13. Stellan
STELLAN
The garden let me take one step. The court objected to the second.
The chain snapped tight around my waist and dragged me towards the sitting room. Bryony’s fingers locked around mine.
“Let go if it pulls you off balance,” I said.
She planted both boots on the silver path. “It isn’t pulling me. It’s dragging you towards the door, and the light is brightest where our palms meet. Come towards me instead of fighting it. We can test the next step without pretending this is safe.”
Her words carried no unnatural weight. I followed them because she was right.
I stepped close enough to put my free arm around her waist. Her body fitted against mine, warm and steady. The chain pulled again, but the silver light rose over our joined hands and stopped it from taking me farther.
“Keep your palm against mine,” I said. “The path is using your authority to admit me. If you feel the light change, step away and let the court pull me back.”
Bryony looked over my shoulder at the doorway. “Will it hurt you?”
“Yes. I’ve survived worse.”
Concern tightened her grip. “I don’t like knowing it will.”
“I won’t take another step if the path changes.”
She watched my face for another moment, then adjusted her grip until our palms met fully. “One step at a time.”
We moved together.
The path widened under us. My chain stretched from the sitting room and scraped over the threshold, leaving a dark line across the stone. It remained tight enough to hurt without forcing me back.
Every step took me farther from the throne than I’d been in a century.
The distance mattered. Bryony’s safety mattered more, so I kept my attention on her and the ward.
The roses leaned towards us. Their thorns stayed aimed at the outer gate.
Bryony glanced at them. “I preferred being ignored.”
“They’re guarding you now.”
“They have an aggressive way of showing affection.”
“I find it familiar.”
Her mouth twitched, and she led us around the low wall towards the basin.
Black liquid still marked her fingers. A cut crossed one knuckle, and thinner scratches showed above the collar of her torn jumper. None was deep. The sight made my hunger stir anyway.
I tightened my arm around her waist for control rather than distance. She didn’t pull away.
“How is the chain?” she asked.
“Tight, but it’s moving with us. I can breathe, and the ward is taking some of the pressure.”
“Can it drag you back while I’m holding you?”
“It can try. The garden is accepting your permission, but the throne still owns the other end. Keep your hand in mine and don’t wrap the chain around yourself. If it wins, I want it to take only me.”
Her grip tightened. “It isn’t winning yet.”
We reached the middle stone.
Fresh water had washed her blood from the silver crown. The shallow pool overflowed into a narrow channel that disappeared behind a wall of roses. Steam rose from the opening.
“There’s the spring,” I said. “It draws water from the rock under the estate. The royal family used the main pool for bathing and for recovering after a feeding. The spring is older than Adrian’s seals, so the water should be clean if the garden has kept the channel open.”
Bryony looked towards the dark passage. “Does the path continue?”
A new silver line appeared beside the water channel. It ran between the rose beds and stopped under an arch at the rear of the garden.
“It does now.” I touched the line with the toe of my boot. It stayed still. “The garden has finished accepting your claim. This section should be safe unless Adrian attacks the gate again.”
“You used the word should.”
“I’m trying to keep our relationship honest.”
She gave me a look that carried more amusement than concern. “Then we check it together.”
The path was wide enough for us to walk side by side. I kept hold of her hand while the chain followed, scraping across the paving behind me.
At the first bend, the throne pulled hard.
The chain crushed my ribs and stopped my next breath. My knees hit the path.
Bryony went down with me. She caught my wrist in both hands and pressed her palm harder against mine. Silver light flared between our fingers.
“Fuck. Stellan.”
I forced air into my lungs. “Stay where you are. The line is still clear.”
“Can you move?”
“Give me a moment.”
She stayed close without filling the silence. Her thumb moved across my palm once, then stopped over the broken seal at my wrist.
The court pulled again. Bryony’s blood warmed the silver path, and the pressure eased enough for me to rise.
I brought her up with me. My hand moved from her waist to the back of her neck, holding her steady until the garden settled.
“You kept the path open,” I said.
“I held your hand. Harrowmere did the rest.”
“It responded to you. If you’d let go, I would be back at the throne.”
She glanced at our hands. “Then I won’t dismiss it.”
I stroked my thumb under her hair and let my hand drop.
“We can turn back,” I said. “The court will keep trying to pull me towards the throne. You’ve already opened the garden and secured its gate.”
Bryony looked at the warm mist past the arch. “You haven’t been away from that room in a hundred years. If the path stays open while we’re touching, I’m not taking you back after five minutes.”
“You aren’t responsible for giving me freedom.”
“I know. I’m choosing to walk another ten metres with you. Don’t make it grander than it is.”
The answer was so like her that I laughed. It surprised both of us.
“Another ten metres,” I agreed.
We crossed the arch.
The spring filled a round stone pool set into the floor. Clear water bubbled from a crack in the wall and sent steam into the sheltered space. A stone bench curved around one side. Thick rose vines covered the entrance, leaving the pool hidden from the outer gate and most of the garden.
The place had been made for privacy. It had once held towels, lamps and wine. Those comforts were gone, but the water remained warm and clean.
Bryony stared at the pool. “This bloody house kept a heated spring down here while it left you beside a cold throne.”
“The house and I have a strained relationship.”
“I’m beginning to see why.”
She sat on the bench and examined the black stain on her fingers. I crouched in front of her and took her injured hand.
“This needs washing off.”
“It didn’t burn.”
“It came from one of Adrian’s vines. It may be harmless now the stem is dead, or it may still carry part of the command he pushed through the gate. I want it off your skin before we learn which.”
I lowered her hand into the spring. Black threads lifted from her skin and vanished in the moving water. The cut on her knuckle had already stopped bleeding.
Her pulse changed under my fingers. Hunger answered, controlled but present.
Bryony noticed my fangs. “Do the scratches make it worse?”
“The scent does. I fed recently, and the cuts are small. I can manage it.”
“You’ll tell me if that changes.”
“Yes.”
I washed the last stain from between her fingers, then turned her hand over. No thorn tips remained in her skin.
“Turn around,” I said.
Bryony shifted on the bench and lifted her hair from the back of her neck. The torn collar exposed three red lines across her shoulder.
I moved the damaged wool aside and ran wet fingers over each scratch. Her breath slowed. Mine didn’t.
The spring had warmed her skin. A drop of water travelled from her shoulder towards the curve of her breast, disappearing under the jumper before I could follow it farther.
I cleaned the shallow cuts and lowered the fabric. “Nothing is lodged in them. They’ll sting for a few hours.”
She kept her hair lifted. “You can stop pretending the scratches are the only thing you’re looking at.”
“I wasn’t aware I was pretending.”
She turned her head enough to meet my eyes. Desire darkened her expression. My fangs were still down, so mine was obvious.
I put my hand around the side of her neck. My thumb rested under her jaw while I leaned close.
Her lips parted.
The chain pulled again.
I stopped with my mouth a breath from hers and looked towards the garden. The timing felt personal.
Bryony let out a quiet laugh. “Your house has opinions.”
“Most of them are wrong.”
I sat beside her instead of giving the court another chance to throw me across the pool. Our hands remained linked between us, keeping the silver path open.
For a while, we listened to the spring. The throne’s pull eased to a constant pressure around my waist. I could endure it.
Bryony rested her elbows on her knees. “You helped me in the garden without trying to take control. You told me what to do with the ward, then left me to decide how to reach it.”
“I couldn’t reach you.”
“You still could have shouted orders until I stopped thinking. You didn’t.”
I looked at our joined hands. “You’d already shown me you make better decisions when you understand the danger. I gave you what I knew.”
“Then let’s make that the rule.” She sat up and faced me.
“I can’t learn Harrowmere in a day, and you can’t reach half of it without me.
You answer my questions directly. If you don’t know, say so.
If the truth is dangerous, tell me why and let me decide what to do with it.
I’ll keep opening the parts we need, and I won’t use the Crown to command you. I’m not promising blood or freedom.”
She was offering cooperation. I wanted more, but I could accept what she gave.
When she first crossed the estate boundary, I had planned to use attraction to earn the blood I needed. I hadn’t expected her to demand honesty, or how badly I’d want to give it.
“I accept,” I said. “Ask me about the court, Adrian or what I am, and I’ll answer as fully as I can. I won’t trade information for blood or obedience. In return, I want the chance to help keep us alive. That’s all.”
“You don’t get to decide whether I take a risk.”
“No. I’ll explain why it may kill you, and I’ll argue if you ignore me. The choice remains yours.”
She held my gaze. “I still need the truth about Cecily before anything else changes.”
“You’ll have a direct answer when you ask.”
“Then we have an alliance.”
We didn’t need an oath or more blood. Bryony kept her hand in mine while warm water moved through the pool beside us.
I turned her palm up and pressed my mouth to the uninjured skin under her thumb. Her breath caught, and her fingers curled lightly against my cheek.
The kiss was brief. I wanted another.
Metal struck metal in the garden.
I rose and pulled Bryony up with me. The silver path remained clear, but every rose had turned towards the outer gate.
“That wasn’t the house,” she said.
“No.”
We returned to the main garden together. I kept Bryony close while the chain dragged behind me, tight but moving.
A man stood on the other side of the iron bars.
Adrian had come alone. His dark coat was clean, his dark hair swept back from his face. One hand rested against the outer seal while black light moved around his fingers. The ward kept him out.
His gaze went to the chain at my waist, followed its new length and stopped on my hand around Bryony’s.
Anger tightened his mouth.
“Step away from him, Bryony,” Adrian said. “I came to speak to you.”