate commands to sit back down, was almost dizzying.
"Thank you," she said softly.
"For what?"
"For taking care of me. Even if you'll claim it was purely practical."
His shoulders tightened. "It was practical. Can't have my property expiring from preventable causes."
"Of course." She moved to her wardrobe, pulling out one of the simpler dresses. "Very practical. The flowers with every meal. The perfect tea. The way you read to me when you thought I was sleeping."
He spun to face her then, and she caught something raw in his expression before he shuttered it.
"I have to leave."
The words landed like stones. "What?"
"The Wild Hunt requires..." He paused, and she noticed his hands flexing at his sides. "Preparations. Ancient rites that must be observed. Things only I can..." Another pause, as if the words were fighting him. "Oversee."
"What kind of preparations?"
"Territorial—" He stopped, jaw clenching. "There are... rituals. Sacred groves that must be..." His hand went through his hair, messing the perfect strands. "It's complicated."
She'd never seen him struggle so much with an explanation. "You're being very vague."
"The old magics don't translate well to human understanding." The words came out rushed, and he turned away again. "Two days. Perhaps three."
"Three days for rituals?"