I hiss and go still. The assassination attempt comes back in fragments. Steel flashing. Zeidan’s roar. Shadow and blood and hands hauling me out of the circle as the world fractured around us.
I draw a careful breath. The room is small and warded, carved from pale rootstone that hums faintly with protective magic. Sunlight filters in through a high slit of crystal glass, fractured into soft prisms across the floor.
And Zeidan is there.
He stands near the far wall, arms folded, posture rigid and watchful. His expression is carved from ice, controlled, distant, unreadable. If I didn’t feel him through the bond, I would think he was untouched by what happened.
But the bond tells a different story. It hums low and tight, like a string pulled too far. Beneath his stillness, there is fury,coiled and dangerous. Fear he refuses to acknowledge. Vigilance sharpened to a blade’s edge.
He hasn’t slept.
“You’re awake,” he says.
“I am,” I reply, voice rough. “You look… thrilled.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You were poisoned.”
“I noticed.”
He pushes off the wall and crosses the room in three long strides, stopping just short of the bed. Close enough that the bond eases, warmth bleeding into the cold ache behind my ribs.
“Don’t joke,” he says quietly.
I study his face. The faint shadows under his eyes. The way his shoulders stay tense, like he’s braced for another attack that never comes.
“I’m alive,” I say. “That’s a win, isn’t it?”
His gaze snaps to mine, sharp. “You almost weren’t.”
The words land heavier than he intends. The bond flares, emotion leaking through before he can seal it away. I feel it then. The fear. Cold and absolute. The kind that hollows you out and leaves something raw behind.
For a moment neither of us speaks. The silence between us isn’t empty. It’s crowded with things the bond refuses to let us pretend aren’t there, his fear still lingering like ice on my skin, my own shock buzzing under my ribs, the memory of his hands on me as he hauled me away from the blade.
I force my voice steady. “You shouldn’t be here.”
His eyes narrow. “And yet.”
“You shouldn't have stepped into the ritual,” I press, even though my heart doesn’t want to. “Now you’re forbidden from hovering over me like a?—”
“Like what?” he asks, too calm.
I swallow. “Like you’re… waiting.”
His gaze flicks to my side, to the bandage beneath my linen. “I am.”
The bond hums, a low vibration of agreement I didn’t ask for.
“You could’ve left,” I say quietly. “After you saved me. After you made your point to my council.”
A muscle in his jaw tightens. “It wasn’t a point.”
“Then what was it?” I demand, and hate how small the question makes me sound.
His eyes hold mine. Cold on the surface. Something else underneath. “It was necessary.”
That answer shouldn’t make my chest tighten, but it does.
“You’re being careful with your words,” I accuse.