Not the simple shifts she’d been wearing. Proper garments.Yzefrxylfinery in his colors—deep blue and silver, the shades of the Alpha King’s house, woven from fabrics soft enough for human skin but sturdy enough to provide warmth. A fitted tunic with intricate embroidery along the collar. Leggings that would hug her legs without restricting movement. A cloak lined with fur from his own reserves, marked with his sigil in silver thread.
She stared at the spread with an expression he couldn’t read. “These are...”
“Mine.” He crouched beside her, claws tracing the edge of the tunic. “My colors. My marks. When you wear them, everyYzefrxylwho sees you will know whose protection you’re under.”
“Whose property I am, you mean.”
“If that’s how you need to frame it.” He met her eyes, held them. “I prefer ‘whose care.’ But the result is the same.”
She was quiet for a long moment. Then, slowly, she reached for the tunic. Her fingers brushed the fabric, testing its quality, and something in her expression softened.
“I’ll need help with the fastenings.” The admission cost her. He could hear it in the strain of her voice, see it in the tension of her shoulders. “I don’t know howYzefrxylclothing works.”
The beast rumbled with satisfaction.
“Of course.” He reached for the hem of her sleeping shift. “Lift your arms.”
She hesitated. Just for a moment—a single held breath that spoke of trust not yet fully formed, of vulnerability she wasn’t ready to show. Then she raised her arms above her head.
Sylas pulled the shift free in one smooth motion, baring her to the firelight.
His breath caught.
He’d seen her body before—in the bathing chamber, when exhaustion had stripped away her ability to care for herself. But that had been clinical. Necessary. He’d forced himself to focus on the task rather than the canvas.
Now, with her sitting before him in nothing but morning light and firelit shadows, clinical was impossible.
She was so small. So delicate. The architecture of her bones showed clearly beneath skin that seemed impossibly thin—collarbones like wings, ribs like the struts of a ship’s hull, the gentle curves of her waist and hips that his paws could span entirely.
The bruises had faded some but were still visible on her pale skin. The scrapes had healed. But she still looked fragile in ways that made his claws itch to wrap around her and never let go.
He reached for the leggings first, easing them up her legs with care that bordered on reverence. The fabric caught on herknees, her thighs, before settling around her hips with a fit that would have taken the seamstresses measurements he hadn’t provided. Clearly they’d been paying attention when she’d passed through the fortress.
The tunic came next. He guided her arms through the sleeves, watching the fabric slide down over her shoulders and settle against her torso. The embroidery at the collar framed her face, drawing attention to the paleness of her throat, the delicate line of her jaw.
Each layer was a claim.
Each fastening a promise.
Mine,the beast whispered with every knot he tied, every clasp he secured.Mine. Mine. Mine.
“There.” He smoothed the fabric across her shoulders, adjusting the drape until it fell perfectly. “Better.”
Elsa looked down at herself, at the blue and silver that marked her as his in ways the collar alone never could. “I look like I belong to you.”
“You do belong to me.”
“That’s not—” She stopped. Shook her head. “Never mind.”
Her hair caught his attention before he could press the point. Golden strands tangled around her shoulders, wild from sleep and his muzzle’s repeated burrowing. It should have been unappealing—messy, unkempt, proof of neglect.
Instead, it made him want to bury his face in it again. Breathe her in until Frosted Tears was the only scent that existed in the world.
He moved to retrieve a brush from the shelf near the bathing chamber entrance—carved bone, meant for fur, but the teeth were spaced appropriately for human strands. He’d checked. Had found himself checking a lot of things where she was concerned, accumulating knowledge about her species thatserved no practical purpose except satisfying the beast’s endless hunger to understand her.
Elsa stiffened when he settled behind her, his bulk blocking the firelight. “You don’t have to—”
“I want to.”