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"I told you not to speak," he orders, adding a pained, "Please."
I don't think I can say anything else without it burning, so I relent. A weight shifts beside me, and I peek under my arm to find Kairon, helmet gone, fully dressed, and soaked to the bone with water. He's lying down in the sand next to me, catching his breath as if he were the one who just took an unexpected swim.
"The healer will be here in a few minutes," he assures me, exhaustion turning his voice into a breathy, strained whisper. "Just try to relax and breathe."
Kairon's breathing settles, and the show of power he just displayed is taking its toll. I take the brief opportunity to watch him rest, his dark lashes casting long shadows across his cheeks. He really is unfairly beautiful. No one should be this powerful and this gorgeous. It's unnatural.
The sound of feet pounding on the ground travels to us, and I turn my head to see an unfamiliar man running toward us. Once he steps foot on the sand, a wall of guards stands in front of him, blocking him from view.
Kairon groans, rolling over to grab his helm from where it lays in the sand. Seated, clothes sopping wet and covered in sand, he eases the monstrosity over his head before grabbing his discarded red cloak.
"Say nothing," he tells me. "He does not need to speak to you to know where it hurts or how to heal it. Do not speak until he leaves."
I try to ask why, but no real sound comes out.
"Because he's the most talented healer in the kingdom, but he's also the least trustworthy. Anything you tell him will be used against you," he tells me. "He won't even be permitted to know who you are."
I stand slowly, awkwardly, the bone-deep exhaustion from very nearly drowning and being ripped from sleep too early making me dizzy.
Once allowed, the healer makes his way to us, the man looking almost human, but most definitely not. His skin doesn't seem right, like it's too perfect, pulled just a bit too tight over his cheekbones. His lips are just slightly too big for his face— his eyes, too. His nose is so perfectly straight and so angular that it looks surreal.
He silently places a perfectly manicured hand against my throat. His emotions are a mess of annoyance, sympathy, curiosity, and even a little vindictiveness and anger at Kairon. While I'm sure anyone would be annoyed at being woken at this hour, I worry about the cruelty underlying everything else, like he's already plotting how to use this against the king.
Staring too intently at my face, he stands eerily still, his fingers warm on my throat. The warmth seeps into my skin, soothing the pain and calming my still-racing heart. The heat grows into my chest, where my lungs burn again. I tense my muscles against the need to heave again.
"It's alright, sweetness. You still have a little water in your lungs. As long as it's there, they cannot fully heal," he tells me before moving back to give me space. The moment he's out of range, I cough and choke again on the water expelling from my body. "There's a good girl."
Behind me, the king bristles, "Is she well?" reminding the healer that he is still very much under the watchful eye of the terrifying man.
The healer places his palm against my sternum, delight dancing with his other emotions due to Kairon's reaction to the too-intimate way he spoke to me. The warmth enters my body again, rendering me free of pain but utterly exhausted.
"She will be, but she needs to rest. As you know, healing is daunting on the body," the healer tells the king. "And my payment?"
"Will be sent with you. The guards have it." Kairon points with his chin to the wall of guards waiting to escort the healer off the property.
"Thank you," he bows as a farewell, "Your Majesty. Miss," he says before turning on a heel and leaving the way he came.
Once he's out of earshot, I consider telling Kairon what I felt from the healer, but I can't do that without explaining my powers, and I just don't have the energy for that right now. I just want to crawl back into bed.
"Are you alright?" Kai asks, and I nod, too tired to speak—infinitely more exhausted than I was before the healing. "Let's get you inside. You need to go back to bed. I'll cancel the final negotiations, and we will have them after the ball. Perhaps a night of dancing and frivolity will loosen everyone up, and we can come to some sort of agreement."
"I don't have time to sleep," I tell him with a yawn. "There's too much still uncertain."
He crooks half a smile. "My Elva, your body just sped through what would normally be weeks of healing, if it survived it at all. You're going to fall asleep whether it's in bed or in front of all of our sort-of allies. Which will it be?"
"Bed, please."
"Splendid."
On the walk back to my room, the king asked more than once if I needed to be carried, then if I would consider being carried because watching me struggle was making him tired. Fortunately, we made it back before he could beg, because I think if he did, I would be powerless to deny him anything.
At my bedroom door, he tries to hide his concern behind a smirk, but his eyes give him away. "Get some sleep, Elva. Guards will be right outside your door. You are perfectly safe. I'm going to go decide how I'm going to deal with the Syren Queen."
"Give her a break, Kairon," I suggest. "She's out of her mind with terror."
The king scoffs, "You want to show mercy to someone who just tried to kill you?"
With an exhausted shrug, I confirm, "Yes. She wasn't thinking clearly, and she didn't succeed. No harm done."
