Page 198 of The Crown’s Temptation

“It did.”

“Undress me,” I told him. “You must see everything.”

He reached for the laces without another word, fingers careful as they freed the back of my dress and let it fall. The thin shift beneath followed, then the last wrap of linen at my hips. When I stood bare he took in the bruises blooming across my ribs, the dark line across my shoulder, the half-healed cuts along my thighs. His jaw tightened once.

“Come,” he said quietly.

He turned on the bath and guided me in, the water warm against skin that still felt too thin. For a long time the only sound was the soft drag of cloth and water as he washed me—slow passes over each bruise, each cut, his hands steady and quiet. He spoke after a while, voice low, telling me about the children. Fiorakis had pulled herself up on the edge of the bassinets yesterday. Aviaryn had sat with them for most of the afternoon, reading one of the old stories in that careful way she had. He told me how Ari had watched his sister with that bored look, as though weighing whether he should bother learning the same trick.

I stayed silent, watching the water ripple around his wrists.

Later he helped me out and wrapped me in the nightdress he had already laid ready on the bed. He sat me at the edge and began covering the wounds with salve, working methodically. Aviaryn had given him a recipe, he said, something the old woman in the market had claimed would knit the skin fast. He spoke while he worked. Small things, the way Fiorakis had started making that low humming sound when she was content, how Aviaryn had taught the guards to fold the nursery blankets the way she liked them. I nodded when he looked at me, but the words stayed inside.

When he reached the worst of the wounds along my side I winced hard, breath catching. His hands paused.

"What hurts?" he asked.

"All of it," I said.

His eyes darkened. His jaw tightened, his hand curling briefly into a fist before he closed his eyes.

Just once.

When he opened them again they were calm.

He eased me back against the pillows and brought the bowl of soup from the tray. He fed me spoonful by spoonful until the worst of the shaking in my hands eased. After, I lay back and stared at the ceiling, the room quiet again.

“What did it change?” he asked at last.

“Everything,” I whispered.

He closed his eyes.

I waited, the silence thick between us, then spoke again, softer. “Everything, except for this.”

I reached over and kissed him, tender and slow at first, like we were both still learning the shape of being here. The kisses stayed gentle for a long time, his hand resting at the back of my neck, mine curled in the front of his shirt. When we finally drew apart the worst of the bruises across my chest had already begun to fade.

He looked at them, then at me.

“Whatever happened,” he said, voice steady, “whatever you saw or did or heard or felt… none of it matters. Because today you are finally whole.”

I studied his face, the words careful when they came. “What if she is cruel? Or murderous. Or jealous. Or sensitive. Or stupid or⁠—”

He kissed me again, long and certain, and when he pulled back his eyes were clear.

“I love her anyway,” he said. “I do not know much about love, only what I have learned from you. But I know that I love you if you are not whole, if you are cruel, if you are too kind, even if you love another.” He paused. “You still have me. There are no buts or what-ifs in that.”

He motioned for me to rest my head on his lap and began to braid my hair, fingers slow and learning. I smiled despite everything.

“What are you doing?”

“Aviaryn said that if I plan to raise girls I must learn how to do it properly in case you die again. Because if you come back to life and see Fiorakis with horns for hair you will be displeased.”

I laughed, the sound small and real, and pressed my face against his chest.

“Let me feel,” he said after a moment.

I folded my hand into his and let the power move between us. It pulsed quiet and steady, nothing dramatic, but there.