"I don’t," Elaine denied quick and fervent, shaking her head emphatic, a few blonde strands loosening rebellious from her braid to fra her face unexpectedly soft, almost vulnerable.
"So, what are you here for?" I was still confused about her motive.
"Nothing but this mont. Your breath coming steady. Your fire banked safe but alive, waiting to blaze again. That’s all I need—or deserve."
"Then go, please," I sighed exhausted to my core, waving faint and feeble again with my bandaged hand, the motion pulling taut at fresh stitches on my knuckles, sparking white-hot sparks.
"I—"
"Council awaits your iron word, Elaine. Be the person they hamred you into on anvil and field. Not this... this bedside shadow."
"I can’t," she whispered stubborn as rooted stone, staying planted unmovable like oak roots delving ancient soil, hands unclenching slow to grip the chair arms white-knuckled, her armour glinting faint diamonds in the light.
"Why are you being so difficult?" I snapped frustrated and fraying, wincing sharp as my ribs flared fire-white and unrelenting, curling small instinctive under the sheets like a wounded kit in a den. "I’m not feeling well at all, and you’re... doing this. Pushing, hovering when all I need is space to breathe without your shadow."
"Where is it hurting?" she asked instant and urgent, rising half from the chair in one fluid warrior’s motion honed by endless drills, concern sharpening her gaze to deadly dagger points, one large hand hovering near—close enough to feel her warmth, far enough not to invade.
"Just go, Elaine."
"The ribs again, cracking like dry wood? The eye, burning sockets? Tell true, Alexander—I’ll call the head healer this instant, brew that foul willow bark tea myself if it eases you one breath."
"Everywhere, okay? Just... everywhere," I groaned low and defeated, body betraying with a deep shiver that rattled bandages, silver hair fanning wilder tangled on the pillow as sleep tugged insistent once more, heavy as empire chains.
"Everywhere? I should call a doctor."
"Head pounding like war drums in endless march. Ribs grinding shards of glass with every inhale. Skin itching infernal under these cursed, too-tight wraps... legs numb from lying still. Leave it be, Elaine. Please, just... leave."
She sank back slow into the chair, defeated in posture but unyielding in spirit, ice-blue eyes tracing my battered form deliberate and tender—soft as spring rain pattering gentle on weathered stone, a gaze I’d never known from her before this fractured hour.
"Alexander... I won’t leave you like this. Not again, not ever. Yell your rage. Shove with what strength you have. Beg gone—I’ll take every lash of it deserved. But I’m here now. For the long watch through fever and nding, if you’ll suffer my presence. No more running."
"Why now?" I whispered fading thin, good eye drifting half-shut against the pull, voice a fragile thread unravelling. "After all the venom you poured... all the nights you broke quiet... why fight so hard to stay this ti?"
"Because I see it finally—clear as dawn over the peaks," she breathed close, leaning in enough her body warmth chased the chamber’s creeping chill, voice a vow etched in stone. "Your softness isn’t weakness—it’s the keenest blade that cuts deepest, truest."
"I am weak, Elaine. Much weaker than expected."
"No, Your Highness. I’ve dulled my own foolish heart too long, ignoring the light you offered. Rest now, Your Highness. I’ll guard the door against shadows, real or court-spun. No one disturbs you."
Exhaustion claid full then, pulling under relentless like a riptide dragging to depths, her steady presence a reluctant anchor holding from total drift in the dark.
But as sleep wove its thick velvet veil over mind and ache, a treacherous warmth blood faint and forbidden in my chest—hope flickering fragile?
Forgiveness stirring unbidden? Or just the fever’s sweet, lying whisper? For the first breath in moons, the empire’s iron chains felt looser, lighter—if only in dream’s rciful grasp.
◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆◆◇◆◇◆
After Alexander’s breathing evened into the deep, rhythmic pull of healing sleep—chest rising steady under fresh bandages, silver hair fanned wild across the pillow like spilled moonlight—Elaine lingered a mont longer, her eyes tracing the fragile peace on his battered face.
Even with injuries, Alexander looked divine... he was too beautiful to be true.
The chamber fell silent around her, broken only by the faint crackle of the hearth fire and distant palace echoes—servants’ footsteps pattering marble halls, a guard’s muffled call beyond the stone walls.
She drew a deep, shuddering breath, chest expanding tight under her half-plate armor, the air thick with lingering scents of healing salves—bitter willow bark, sharp mint—and his own faint oga warmth, star-lily sweet even through the pain.
She was the one who changed his clothes. The lie burned hot on her tongue, unvoiced and heavy as forged iron. Those wide-eyed oga maids?
A convenient fiction, sent away with a curt command when she’d burst into the room earlier, finding him still unconscious in old, sweat-filled, dirty—rags, vulnerable and exposed.
She couldn’t say it—not now, with his raw admissions still echoing—hating her touch, fearing her hands. Maybe never.
Sha coiled vicious in her gut, twisting sharper at the mory of his suspicious glance, that anxious souring of his bruised features, cheeks flushing crimson as if her re presence stripped him anew.
Gods, the look he gave —like I was the monster ready to peel him bare again. Her warrior’s hands clenched white-knuckled on the chair arms, scarred calluses flexing against polished wood.
And then her mind betrayed her, flooding unbidden with the vivid mory of his naked body—her hands on him, gentle as she could manage through trembling guilt.
Heat surged sudden and fierce to her face, flushing her sharp cheekbones vivid scarlet, blonde braid swaying as she shifted uneasy.
She’d worked quick but reverent in the dim lamplight, first peeling away the stiff, gore-stiffened tunic with painstaking care, fabric tearing faint where so dried blood glued it to his skin.
His petite fra sprawled limp across the sheets, utterly spent—tiny shoulders narrow and unscarred save for fresh bruises blooming purple-black like storm clouds, collarbones delicate hollows shadowed deep, leading down to the smooth plane of his chest, rising shallow with each pained breath.
Nipples small and pink—peaked slight from the chamber’s chill, surrounded by faint constellation of freckles she’d never noticed before, never cared to notice in their cold, dutiful nights.
Lower still, her breath had caught traitorously as she eased off the ruined breeches, thumbs hooking the waistband slick with sweat and arena grit.
His waist nipped impossibly slim, hips flaring subtle in that classic oga curve—soft, yielding, made for cradling life or claims, now marred by a vicious contusion twisting livid across one hipbone, fingerprints of Jennife’s brutal grip ghosted faint in the swelling.
Thighs parted slight in unconscious sprawl, lean but plush with hidden strength from secret training—inner skin velvet-pale, unmarked save for a thin pink scar snaking old across one quadricep, thighs trembling faint under her steadying palms as she lifted him gentle to slide the fabric free.
And there, exposed fully in the fire’s glow, his sex—small and perfect, a delicate cute, pink penis nestled soft atop plump, pink pussy folds glistening faint with fever-sweat, the tender length lax and vulnerable curling against slick entrance, flushed rosy from blood loss or heat, sac drawn tight beneath like fragile fruit.
No arousal, no invitation—just raw, trusting fragility she’d ravaged before without rcy, now laid bare under her guilty gaze.
His scent blood stronger then, heady oga musk laced with pain-salt, flooding her senses primal until she bit her lip bloody to stifle the alpha growl rising low.
She’d bandaged him after—clean linen strips winding firm around ribs cracked like eggshell, each loop a silent atonent.
Then, she dressed him in the loose healing tunic, linen whispering soft against his skin as she maneuvered his limp arms through sleeves, careful not to jar the bite mark scarring his neck, her claim jagged and ugly.
All while whispering apologies to the empty air.
"Forgive ... shouldn’t have seen you like this. Shouldn’t have touched..." But she had. And the image seared permanent now, flushing her deeper crimson, pulse hamring traitorous heat low in her pants—sha and want warring brutal, because gods, he was beautiful, even broken.
Petite perfection she’d crushed under boot and bed, softness she’d mistaken for weakness.
No more. Elaine surged to her feet abrupt, chair scraping harsh against flagstones, armored boots thudding heavy as she strode to the chamber door.
Better to wait outside while he slept—guard the hall like a proper sentinel, deny herself the vigil that tempted more sins.
She paused hand on the iron latch, glancing back once at his serene face, silver lashes fanned peaceful.
"Sleep safe, Aleander," she breathed silent, slipping out into the cool corridor where torches guttered shadows long.
The door clicked shut soft behind her, but the flush lingered, mory of his naked vulnerability a brand she’d carry alone.
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