Chapter Seventeen
Iver
Iver woke to darkness. Bursts of searing pain shot through his insides. William was there, and relief flooded Iver. That was all he knew before he drifted off again.
His next peek at consciousness came with a soft golden glow that he saw behind his closed eyelids. William’s hand was on his shoulder, stroking him. The ache had dulled. Slowly, he opened his eyes, finding the world a milky blur.
He lost all sense of time as he drifted in and out of consciousness.
Sometimes he came to darkness, sometimes to light.
Whenever he did, William was with him, touching him in some small way, careful not to hurt him.
Often, the nurse or the healer was there too, but Iver paid them no mind.
William’s presence alone brought him peace.
It was daytime when Iver came to next, his mind clearer though his head was pounding.
Sunlight filtered in through curtained windows, dipping the infirmary into a soft light.
William’s soul was quietly resting against his, and when Iver turned his head, he found William sleeping in a narrow cot that’d been pushed next to his.
William lay right on the edge, knees on Iver’s mattress, his hand enclosing Iver’s.
Dark circles under William’s eyes spoke of his exhaustion, and so did his ashen coloring. His brow was furrowed as though he was caught in a nightmare.
Awareness of what had happened struck Iver. The attempted assassination, the surgery, the bond unleashed. William stirred and blinked his eyes open. His gaze flew to Iver.
“You’re awake,” William said, pushing up.
Iver tried to reply, tried to tell him he was finally lucid, but all that came out was a hoarse rasp. His mouth felt like it was coated in sand. His headache intensified.
“Don’t talk. It’s fine. I know what you need.” William brushed his knuckles over Iver’s cheek.
The gentleness of the gesture, the fact that William was there, taking care of him, filled Iver with emotion.
William climbed out of bed and picked up something from the nightstand—a glass of water.
He propped Iver up and brought it to his lips.
“Just a small sip. The nurse said you can’t drink much because your stomach needs to heal, but you should have a little water every hour or so whenever you’re awake.
We haven’t been able to give you much. Half the time when you opened your eyes, you were barely conscious. ”
Delirious as he’d been, Iver had no memory of drinking water before now. The cool liquid was a boon on his parched tongue. He swallowed and had to clench his teeth as the water ran down his gullet and into his stomach. He was still raw from the iron burns.
Carefully, William helped him back onto the pillow. “I’ll get the healer.” He kissed Iver’s brow, then got up and knocked on the door across the room. Iver’s world went dark before he heard an answer.
Over the following days, Iver spent more and more time awake.
He was to have no food, only water, which William kept feeding him dutifully.
When the pain in his stomach subsided, the healer allowed him a clear broth.
When he’d had that for a day without issues, she permitted William to spoon-feed him soup, soaked oats and semolina porridge, all lukewarm and bland, designed to nourish him while not straining his stomach.
William was glued to his side. There was no waking moment without William next to him.
He watched over him like a guard dog. Trusting no one, he’d banned visitors from the infirmary, only allowing Ailenor inside.
Nobody had ever protected Iver like William did.
William was solely focused on him and his protection. Everything else had been put on hold.
“You’re starting to look… healthier,” William said a week into Iver’s recovery.
“Were you going to say ‘better’?”
William chuckled. “Maybe. But you’re always beautiful.”
“Even on death’s doorstep?”
“Even then. But your cheeks have gained color, and I like that very much.” William stroked Iver’s hair.
His soul, sliding against Iver’s, dove into him. Iver welcomed him, reveling in the closeness. William’s presence was accompanied by warmth and a profound sense of safety.
William pressed his brow to Iver’s temple. “You don’t regret opening the bond.” William’s voice was low and filled with wonder. He didn’t make it a question, the bond telling him Iver didn’t lament letting their connection run free. Still, he was insecure about it.
“It saved my life.” But there was more to it.
William’s breath stroked his skin.
“I can finally trust completely,” Iver said, his hand seeking William’s on the bedding. “You’d never betray me.” He exhaled. “I’m so grateful you took my side when it mattered.”
William’s fingers slid between his, twining them. “Of course I take your side. You’re my husband.”
“I’ve never had that.”
“Like I’ve never felt loved before. You accept me for who I am.”
Iver turned to him, William’s dark blue eyes impossibly close. “How could I not?”
“I was never good enough for my father. I was never good enough as king. But somehow, miraculously, I’m good enough for you. For the most powerful king of the fae.”
“More than enough.”
William was everything Iver needed. He was more than he could’ve dreamed of—attentive, adoring and loyal to a fault. Iver put what he had no words for into the wave of emotion he sent William, letting him feel the truth for himself. He squeezed William’s hand.
“It was a mistake to not open up to you,” Iver said, rolling on his side to cup William’s face.
“Don’t move,” William said, alarmed, as Iver winced in pain and dropped back. “You’ll hurt yourself. Please don’t move. I’m right here with you; I know how you feel. I know. Don’t strain yourself.”
Concern and love wove through the bond. William kissed his temple.
“Why are you so perfect?” Iver asked as William washed the pain away with his affections. “I should’ve let you in on the day we married. I shouldn’t have kept this from us.” He caressed William in the deepest way, making his soul purr.
“No matter. We have it now. We have each other.” A smile crept into William’s voice. “And I have you.”
“You do.”
They were quiet for a long moment. Iver’s eyes closed as William’s soul enfolded him.
They had each other now, but they’d almost lost everything.
William had told him what Ailenor and Charlotte had discovered—a leather pouch containing more of the coated iron dust among Silenia’s possessions, the panicked servants confessing that yes, Silenia had been in the kitchen before the festivities.
They hadn’t seen her put anything into Iver’s drink, but she’d been there, lingering.
They’d thought it odd but said nothing—who’d question the king’s sister after he himself had spent mornings baking in the kitchen?
The staff were innocent, Iver was sure of it.
Ailenor and Charlotte had searched them and their private rooms, finding no evidence of treason.
Iver should’ve never let Silenia anywhere near Silverlight Castle. He gritted his teeth. He should’ve—
“What’s wrong?” William asked, sensing his rising anger.
“I made a mistake inviting Silenia to the wedding. She should’ve never been here.”
“You didn’t know. How could you? No one expects their own sister to attempt murder.”
Iver wasn’t sure how to explain. “It’s not that I could’ve known that this was her intent. That she wanted the throne. But this isn’t the first time she’s… hurt me.”
William sat up straight. “What do you mean?”
Iver swallowed. He didn’t want to get into this with William. He didn’t want to cause him pain. But he owed him an explanation. “It happened a century ago. I thought I’d gotten over my resentment toward her, that I could move on and if not forget at least forgive.”
“What did she do?” William asked, an edge to his voice.
“At the time…” There was no easy way of saying it.
“I was in love. His name was Thorne. He was a high fae at my father’s court, older than me and hauntingly beautiful.
His wisdom and experience impressed me.” Iver gazed at William.
“He looked similar to you—tall, dark-haired, and he had those startling blue eyes.
I was smitten. I courted him for months before he finally relented.
I was over the moon when he gave in to my advances.
“We’d been together for a couple of decades,” Iver saw William take those words in, “when I ascended to the throne. I couldn’t get enough of him.
And now I was king—his king—and I wanted to make him mine.
I was going to propose to him. Thorne had always had an independent streak, one I respected, and perhaps, despite all our happiness and the time we spent together, that was what fueled my desire to get him to commit.
He wouldn’t have turned me down. Not before…
He didn’t stray. He was honest. Out of the blue, Thorne broke things off with me.
The next time I saw him was in Silenia’s arms. She’d seduced him, it turned out.
Thorne and I had become comfortable. She was new and exciting. ”
William wrinkled his nose. “He was your lover! How could he—”
“What Thorne did wasn’t wrong. He ended things with me before giving his affections to Silenia.
I was devastated, but he’d done nothing immoral.
Silenia on the other hand… I found out she’d been courting his attention for months, ever since my ascension.
I was furious, but over the decades I came to understand why she did what she did. Or at least I thought so.
“Our father had died suddenly. He’d been old, and while he’d been in good health, he deteriorated rapidly, as it happens to many of us when we approach three hundred.
For a century, I’d thought she’d been lonely after our father’s death and sought solace with Thorne.
Then feelings had grown, and one thing led to another until Thorne left me.