Chapter 21 #2
But she could also feel Eliam pulling away, could see him withdrawing, closing himself off, and she realized with sudden, fierce clarity that this was exactly what Malus would want.
For her to flinch from Eliam's touch and the trauma to poison what they had, for it to continue violating her even now, even here, even safe in Star Court chambers.
He'd taken enough from her. Her dignity. Her sense of safety. Her body's autonomy. But he wouldn't take this. Wouldn't take Eliam, not again.
She grabbed Eliam's face between her hands and pulled him back down, crushing her mouth to his before fear could win.
Her hands rose to tangle in his hair, her body pressing against his. When his lips parted in surprise, she deepened the kiss. She poured everything into it—defiance and determination and a desperate need to replace Malus's touch with something that was hers.
Eliam made a sound against her mouth, half moan and half something darker.
His hands came to her waist, and after a moment of letting her lead, something shifted.
His grip tightened, turning possessive, and he took over the kiss with an intensity that stole her breath.
His tongue swept into her mouth and she felt herself responding despite the lingering fear.
His hands moved from her waist to her hips, pulling her flush against him, and she gasped at the contact. The kiss turned rougher, his teeth catching her lower lip hard enough to sting. One hand slid up her back to tangle in her hair, tilting her head to give him deeper access.
She wanted this. Her body was responding, the warmth in her chest singing with recognition and need. But underneath it, anxiety threaded through like a dark current. The memory of hands that took without asking, of her body responding when she didn't want it to, of pleasure twisted into a weapon.
The kiss slowed.
He pulled back just enough to look at her, his eyes still dark with desire but searching her face. She opened her mouth to apologize, to explain, but he just shook his head. His hands released her hair, her hip, moving instead to pull her against his chest.
"You need more rest," he said, his voice rough. "Before I can properly bed you."
The words struck her as odd. She'd been half-drowned and hypothermic after the river, and that hadn't stopped him. This? This was different.
His mouth found her throat. His teeth scraped against the bite marks Malus had left there, then bit down. The pressure was hard, deliberate, and she gasped, her hands clutching at his shoulders.
"You’re mine," he said against her throat. He bit again, lower this time, marking her collarbone. "Always mine."
Each bite was firm enough to leave a mark, firm enough to hurt. Even as he pulled back she could feel the bruises forming, a constellation of possession across her throat and shoulder.
He settled her back against the pillows, pulling her into his arms with a firmness that suggested argument would be useless. One arm wrapped around her waist, holding her against his chest, while his other hand splayed possessively across her stomach.
"Sleep now," he demanded. "You're still recovering."
A thought crept in unbidden. What if he was lying? What if he didn't want her anymore, not really, and this was just—
"If you don't stop thinking whatever you're thinking," he said against her hair, "I'll take you right now and make sure the entire Star Court hears it."
The threat was so unexpected that she let out a startled laugh. His arms tightened around her.
"I mean it," he continued. "I'll have you screaming my name loud enough that Arion comes running. Let everyone in this pristine, proper court know exactly who you belong to."
She huffed out a small laugh against his chest. "I'm sure that would go over well."
"I don't particularly care what goes over well in the Star Court." His hand on her stomach pressed possessively. "Now sleep or keep thinking foolish thoughts and suffer the consequences. Don’t say I never gave you choices."
She closed her eyes, letting herself relax against him. His heartbeat was steady beneath her ear, his arms solid around her, and for the first time since Malus had taken her, she felt like maybe, eventually, she might be okay.
She slept, finally, without dreams.
Briar woke to the weight of being watched.
Even before she opened her eyes, she knew Eliam was there, that particular intensity of his attention a physical thing she could feel even through sleep.
She snuggled further into downy blankets piled over her body while the warmth in her chest pulled steadily—no longer desperate but constant.
“How long will you pretend to be asleep?”
Pushing the blanket down, Briar turned to see Eliam sitting in a chair beside the bed, fully dressed in clothes that were undoubtedly borrowed from the Star Court's wardrobe.
They fit him well enough, but something about seeing him in cream and blue instead of his usual jeweled tones felt wrong, like he was wearing someone else's skin.
He was watching her with that particular intensity that meant he'd been doing it for a while. His expression was unreadable, caught somewhere between possession and something darker, more complicated.
"How long have you been sitting there?" Her voice came out rough from sleep.
"Long enough." His eyes tracked her movement as she pushed herself upright, the blankets falling away from her shoulders. "Arion sent word three hours ago. Everyone's gathering in the council room."
Three hours. The words hit her with sudden panic. She threw the covers back, her body protesting the quick movement.
"Three hours?" She swung her legs over the edge of the bed, her feet finding the cold floor. "Why didn't you wake me? They're all waiting, I've kept everyone—"
"Stop." The command in his voice made her freeze mid-movement. He stood from the chair, crossing to her in two strides. His hands found her shoulders, firm enough to keep her in place. "Your recovery is the top priority. If that means they wait three hours or three days, they'll wait."
"Eliam, if Arion gathered everyone—"
"I don't jump because the Star Court prince says so." His thumbs pressed against her collarbones, grounding and possessive. "You needed rest. Everything else can wait."
She stared up at him, seeing the steel in his expression, the absolute refusal to compromise on this particular point.
"You can't just make people wait because—"
"I can, and I did." His hands slid from her shoulders to cup her face, tilting it up to his.
"They'll wait as long as I decide they need to wait.
Your body needed time to recover from what I took from you, from what he did to you.
A few hours of their inconvenience means nothing measured against that. "
The arrogance of it should have irritated her, but instead she felt something warm settle in her chest that had nothing to do with the fragment of his essence living there. He was being completely unreasonable and absolutely unmovable, and somehow that steadiness felt like safety.
"Are you ready now?" he asked, his tone shifting slightly, becoming less command and more question. "Or do you need more time?"
She considered his words. Her body felt heavy, disconnected, but functional. The worst of the exhaustion had faded with sleep, leaving behind only the bone-deep weariness that she suspected wouldn't leave for days yet.
"I'm ready," she said. "We need to figure out what to do about... everything."
His expression darkened and his hands dropped from her face. He offered a curt nod and moved to the wardrobe across the room.
"The Star Court provided clothes," he said, opening the ornate doors to reveal an array of gowns in various shades of blue and silver and white.
Colors that would mark her as belonging to this court, to Arion's protection.
He stood there for a moment, his hand resting on one of the silver dresses, then moved past it with clear dismissal.
His fingers found a gown near the back, pulling it free from the others. The fabric was a deep sage green, darker than the vibrant emerald of his Forest Court but unmistakably green nonetheless. Not his color exactly, but close enough to make a statement.
"This one," he said, laying it across the bed. Then, quieter, “You look best in green.”
She looked at the dress, understanding what he was doing.
Marking her as his even here, even wearing borrowed clothes in another court's territory.
It was possessive in a way that would have made most people balk, but for Briar it was proof that nothing fundamental had changed between them, that Malus hadn't succeeded in poisoning what they had.
"Alright," she said quietly, a small smile tugging at the corners of her mouth.
She stood, reaching for the hem of the oversized sleep shirt someone had dressed her in, but her arms felt leaden and uncooperative. The simple act of lifting the fabric over her head became a struggle, her muscles protesting.
Eliam was there immediately, his hands covering hers. "Let me."
There was a moment where her body went rigid, instinct screaming at the memory of hands on her, removing clothes, controlling her movements. But this was Eliam. Not Malus. The difference mattered.
She lowered her arms and let him draw the shirt up and over her head, the fabric whispering against her skin.
The cool air of the room hit her bare skin and she fought the urge to cover herself, to hide the bruises that still shadowed her ribs, the healing bite marks that decorated her throat and shoulder.
His eyes tracked over her body, cataloging every injury with an expression that went completely cold. She saw his jaw clench, saw murder flash through his eyes before he forced it away.
"I'm going to kill him," he said quietly, almost conversationally. "Slowly."
"Get in line," she managed, trying for levity and falling short.