Elsa’s attention snapped to him, that sharp intelligence flickering despite obvious exhaustion. “The ceremony isn’t—”
“Finished enough.” He didn’t wait for argument. His arms slid beneath her knees and shoulders, lifting her against his chest before she could protest.
“I can walk.”
“You can barely stand.” He turned toward the corridor, ignoring the startled looks from the two Lux Knights stationed at the alcove entrance. “You’ve proven whatever point you needed to prove. Now you rest.”
She opened her mouth—to argue, probably—then closed it. Her head dropped against his shoulder, the fight draining out of her in a long exhale.
Good. She was learning when resistance was futile.
The corridors stretched before them, blue-lit and ancient, carved from volcanic rock that held the mountain’s heat like a living thing. Sylas moved through them with purpose, taking turns that didn’t lead toward the Luna’s chamber where he’d placed her before.
That room was too far. Too public. Too accessible to anyone who might want to prove a point about his judgment.
His own chambers waited in the fortress’s heart, behind doors that opened only for him and the few he’d keyed into the security protocols. No one entered without his permission. No one left without his knowledge.
Safe. Protected.His.
The beast in his chest rumbled with satisfaction.
Elsa stirred as they climbed the final staircase, her voice muzzy with exhaustion. “This isn’t the way we came before.”
“No.”
“Where are we going?”
“Somewhere you can actually rest.” He shouldered through the heavy door at the top of the stairs, ancient mechanisms recognizing his presence and responding. “Without Yarx hovering or guards watching or anyone else deciding you’re worth the risk of challenging me.”
The door sealed behind them with a heavy thud.
His chambers spread before them—larger than the Luna’s room, older, carved from stone that had been smoothed by generations of Alpha Kings before him. The bed dominated one corner, a massive nest of furs and cushions built for someone his size. Weapons lined one wall, trophies from challenges won and enemies defeated. A bathing chamber opened to the left, its pools fed by the same geothermal vents that heated the entire fortress.
And the windows. Three of them, tall and narrow, offering views of the courtyard below and the storm-wracked sky beyond.
Elsa’s head lifted, her gaze sweeping the space with that cataloguing attention he was learning to recognize. Mapping. Always mapping.
“Your room.”
“Yes.”
“You’re keeping me here?”
He crossed to the bed, lowering her onto furs that swallowed her small frame. “I’m keeping yousafehere. There’s a difference.”
She pushed herself upright, movements clumsy, her body clearly protesting the effort. “I had a room. The Luna’s—”
“Too far from the medical bay. Too far from the integration chamber. Too far fromme.” He crouched before her, bringinghimself closer to her eye level. “You collapsed in the storm-woods. Yarx doesn’t know if there’s permanent damage. Until he clears you, you stay where I can monitor you.”
“Monitor.” She repeated the word flatly.
“Protect.” The correction came out sharper than intended. “You’re valuable. I don’t leave valuable things unguarded.”
Her jaw tightened, but she didn’t argue. Progress.
Sylas rose, moving toward the communication panel set into the wall near the door. A few quick commands sent orders to the kitchens—broth, bread, whatever soft foods they had that human physiology could process. He didn’t know enough about her species’ dietary needs, but Yarx had mentioned something about easily digestible sustenance for the recovery period.
When he turned back, Elsa had curled onto her side among the furs, eyes closed. Not sleeping—her breathing was too uneven, her muscles too tense—but too exhausted to maintain the pretense of alertness.