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That was enough. One small piece of us returning while Elias worked.

The pressure against my chest eased. My flesh burned where it began to draw together. It was the familiar violence of vampire healing, stripped of the cold magic that kept the wound open. Each heartbeat hurt, but every one arrived under its own power.

Elias watched the blood for several seconds. “It is holding.”

“Then get him out of the water,” Lenora said from the path.

She came through the ruined gate with rain plastering her dark dress to her legs. Blood streaked one hand. It didn’t appear to be hers. She took in the broken spring, Bryony’s bandage and the cloth packed against my chest without wasting time on surprise.

“The east passage is blocked,” Mara said.

“Then we use the west.” Lenora turned to the vampires behind her. “Clear the glass from the garden doors, please. Find something that can carry him level.”

They moved together.

The speed was almost military, but the magic was absent. One man went for a shutter. Another shook his head and pointed towards a narrow door it would never pass through. They argued for five seconds, chose a bench instead and ran back into the house.

Lenora watched them go. Her shoulders dropped by a fraction.

“Better,” she said quietly.

Elias bound a thick pad over my chest. Mara slid an arm under my shoulders while two vampires brought the bench into the spring. They acted without waiting for a royal instruction, listening to Elias, adjusting their grips and lifting when he counted.

The garden tilted. Pain bit through my chest, and Bryony’s fingers locked around mine.

“Look at me,” she said.

I did.

Her face kept the world steady while they carried me over the broken basin wall. Blood had dried in fine lines beside her ears. The bandage made her look wounded rather than crowned. I had never been so grateful for the difference.

Mara tried to help Bryony from the water. Bryony planted one bare foot on the path, swayed and gripped the bench with her free hand.

I tightened my hold on her fingers.

“We’re both going,” she said to Elias. “Work around it.”

He studied her grey face. “You are walking beside him, not falling on him.”

“Fine.”

She let Mara put an arm around her waist.

The court opened a route towards the house. People moved shattered glass with boots and pieces of timber. Others held the garden doors instead of trusting the damaged hinges. Lenora walked in front, sending the injured towards the Night Hall and everyone else away from the King’s rooms.

Harrowmere stayed still around us.

A door caught on warped stone. Someone shoved it open. The wall didn’t resist. The lamps in the west passage remained dark until Lenora struck a match and lit them one by one.

For a hundred and twelve years, the house had anticipated me. It opened, warmed and listened. Losing that obedience should feel like losing part of my body.

Instead, every stubborn hinge made the air easier to breathe.

The journey to my rooms took minutes and most of my remaining strength. Elias ordered the bench set beside the bed. I was lifted again in wet clothes and boots because keeping the wound closed mattered more than ceremony.

Bryony stayed where I could see her.

Lenora paused at the door. “The court is frightened, injured and very loud. All excellent signs. We will keep the house standing until morning.”