“Please sit,” she said, patting the space beside her.
I looked down at myself—soaked through, filth clinging to the fabric. I’d passed out in my clothes after council and missed supper entirely. Had Greaves tried to wake me? Or just let me rest? The ache in my head had vanished, replaced by stiff muscles screaming with each breath.
My knees buckled, and I dropped beside her, back hitting the mattress. “They haven’t come in years.”
“Do you want to talk about it?” Her voice came soft, cautious.
“No.” What man would speak of such things? “But if you ask, I’ll answer. You deserve to know everything.”
There was so much I hadn’t told her. That I feared I couldn’t give her a child. That the night terrors still clawed their way free when I let my guard slip.
“Do you want me to leave?”
“No.” Elohios, no. I craved her presence. Needed her not to look away. To stay, even now, even like this. To show me she’d have me at my worst.
She lay beside me, unmoving and silent. I closed my eyes, and let the darkness shield me, cover what pride I had left. The bed shifted. A single finger traced the length of my arm, slow, steady. She didn’t speak. Just touched me. A tether. Proof she hadn’t run.
“Tell me what to do,” she whispered. “I hate this.”
“What?”
“This helplessness.” Her voice barely rose above breath. “I don’t know what to say, how to act. You’ve always been the strong one. I want to help you. How do I fix this?”
I knew that feeling too well. The uncertainty. The fear of saying the wrong thing. Of doing too much, or not enough.
What did I need? What could I give back?
“Let me touch you,” I rasped. The words tasted like broken glass. I wanted to spar, to beat this weakness down, bury it beneath bruises and sweat. Instead, I asked. Pleaded.
She shifted. The mattress dipped. Her hand wrapped mine and pulled me to my side. She guided my touch underneath her dress, above the band of her breeches, and pressed my palm to the warmth of her bare stomach.
My breath stilled. My pulse slowed. She didn’t see a monster. Not a threat. My thumb brushed soft skin near her navel. I breathed in the scent of her. Waterlilies, linen, warmth.
This was what love looked like in daily life. Quiet, steady, real. The kind people built a world around. The kind I thought belonged to others—never to kings.
Never to me.
“Don’t strike me,” I said low, the words catching before they escaped. Let the dark hide what shame it could.
I was no small man. I stayed strong. Maintained a warrior’s build, a leader’s frame—and here I lay, begging a woman not to hurt me.
She swallowed, nodded, and covered my hand with hers.
“Tell me what you want,” I said. Not a plea—an exchange. “What must I not do?”
Her brow furrowed. She hesitated. “Do not belittle me. Not in front of others. If you must correct me… do so in private.”
I snorted, a wry smile tugging at my mouth. “Likewise.”
“Your turn,” she murmured, scooting closer. Her fingers rose, hesitant, brushing my chest.
“Don’t undermine me,” I said. “Disagree in our chambers. Not before the court.”
“A unified front,” she agreed. “Always kiss me good night.”
I raised a brow. “Starting on our wedding night?”
“Or tonight. I wouldn’t tell you no.”
