I needed him to trust me.
A slow breath escaped Greaves before he shifted, his heavy boots scraping against the floor as he stepped aside.
My gaze landed on Kallias.
He sat behind a desk, his broad shoulders slumped, legs braced apart as though they anchored him to the earth. One bare hand cradled his bloodstained head, his fingers curling against his temple, nails caked with dried crimson.
His gaze lifted to mine, and something cold and sharp lanced through my chest. Accusation burned there, mingling with wariness. Yet the fatigue in those eyes lingered longer, heavy and haunting, like a storm that never cleared.
The exhaustion in his face carved him into a stranger. This wasn’t just a man who had fought the Great Hunt. It was someone who had endured its aftermath, over and over. How many times had he sat here alone, waiting for a reprieve that never came? How often had he scrubbed death from his skin, knowing no one would share the burden?
My feet carried me forward, drawn by an invisible pull.
“I have claimed Veridis,” I said, the words rasping through my dry throat. They lingered heavy in the air, unanswered. He didn’t flinch, did not blink. His hollow stare followed me, trailing my movements with a numb detachment.
I glanced over my shoulder. Greaves inclined his head once before slipping from the room, the door closing behind him. My chest constricted with the hope he would stand guard, giving us privacy.
Wiping my damp palms against my dress, I took in the quiet of the study. At the room’s center, a large tub sat undisturbed, its water still. Beside it, a cloth lay draped over the rim of a wooden bucket, forgotten for now. Sunlight spilled through tall stained glass windows, streaking the bookshelves with vibrant colors. The desk stood solid, its polished surface reflecting the soft light. Everything here felt suspended in time, untouched by the chaos beyond these walls.
I crossed to the tub, filled the bucket, and soaked the cloth. A trail of droplets marked my path as I carried it to Kallias. The quiet tap of water on the floor matched the rhythm of my thoughts. Stopping at his feet, I wrung the fabric, each motion slow and deliberate.
He didn’t move. His head in his hand was so unlike him it unnerved me. He was distant.
Blood clung to him like a second skin, a macabre mask. It wasn’t just the crimson streaks or the metallic scent of death that filled the room—it was the way he seemed hollow beneath it all.
Kallias, the man I loved, felt impossibly far away.
“How many have you slain?” The question left my lips in a low murmur, the words fragile. Approaching him was no different from stepping toward anangry dragon, every muscle tense with caution.
He didn’t reply. My gaze drifted upward, searching his face for an answer that wouldn’t come.
Uncertainty gnawed at me. Was his silence anger? Resignation? I hated not knowing and cursed myself for failing to press Fyrn for more details.
Wash the blood off. That was my role. The queen’s duty.
My duty.
I shuffled closer, slipping between his legs with measured steps. My focus stayed locked on his face, hunting for any flicker of emotion, any warning that he might push me away. I reached out, the damp cloth trembling in my grasp, and brushed it against his forehead.
His eyes shut, and his brow furrowed into a deep line. Panic rippled through me. I must have done something wrong. I drew back, but his hand shot up, snatching my wrist with a bloody gauntlet. The metal bit into my skin, smearing crimson along my arm.
He didn’t open his eyes. His mouth twisted into a grimace, the expression full of unspoken pain.
Then his thumb shifted, drawing slow circles, easing my tension.
Don’t stop.
When I returned the cloth to his face, his fingers released me. They fell to his thigh with a muted clink of metal against leather.
It wasn’t easy. Blood clung to his hair in matted clumps, dried to the point of near permanence. Mud filled the creases around his ears, blending into the edges of his beard. I worked slowly, each pass dissolving another layer of the grime. His face relaxed bit by bit, the harsh lines easing as the cloth moved across his skin.
A strange sensation settled within as I cleaned him. Watching him hold still, trusting me, filled an emptiness I hadn’t realized was there. Stroke by stroke, the barrier between us thinned, as though with each sweep, I was uncovering not just his features but something I’d thought lost.
When his face and hair resembled the man I knew, I stepped back. My hands found my hips as I studied him, chest rising and falling with the effort.
He looked more like Kallias now. And for the first time in what felt like hours, so did I.
“I need your help to get the armor off,” I said.
