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Her head rolls back slightly against my arm, throat exposed, lips parted, lashes fluttering faintly as if she’s caught in a nightmare. I find myself lifting my hand to her hair, fisting it gently.

Leaning down I press my mouth to hers softly. This is what I want, this tenderness, this quiet, and I never allow it. Now that I know she exists, my body wants the closeness like it wants blood. It wants to be gentle for her.

“Please forgive me, my queen,” I whisper against her lips.

I climb into the tub with her, settling her against me, letting the warm water cradle her bruised and bloody body. I wash her the way servants wash the wounded after battle. My hands are gentle despite the strength in them, as if she will fracture like glass if I apply too much pressure.

I wash the congealed blood from her back, turning the water pink around us, indulging for just a moment in the intimacy my body craves so badly.

I rinse her hair next, fingers sliding through the strands as I pour warm water over her scalp. The act is so domestic. I never thought I would want to care for someone, yet here I am, washing the hair of a human girl.

When the water cools, I pull the plug, lift her, and carefully lay her across my lap, letting the dirty water drain. I refill the tub with fresh hot water, letting it run until it almost covers her completely.

Then a knock sounds at the door. “Enter,” I say, knowing it will be Eagan.

Eagan’s voice comes carefully through the opening. “Is she decent?”

I glance down at her. “Now you care if her body is covered,” I mutter, and the bitterness in my tone surprises even me.

I hate that anyone has seen her like this, that other men have felt entitled to leer at her body, to pass judgment, to suggest and imagine vile things. Men who don’t understand who she is to me. But they will, and one day they’ll cower at her feet, begging for the mercy they did not have for her.

Eagan steps in with his back turned, moving to set towels and folded clothing on the basin like he’s afraid his eyes might offend me. “Do you need help getting out, my king?”

I laugh softly. “Not unless you can remove what I just did from her memory.”

Eagan sits on the edge of the tub, shoulders heavy, and for a moment the sight makes me feel older than the centuries I’ve lived. He has carried me through every ugly part of my reign. Every consequence. Every sacrifice. Now he is watching me unravel over a girl I’ve known for days.

“She’ll forgive you,” he says, staring at the wall. “She understands why you had to do it.”

Her eyes flutter as if she’s trying to wake but isn’t quite ready.

“The bond is strengthening,” he murmurs. “Even without the full bond tie.” As Eagan brings a set of towels to the edge of the tub, his eyes drop to the red water growing darker around us. “My king.” His voice is tense. “Permission to check her?”

I nod and shift her body to give him access to her torn back. Very carefully, he brushes her wet hair to the side. His gaze narrows. “Her wounds have fully closed,” he murmurs. “Had she known you two were this connected, I doubt she would have spoken out against you. I wasn’t expecting the bond to be so strong for you this quickly. Shows how little we understand your curse. Would you like me to find a blood bag, my king, maybe with this much blood loss, you’ll be able to override your urge to throw it at me this time.”

I shake my head. “I know my body will reject it. No point wasting blood.”

Eagan watches me for a long moment, then stands slowly. “I’ll be outside the door if you need me.”

“No. Go rest. You’ve done enough. I’ll be fine with her.”

“First I’ll get first aid, I’ll go find some bandages,” he replies as he leaves.

Dread coils in my gut as she begins to stir. When she fully wakes, the memories will all flood back. I stroke the inside of her arm lazily, urging her to wake while dreading it. I am not a king who has ever feared consequences, yet the thought of her opening her eyes and hating me feels like the only punishment that could break me.

I press my mouth to her temple. “Wake up,” I stammer. “Tell me you don’t hate me?”

CHAPTER 32

• Alessia •

MY MIND REFUSES to surface.

It clings stubbornly to the dark where pain cannot reach me, where the crack of leather and the weight of eyes no longer exist. The ache I expect never arrives. It feels like a dulled bruise rather than sharp enough to steal my breath.

A hand moves up my arm.

Instinct snaps me fully awake. My body jerks upright as my eyes fly open, heart slamming so violently against my ribs it hurts. Panic floods me as my mind scrambles to place where I am and who is touching me. For one terrifying heartbeat, I expect to find one of the crew looming over me.