His arms curled beneath me, solid and steady. My head lolled against his chest, cheek pressed to the warm space just beneath his collarbone. I didn’t have the strength to hold myself, but I didn’t want to move anyway.
He smelled of cedar and rain and something darker beneath it all, something familiar. The rhythm of his footsteps echoed through the corridors. All I could do was listen.
The light in the hall flickered above us—torches blurred into amber smears across my vision. I watched the way the shadows lengthened on the stone. Watched the way his throat moved when he swallowed.
My fingers twitched. I curled toward him, cheek smushed against his chest.
I liked the feeling of being held like this.
I had no sense of time anymore. Only his heartbeat, steady and sure beneath my cheek. I could fall asleep like this. I could disappear. And part of me almost wanted to.
I felt…
Safe.
He pushed open the door to my room and hesitated at the bed, ready to lay me down.
But I stirred. “I need…” My voice cracked. “A bath.”
He looked down at me, surprised. “The Keepers have gone to sleep. You can bathe in the morning.”
“No.” I barely whispered it. “You do it.”
His brows drew together. “You’ll drown like this.”
“Then get in with me.”
A long breath. He looked at the dirt on my legs, the dried blood flaking against my collarbone. And then he sighed.
“Fine.”
I watched him through half-lidded eyes as he moved to the basin in the corner, began drawing water and adding oils I couldn’t name. Steam rose in curls, fragrant with wildflower and clove. The scent drifted toward me, comforting in a way I didn’t expect.
He returned to my side, his movements careful.
He didn’t undress me completely—only enough to keep me decent. He removed his jacket, then his shirt.
I saw the muscles beneath, the faint play of light across the hard lines of his torso. The shadow at his hips dipped lower, vanishing beneath the band of his trousers. My vision blurred at the edges, but that much I noticed. More than noticed. Heat flushed unbidden across my cheeks, though no words wouldcome. My lips parted once, closed again. The silence said enough.
He stepped into the water first, testing the warmth. Then he returned and lifted me again, pressing me to his chest as he stepped down into the basin, letting the water wrap around us both.
The bathwater was warm against my back, steam curling around us. I lay reclined against him, my head nestled against his chest. His arms cradled me carefully.
“Just be still,” he murmured.
As if I could move.
My limbs were waterlogged, disconnected from will. But I could feel the thrum of his heartbeat beneath my cheek, steady and strong, and the rise and fall of his chest with every breath he took.
He reached up, brushing his fingers through the damp curls near my temple. Carefully, he began unweaving the delicate pendants and braids still tangled in my hair. One by one, the strands fell slow and heavy down my back, pooling like ink around my shoulders.
I watched it happen. Watched as each piece of the girl I had been fell away.
His fingers moved through my hair again, massaging soap into the strands, gentle but thorough. Then he turned me to face him.
I straddled his lap, the warm water rising between us. My arms lay limp at my sides, but his hand rose to cup the back of my head, supporting its weight. With the other, he dipped a cloth into the bath and began to wash my face, eyes never leaving mine.
He wiped along my jaw, then down my throat, tracing the scar’s jagged edge. The cloth swept over my collarbone, where dried blood had crusted like rust, then continued lower—following the path of the scar between my breasts, where it had dripped and dried like a falling star.