Chapter 50
EZRA
The healers won’t stop fussing.
I sit on the edge of the cot while they prod and murmur, exchanging looks like I’m one bad breath away from collapse. Cassyr stands directly in front of me, arms crossed, jaw tight, watching every single movement they make as if he’s daring them to screw up.
“I’m fine,” I say for the third time. “Honestly. It looks way worse than it feels.”
Cassyr doesn’t even look at me. “You were almost strangled to death.”
“Briefly,” I mutter.
“You were lifted off the ground.”
“Well, yeah…” I don’t even know what else to say to that, if I’m being honest.
One of the healers clears her throat. “Your airway was compressed. There’s bruising that may worsen over the next day or two.”
Cassyr’s head snaps towards her. “Worsen how?”
I sigh. “Cass—“
“You don’t get to interrupt,” he says without turning around. “Not right now.”
I tut at him as the healer finishes applying a cooling salve along my throat, the touch gentle and attentive. It stings faintly, a dull reminder of fingers crushing my windpipe, of the world narrowing to spots of light and roaring blood.
I swallow carefully. It hurts. It’s not unbearable, but it’s enough to remind me that I’m mortal, and got strangled by a seven-foot fucking demon.
Eventually, they step back, satisfied. The healer holds a small sack of vials and a list of instructions I half listen to. Rest. Drink this every six hours. Don’t strain your voice. No working.
Cassyr takes the vials from the girl before I can, tying the sack carefully around his belt. “I’ll make sure he follows all the instructions and takes the medication,” he says.
“I don’t need a babysitter,” I mutter.
Cassyr finally turns to me then, his eyes sharp. “You do today.”
The healers leave, murmuring blessings and warnings as they go. The room falls quiet, save for the distant echo of boots and voices in the corridor.
I swing my legs off the cot. “Right. That’s that, then. You can go.”
Cassyr doesn’t move.
“Cass.”
Still nothing.
I stand, a little slower than usual. The room tilts just enough that I have to brace myself on the cot. Cassyr’s there instantly, hand gripping my arm.
“Sit,” he orders.
I glare up at him. “I said I’m fine.”
He scowls. “And I said sit.”
Something in his voice, the way it’s tight, almost rough, makes me comply. He releases me once I’m steady, then drags a chair closer and drops into it, planting himself directly in front of me like a sentry.
“You’re not leaving, are you?” I say flatly.
It’s not a question. It’s a statement of fact. I can see it in his amber eyes, the way he watches me. Watches every single move, every wince in pain.
“No,” is all he replies.
“I don’t need—”
“I watched you almost die,” he snaps. The words come out sharper than he probably intended them to. He exhales, scrubbing a hand over his face. “I’m not leaving you alone. Not tonight.”
There’s a thousand things I could say to that. But I say none of them.
Cassyr stays.
Not just that night, but the next day. And the one after that.
He insisted on walking me back to my rooms. He makes sure I drink every tonic at the exact hour like an overbearing mother hen. He applies salves to my throat and shoulders with careful fingers, his touch precise and lingering just a second longer than necessary.
I notice everything, which is a blessing and a curse.
I notice the way he avoids my eyes when he presses too close. The way his jaw tightens when I wince. The way he sleeps in the chair by my bed, boots still on, like he’s afraid something might happen if he gets comfortable and lets his guard down.
“You’re going to ruin your back,” I tell him on the second night since it happened—the first in my rooms.
“Worth it.”
“You’re not my guard.”
“No,” he quietly agrees, avoiding my eyes. “I’m not.”
The words hang there, heavy with a thousand things left unsaid.
He barely leaves my side. Not when I sleep. Not when I wake up. He leaves just to bring back meals and pretend it’s coincidence that he always has enough for two. He listens to me talk about anything except what happened outside in the training ring.
On the second day of me being stuck in my room, when he’s reapplying salve to the bruising at my throat, his fingers hesitate.
“Does it still hurt?” he asks, his breath fanning across my chest as he focuses.
“Less.”
His thumb brushes just beneath my jaw, testing gently. I inhale sharply and his eyes flick up to mine. We both freeze. The moment stretches for what feels like minutes, his hand still on my neck, my pulse jumping beneath his touch.
For half a heartbeat, I think he might lean in as his eyes drop to my lips. My breathing stutters, my heart racing at the intimacy of it. He doesn’t, though. Instead, he jerks his hand away like he’s been burned, clearing his throat.
“Good,” he mutters. “That’s… good.”
Later, when I catch him watching me from across the room, his gaze soft and unmasked, my stomach flutters. But I don’t bring it up. I never do.
A sharp knock sounds at the door, splintering the quiet. Cassyr’s head snaps towards it instantly, his once relaxed posture turning rigid.
“Enter,” he calls, voice already edged with warning.
The door creaks open, and Korithax steps inside. The temperature in the room plummets. Cassyr is on his feet before the door even shuts, positioning himself slightly in front of me without thinking, like a shield made flesh. Always the protector.
Korithax’s gaze flicks to the movement, then past him… landing on me. For once, there’s no smoke curling from his shoulders. No Void Shadow licking at his flesh. Just something tight in his expression. But still, my body is on high alert.
“I came to apologise,” he says tightly.
Cassyr lets out a quiet, disbelieving scoff. “You almost killed him.”
Korithax doesn’t look at him, his eyes trained on me. “I lost control.”
“You almost fucking strangled him to death.”
A muscle jumps in Korithax’s jaw, and that sight alone sends my anxiety skyrocketing.
“Do not forget yourself, Cassyr,” he says coolly. “I am still your king.”
Cassyr laughs, a harsh, humourless sound.
“Oh, really? Because last I heard, you stepped down from that position.” I can only see the side of his face, but I can see the way his eyes are fixed into a deathly stare onto Korithax.
“So, which is it? Korithax the psycho killer… Or Korithax, Korran the Second?”
The snarl that tears from Korithax is pure predator. Dark power ripples through the room, pressing heavy on my lungs. Despite my growing anxiety, I move before I can think better of it and step between them.
“Please stop,” I say, my voice quiet but steady. “I accept your apology, Korithax. Thank you.”
Silence falls, and I can feel Cassyr’s burning gaze on the side of my face. Korithax looks down at me then, something almost unsettled flickering across his face.
“I truly didn’t mean it.”
I nod once. “I know. Daisy explained what’s going on up there.” I tap against my temple, a tight lip smile pulling at my mouth.
I feel Cassyr shift, and I don’t need to look to know there’s a question burning in his eyes.
Korithax’s brow lifts slightly—surprise, maybe—but he gives a single nod. Then he turns towards the door.
“Wait,” Cassyr calls.
Korithax pauses, slowly looking back over his shoulder.
“You harm him again,” Cassyr says, each word sharp as broken glass, “And I’ll drive a blade straight through your shoulder.”
For a heartbeat, I think Korithax might actually welcome the challenge. Instead… he barks a dark laugh. The sound is cold and mocking.
“Instead of posturing like a white knight and hovering like a lovesick hound,” he says lazily, “perhaps you should find the courage to tell him how you truly feel.”
The words slice clean through the room. Cassyr goes utterly still, and my stomach drops. Korithax’s gaze flicks briefly to me, amusement glinting in those endless dark eyes, before he steps out into the corridor and pulls the door shut behind him. Silence detonates in his wake.
I turn slowly to see Cassyr is staring at the door like he might tear it off its hinges. Then, as if sensing my attention, he looks at me.
“Back into bed,” he growls, before stalking back over to the desk and continuing with whatever work he was doing before the Child of Ruin stormed in here, and made things even more awkward than they already were.
By the time evening comes, darkness enveloping the room once more, I watch as Cassyr shuffles over to his usual chair.
I tut, rolling my eyes. “You seriously can’t sleep in that chair again. Go back to your room, Cassyr.”
He sits, leaning back with his hands clasped behind his head, his loose shirt slightly open at the top to reveal a tanned, tattooed chest.
“Are you healed?” he asks, tilting his head.
“Cass—”
“Are. You. Healed?” he repeats, punctuating every word.
I let out a heavy sigh. “No.”
“Then the chair it is.” He grins sarcastically.
I lie down, letting out an irritated huff as I turn my back to him. There’s only the light of the moon streaming through the window, the occasional flash of red lightning casting a soft glow every now and then.
I huff again, irritation bubbling inside me.
“What is it, Ezra? Why are you huffing like a child?”
“Doesn’t matter,” I mutter.
“See? Behaving like a child. Communicating like a child. I know by my years you’re young, but in your years, aren’t you an adult?” he asks mockingly.
It takes everything in me not to throw my fucking pillow at his head. I still refuse to turn and face him, but I speak anyway.
“You can’t expect me to go to sleep happily knowing you’re curled up in that stupid fucking chair.
You won’t leave, so at least get in the fucking bed so I don’t have to worry about your stupid back seizing up because you’ve folded yourself like a pretzel in a chair way too small for you to sleep in! ”
My words come out high-pitched and angry, but I don’t care. He’s frustrating me. I’m sick of being stuck in bed. I’m sick of feeling guilty for him stuffing himself in a chair to watch over me like an overbearing idiot.
There’s silence for a long minute and I just roll my eyes, huffing again. Then the small creak of the chair sounds, and the bed dips slightly, the covers rustling as he settles himself beside me.
“Happy?” he murmurs.
“Thank you,” I say with a little too much attitude.
“Brat,” he says quietly. But I still hear it.
“Asshole.”
He doesn’t respond, but I feel the slight shake of the mattress. He’s laughing.
Dick.
I wake slowly, taking a minute to orient myself. I sometimes forget I’m living in a castle in Hell, and wake up confused more often than not. I can’t even remember falling asleep last night.
As the sleep clears from my eyes, and the world unblurs, my other senses return. That’s when I notice something heavier than my usual sheets draped over me.
Cassyr’s soft snores sound behind me, his breath tickling my neck. His legs are tangled with mine; his bare chest is pressed to my bare back with his arm drapes over my mid-section. Butterflies erupt in my stomach and I hold my breath, afraid that if I shift even just slightly, I’ll wake him.
I don’t want him to jump back and move. A part of me enjoys the way he feels wrapped around me.
He’s easily half a foot taller than me, and built solid with muscle.
I feel safe in his arms. I feel… content.
I close my eyes and let myself enjoy the feel of it.
Maybe it’s wrong, but he’s the one that wrapped himself around me, not the other way around.
He shifts slightly, a low groan leaving his lips as he cuddles closer. My eyes fly open. I can feel his dick, rock hard, pressing into my back. Oh. Fuck. He’s got morning wood, and it’s pressed directly against me.
I feel like maybe I should move away. I don’t want to be a weirdo who stays still so a sleeping man can press his dick into my back.
That would be super odd. Right? I shift slightly forwards, clearing my throat.
Cassyr suddenly go very stiff, and I know he’s just woken up and realised he’s cuddling into me like a giant teddy bear.
“I think you’re taking the healer role a little too seriously now, Cass.” I joke, trying to break the tension and awkwardness as I glance over my shoulder to him.
He scrambles backwards, nearly falling off the bed. “Fuck. Ezra, I’m so sorry. I—I didn’t—”
I roll onto my back and laugh. “It’s fine. Honestly.”
He shakes his head, one of his hands positioned to hide his very obvious problem. “I’m gonna go shower. Take your tonic.” And then he’s gone, and the bed suddenly feels huge and cold.
Later that afternoon, Daisy joins us.
She curls up on the rug near the hearth, legs tucked beneath her, a blanket draped loosely around her shoulders. Despite it being summer and sweltering outside, I swear this castle is permanently cold. She looks tired in a way sleep won’t fix. Her eyes are sharp but her expression’s distant.
Cassyr sits on the edge of the bed whilst I lean back against the pillows, feeling more myself than I have since the attack.
Neither of us brought up what happened this morning again.
In fact, after he returned from his shower, fully dressed and composed, he slipped straight back into moody mother hen mode.
“This is the longest I’ve stayed still in years,” I say lightly. “I might actually die of boredom.”
Daisy snorts. “Don’t be dramatic. You’re not allowed to die; I’ve had just quite enough of that for one lifetime.”
Cassyr glances between us, but he avoids my eyes. “You should both be resting.”
She raises a brow. “Is that concern I hear?”
“Don’t get used to it,” he huffs.
Despite everything that’s currently happening, the moment feels almost… normal. Then there’s a knock. It’s a sharp, urgent sound that has Daisy instantly on edge.
A guard steps inside, stiff-backed and pale. “Your Majesty, forgive me for interrupting. You’re needed in the war room. Immediately.”
Daisy stands in an instant. “Why, Kirrian?”
“Virena has arrived,” he says. “She says she brings urgent news.”
Daisy drops the blanket to the floor, straightening her shoulders. “I’m coming.”
“Let me come. I’m bored,” I whine.
Cassyr’s head snaps towards me and I smile sheepishly at him.
Daisy looks between the three of us, then sighs. “Fuck it, why not. Come on.”