Page 59 of The Crowned Queen

The healer thumped his fist against his chest, motioning for his apprentice to follow. The tent quieted as they withdrew, the noises of the camp beyond the canvas muted by layers upon layers of runes.

Leaving Araya alone with the Shaws.

“Father—” Jaxon started, his voice plaintive. “This is unreasonable⁠—”

“Is it, Jaxon?” Garrick’s gaze raked over Araya, the thin linen robe no defense against his judgement. “I’m looking at your bond—the bond you begged me to acquire for you—burned and bleeding. I’m hearing healers—mages I respect—tell me that they advised you to ease up on her treatment. Yet here we stand.”

“It was Caylin’s fault,” Jaxon snapped. “I would have seen them if she hadn’t been arguing with me. She’s always hated Araya. She’s the worst person for this job.”

Garrick shook his head, his expression twisting. “You’re acting like a child, Jaxon. You can’t blame all your failures on the Pryce girl. You know better than to let your guard down here.” He sighed heavily. “Your obsession with Miss Starwind isn’t something many human women will be able to stomach, Jaxon. Deal with it. And decide what story you’re going to tell Kai Sterling about what happened here, because he’ll be arriving with the next supply caravan.”

“Kai?” Jaxon stiffened. “Why is he coming now? He’s not a soldier.”

“Neither are you, apparently,” Garrick snapped. “His father arranged it so he could continue his research. Or maybe Master Sterling thinks his best friend is fucking his paramour.”

“It’s not my fault she throws herself at me,” Jaxon said petulantly. “And they haven’t been together since Eluneth⁠—”

“I do not care,” Garrick said flatly. “Say goodbye to Miss Starwind, Jaxon, and go fix your mess.”

He strode out without another word, the canvas flap falling shut behind him. The tent fell quiet, the healer and his apprentice filing back in and making themselves busy as Jaxon stared after his father, his jaw working.

“Gods.” He scrubbed a hand over his face, smearing ash across his skin. “This is all your fault, Starling. If you weren’t so fucking stubborn—” he shook his head. “Do you have any concept of what almost happened to you?”

She couldn’t have answered him if she wanted to, but Jaxon didn’t seem to care for once. He crossed the tent to stand in front of her, studying the marks on her skin with something that looked almost like guilt. But Jaxon never felt guilty for anything.

“Those weren’t just vines,” he continued. “That was wild magic—the same wild magic that haunts the forest. It’s old. Powerful.” His jaw flexed. “It would have killed you.”

And she would have let it. Araya wrapped her arms around herself, shielding herself from his gaze. Maybe it would be better that way. There would be no more pain—but she would never see Loren again. At least if she lived there was a chance she would—hopefully not in a neighboring cell.

Jaxon exhaled slowly, reaching out and taking her hands in his. “I know you can’t talk,” he said, his voice softer now. “And I know you’re upset about what Caylin has done—what I let her do.” His thumb rubbed a slow, soothing circle over the back of her hand. “I was angry, Starling. But I’m going to sort this out. All of it. Caylin. Loren—” his mouth twisted around her mate’s name. “Every loose end. I promise. Everything is going to be alright.”

Araya was suddenly grateful no one expected her to speak. There was nothing she could have said to that—not without screaming or weeping. He believed it. He really believed that if he just kept her close, she would fall back into line. Back into her role as his devoted bond. That she would give him her magic. Her body. Her children⁠—

“Just rest,” Jaxon continued, squeezing her hands gently. “Get better. I’ll handle the rest.”

The apprentice who had treated her burns came over as soon as he left, leading her to a cot tucked away in the back of the long tent. She looked away as Araya let the robe fall, pulling the loose linen shift they’d given her over her head.

“You can lie however is comfortable,” the human woman said quietly. “My name is Elise. I’m responsible for the care of the fae at Elvanfal, so I’ll be taking point on your care under Master Hayes supervision.”

“The only other fae I’ve seen here are in cages,” Araya rasped, tasting blood in her mouth with each word.

Elise’s expression didn’t shift. “It’s unfortunate,” she said, her voice so soft that Araya wouldn’t have heard it without her fae hearing. “There isn’t much I can do for them. But I’d like to help you. Are you in any pain?”

Araya just stared at her. She was so young—a first or second year apprentice at most. What had she done that the Arcanum had punished her by sending her here, to care for people who wouldn’t be missed when they died?

“Right.” Elise grimaced. “Bit of a foolish question. I’ll bring you some Night’s Rest so you can sleep. You can ring the bell on the table there if you need anything else.”

She slipped off before Araya could even try to respond, leaving her with nothing to do but get as comfortable as she could on the camp cot. It was narrower than Jaxon’s, but far more padded than the pallet she’d slept on for weeks. The linens were fresh and clean, cool against her hot skin. Even better, there were no chains—and no Jaxon watching her sleep.

Araya closed her eyes, succumbing to the bone-deep weariness that threatened to drag her under. She was safer here than she had been in months. At least for a little while.

Araya slept more deeply than she had in weeks—maybe months.

The healers didn’t bother her beyond checking her wounds, leaving her to drift in the comfortable darkness between sleeping and wakefulness.

But not alone.

You do not wish to rest?