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For once, Lucan seemed content to let the silence remain.
They reached his chambers without incident. The heavy doors shut behind them with a muffled thud, sealing away the endless murmur of the Blooded Palace.
Only then did Elarian realize how utterly exhausted she had become.
Lucan removed the golden collar first. The weight disappeared from her throat, leaving behind only rashes where polished metal had rested against fever-warmed skin. His fingers lingered no longer than necessary before he stepped away.
“Sit.”
Too weary to summon another argument, Elarian obeyed. She lowered herself onto the edge of the bed with a quiet sigh, elbows resting upon her knees as she buried her face in trembling hands.
The room smelled of extinguished candles, old parchment, and roses left too long in water. Unable to stop herself, she inhaled deeply and let the aroma settle deep into her lungs. She hated that it had already begun to smell familiar.
Behind her, Lucan crossed toward the side table. Crystal chimed softly against crystal.
“You need more bloodwine,” he said simply.
Gods, how much of the profane liquid had she already consumed? How quickly it went from wretched to saccharine upon her lips.
“I-I need…”
She stopped herself, unwilling to confess the truth. Instead, summoning her remaining strength, she tried to pry at another of Lucan’s hidden wounds.
“I need for nothing now that I have seen what truly constitutes your pathetic life. Friendless, loveless, feared and mocked by your court in the same breath…It seems I don’t even need my silver to become your undoing here, Lucan.”
Lucan glanced over his shoulder, amusement ghosting across his features as he poured more bloodwine into a second waiting goblet.
“And something tells me I would learn the same in your home, Elarian.” Before allowing her to reply, he crossed back to her and pressed the crystal rim against her lips. “Drink, then sleep.”
Elarian glared at him but parted her lips, nonetheless. The realization of what her body was doing tasted fouler than the bloodwine itself.
A gentle coolness spread through her aching body almost immediately. Not enough to banish the fever, but soon the relentless pounding behind her eyes eased.
Lucan held the crystal to her lips until she emptied the cup.
“Very good,” he murmured as he stepped away.
“I require more than your foul concoction.” The words barely rose from her aching throat.
Lucan did not reply. After taking a sip from his own goblet, he set both down before returning to her side. Grim silence settled between them. Elarian pulled away weakly on instinct as Lucan fetched the iron collar from the bed. A thin shadow curled around her chin, wrenching it upward. The collar slid around her throat. Gooseflesh prickled under its icy touch.
It was almost welcome.
Iron latched together with a click.
Elarian struggled to keep her eyes open, lids heavier with each passing breath. Shapes blurred until she drifted between the starless night and reality. Only the scent of roses and Lucan’s hands at her wrists kept her from fading altogether.
“Sleep, Elarian. You will feel better in the morning.”
Soft silks embraced her weary form. She melted into them, too tired to pretend she did not ache for their comfort.
Her eyes closed.
She waited for the darkness to take her, for crimson eyes and whispered promises. Perhaps it was the fever that made her long for it, but she did not care. As Elarian drifted into that starless night once more, she hoped to find that impossible place where enemies could pretend to become something else for a stolen moment.
Dreams never came that night.
thirty-four
