Page 218 of Blood Curse

“It brought me back to you.”

She leaned down and kissed me.

The first touch of her mouth was fierce. Relief hit between us, hot and sharp. My fingers tightened in her damp hair, stopping when they reached the edge of the bandage. Her hand gripped my shoulder. Hunger stirred, clean and familiar, but the wound pulled when I breathed too deeply.

Bryony felt it and lifted her mouth.

She didn’t retreat. She rested her forehead against mine, warm breath crossing my lips.

“We broke it,” she said.

“We did.”

The words didn’t need a promise tied around them. Keys, gates, years and every decision about what came next could wait until we could both stand without assistance. Tonight, survival was enough.

Bryony traced the edge of the dressing over my heart. “Can you feel any of it?”

I listened inward.

The title that sat around my heart had vanished. The Crown’s pressure was gone. Harrowmere made only the sounds of stone, timber and people moving through rooms. Bryony’s touch stayed warm against my skin without opening a path into my will.

“I can feel you,” I said. “Everything else is quiet.”

She studied me as if she was waiting for the silence to change its mind.

It didn’t.

I turned my face towards the rain-dark window. Somewhere in the house, a door slammed and someone swore at it. The sound was wonderfully mundane. My body began to loosen into the mattress.

Bryony’s fingers curled over my heart.

“Stellan.”

My name carried fear, relief and temper. It carried no force at all.

I turned back to her because I chose to.

41

BRYONY

My stomach woke me.

Its growl hurt, demanding food with none of the patience I had shown it over the past few days. I opened my eyes to pale morning light, warm blankets and Stellan’s hand resting on my bare thigh under the covers.

For several seconds, I stayed still.

The King’s rooms were quiet. Rain tapped the windows. People moved through the passage outside, carrying wood and calling measurements to one another. The sounds remained on the other side of the door. They didn’t slide into my skull or wait for my mouth to shape them into orders.

I lifted one hand.

My fingers moved because I decided to move them. They were stiff and scratched, with a white dressing around my palm, but they belonged to me. My body ached in a dozen places. Every ache was simple. Skin, muscle, bruises and hunger.

Mine.

I wet my lips. “Stellan.”

His breathing stayed slow and even, still asleep behind me.