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Her knight let out a sleepy groan as he moved their joined hands up to Elyria’s neck, resting them over the mark he had left there almost as if by instinct. He buried his face in her hair, dragging a long inhale into his nose as though memorializing the scent of her, and his grip around her grew even tighter. Something hard and insistent pressed against the small of her back, and Elyria wanted to laugh at the sensation that immediately coiled deep in her core in response.

All blessings to the Five, she thought. At least some things haven’t changed.

She didn’t know if Cedric was awake, didn’t know if he realized what he was doing or if it was some innate, instinctive, unconscious thing to be drawing her so close. All she knew was that it wasn’t close enough. His hold on her wasn’t tight enough. She wiggled her hips, trying to settle into him even more. Were she able to, she might’ve crawled right inside his chest. She wanted the light that burned inside him to wash over her, wanted to nestle against his heart and live there.

She felt as though her own heart might be glowing at the thought, but before she could check, Cedric suddenly stilled against her. A strangled noise streamed from his throat as he scrambled away, the loss of warmth against her back making Elyria shiver.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice equal parts awestruck and panicked. “You’re really awake.”

She rolled over, blinking the final remnants of sleep from her eyes, and took a deep, long look at the knight standing beside the bed she was currently draped upon.

He stared right back at her, his gold-ringed eyes wide.

His hair was mussed. That was the first thing she noticed. His tousled waves were disheveled, sticking up adorably on one side. The black tunic he wore was wrinkled, the ties that crossed over his clavicle tangled with the golden chain of his necklace. His scarred lip twitched, his mouth slightly agape, like he was searching, cataloging, awkwardly contemplating what he should say.

He was perfect.

“You’re real,” she said softly, and his expression crumpled. He leapt back onto the bed, drawing her into his arms, onto his lap, and Elyria sighed into the heat of him. She laid her cheek against his chest, wrapped her arms around his neck, and listened to the mesmerizing thump, thump, thump of Cedric’s heart.

Not a dream, she thought. And though she hadn’t meant to send the words down the shimmering bond between them, Cedric answered anyway.

“Real,” he confirmed, and the relief that tore through Elyria was such a powerful, visceral thing, it made her entire body shudder.

He could hear her.

He could really hear her.

He was here, and she was here, and they were together.

“I’m sorry, Elle,” he whispered into her hair, his voice thick, the words choked. “I’m so fucking sorry.”

She lifted her head, dropping her hands and shifting slightly in his lap to look at him.

“Oh, Sir Worrywart. What do you have to be sorry about?” She tried to make the words sound casual. She wanted nothing more than for them to pick up exactly where they’d left off, for nothing to have changed, for things to go back exactly as they were before. But she couldn’t stop her voice from hitching on the last word, and she had to press her lips together hard enough to hurt in order to keep from crying.

She really, really didn’t want to cry. Because once she started, once she let that dam break, Elyria wasn’t sure she would ever be able to stop.

“I took too long,” he said seriously, blowing out a breath and tightening his hold around her. “I was almost too late.”

“But you weren’t,” she insisted. “You were right on time.”

He shook his head. “You are too generous with me. I’ll never forgive myself for letting him take you. For failing to protect you.”

Elyria bit the inside of her cheek. She could feel the pressure in her chest rising, the vivid memories of everything that had happened swirling underneath the layer of relief and gratitude and joy at being reunited with her solimaeus.

She didn’t want those memories. She didn’t want to think about what had happened or what had almost happened. She didn’t want to think about any of it ever again.

Elyria cleared her throat and twisted halfway out of Cedric’s lap so she could take a better look at the room. She noted the beautiful woven branches of the headboard of the bed they were on, the raw wooden planks of the surrounding walls. “Where are we?”

“Elderglade,” Cedric replied. “You are safe here.”

Elyria swallowed. “How long has it been since . . . ?”

“Four days,” Cedric replied, and Elyria squeezed her eyes shut.

Four days. Four fucking days.

“How was I . . . ? How did we—” Glimpses started to form in Elyria’s mind—flashes, a series of unfamiliar moments.