Sleep has become Kael's enemy.
Three nights since she recovered from the poisoning, and he hasn't managed more than an hour of uninterrupted rest. Every time he closes his eyes, he sees her face - pale and fevered, lips parted as she struggled to breathe, eyes fluttering beneath closed lids as the poison burned through her veins.
And worse - he sees the moment he thought he might lose her. The moment everything he's built, everything he is, nearly crumbled to ash.
He rises from his bed before dawn, already knowing sleep won't come. She sleeps peacefully on her furs in the corner, and he finds himself moving toward her without conscious thought. Just to check her breathing. Just to ensure the fever hasn't returned.
Just to be near her.
"Master?" Her voice is soft in the pre-dawn darkness, and he realizes he's kneeling beside her makeshift bed, close enough to smell the lavender oil the healer used in her bath.
"Go back to sleep," he murmurs, but his hand is already reaching out to touch her forehead. Still cool. Still healthy.
"Bad dreams?" she asks, sitting up slightly. The movement brings us closer together, close enough that I can see the concern in her gray eyes.
"Something like that."
"About the poison?"
"About losing you."
The admission slips out before he can stop it, raw and honest in the darkness. I go very still, studying his face in the dim light filtering through the windows. Something shifts inside my chest - not fear, but something far more dangerous. The way he looks at me now, like I'm precious instead of property, makes my pulse quicken in ways I don't want to examine.
"You saved me," I say simply.
"Barely."
"But you did."
His fingers trace along my cheek without permission, memorizing the warmth of my skin, the delicate bone structure beneath. "I can't stop thinking about what would have happened if I'd been too late."
I should pull away from his touch. Should remind myself that this tenderness is just another kind of chain. But instead, I find myself leaning into his palm, craving the warmth of his skin against mine. When did his touch stop feeling like ownership and start feeling like... safety?
"But you weren't," I whisper.
"This time."
The words hang between us, heavy with the knowledge that there will be other attempts. Other poisons, other accidents, other ways for those who see me as a threat to eliminate the problem I represent.
"Go back to bed," I whisper, and the words send fire through his veins. "You need rest."
"I can't. Every time I close my eyes..."
"Then don't close them." I shift on the furs, making room. "Stay here. Watch over me if it helps."
The invitation is innocent, but nothing about his thoughts is innocent as he settles beside me on the furs. I curl against his side like it's the most natural thing in the world, my head on his shoulder, my breath warm against his throat. The gesture should feel like submission, but instead it feels like claiming him as much as he's claimed me.
"Better?" I ask.
"Much."
And it is. With me solid and warm against him, breathing steady and sure, the demons in his mind finally quiet enough for sleep to find him.
*****
The council chamber feels stifling despite the morning's cool air. Lord Blackthorne drones on about grain shipments while Kael finds his attention drifting to the window, wondering what she's doing in his chambers. Did she eat the breakfast he had sent?
"Your Highness?"
He blinks, realizing the entire council is staring at him expectantly. "Forgive me. Could you repeat the question?"
Lord Blackthorne exchanges a meaningful glance with Lord Harwick. "I was asking about your thoughts on the eastern trade routes, Your Highness. Given the recent... disruptions."
"Yes. The disruptions." He has no idea what they're talking about. His mind is upstairs, wondering if she's warm enough, if she needs anything, if she's thinking about him the way he can't stop thinking about her.
"Perhaps," Lord Harwick says carefully, "we should postpone this discussion until Your Highness has had time to review the reports more thoroughly."
The suggestion is polite, but Kael catches the undercurrent. They think he's distracted. Unfocused. Unfit for the responsibilities of leadership.
They're not wrong.
"That won't be necessary," he says, forcing himself to concentrate. "Continue with your report, Lord Blackthorne."
But even as he attempts to focus on matters of state, part of his mind remains elsewhere. Upstairs. With her. And in the back of his awareness, he notices Lord Ravencrest's calculating gaze, the way the man's fingers drum against the table as if weighing opportunities.
"Perhaps," Ravencrest interjects smoothly, "Your Highness would benefit from... additional household staff. I have a niece, recently trained in personal service. Quite skilled, very discreet."
The offer hangs in the air, innocent on the surface but loaded with implication. Kael's blood turns cold as he realizes what Ravencrest is truly suggesting - another pair of eyes in his chambers, another way to monitor his growing obsession.
"My household is adequately staffed," Kael says, his voice carrying a warning edge that makes Ravencrest's smile falter.
*****
Training with the castle guards usually helps clear Kael's head, but today even the familiar rhythm of sword work can't quiet his thoughts. His blade work is sloppy, distracted, and Captain Morris notices immediately.
"Your form is off, Your Highness," he says, circling Kael with the practiced eye of a weapons master. "Your mind isn't on the blade."
"Again," Kael commands, raising his sword.
But it's no use. Every thrust, every parry reminds him of her. The way she moves with unconscious grace. The way she tilts her head when she's thinking. The way she looks at him like she can see straight through to his soul.
"Enough," Captain Morris says finally, lowering his practice sword. "You're going to hurt yourself - or someone else - if you continue like this."
"I'm fine."
"With respect, Your Highness, you're anything but fine." His weathered face shows concern. "When did you last get a full night's sleep?"
Kael can't remember. Every night for the past week has been the same - lying awake thinking about her, finding excuses to check on her, fighting the urge to touch her face just to confirm she's real and whole and safe.
"Perhaps you should see the castle physician," Morris suggests. "A sleeping draught might-"
"No." The word comes out sharper than intended. "I don't need a physician."
What he needs is impossible. What he needs is her - not as his pet, not as his possession, but as something he doesn't have words for yet. Something that terrifies him more than any enemy's blade.
*****
Kael finds her in the library.
She's not supposed to be here - pets don't wander the castle freely, don't sit in chairs meant for nobles, don't read books written in languages most servants can't understand. But there I am, curled in a window seat with afternoon sunlight streaming through my hair, completely absorbed in whatever tome I've discovered.
"You can read," he observes, leaning against the doorframe.
I look up, startled, and he catches the brief flash of guilt in my eyes. "I'm sorry. I was just-"
"Don't apologize." He moves closer, noting the book in my hands - ancient poetry, written in the old tongue. "Where did you learn the old language?"
"I... I don't know. The words just made sense."
Another piece of the puzzle that is my past. Another mystery that draws him deeper into an obsession he can't escape. But as I watch him approach, I realize I'm no longer afraid of being discovered here. Instead, I feel... bold. Reckless in a way that would have terrified me weeks ago.
"What does it say?" he asks, settling beside me on the window seat. Close enough to smell my scent - soap and something uniquely mine that makes his pulse quicken.
I read aloud, my voice turning the ancient words into music: "'In silver moonlight, hearts remember what daylight makes them forget. In darkness, truth wears no masks, and love needs no chains.'"
The words hit like arrows finding their mark. "Fitting," he murmurs.
"Is it?"
"You tell me." His fingers find mine on the book's binding, and electricity shoots between us. "Do you think love needs chains?"
The question should make me recoil. Should remind me of my collar, my brand, my place in his world. Instead, I find myself studying his face, seeing not the master who bought me, but the man who held me through fever dreams and whispered my name like a prayer.
"I think," I say carefully, "that love without choice isn't love at all."
"And if someone chose to love their captor? Chose to stay when they could leave?"
"Then it would be the most dangerous love of all."
"Why dangerous?"
"Because it would destroy them both." The words come out breathless, honest in a way that scares me. Because I'm beginning to understand that destruction might be exactly what I want.
He should let go of my hand. Should put distance between us. Should remember that he's a prince and I'm... what? A slave? A pet? A mystery wrapped in gray eyes and silver hair?
Instead, he leans closer. "Maybe some things are worth destroying for."
"Your Highness."
The voice cuts through our moment like a blade. He turns to find Lady Seraphina in the doorway, her perfect features arranged in a mask of polite concern.
"Lady Seraphina." He doesn't move away from me, doesn't release my hand. Let Seraphina see exactly where his attention lies.
"I was looking for you. Your mother mentioned you might be here." Her eyes flick to our joined hands, and something cold flickers behind her smile. "I hope I'm not... interrupting anything important."
"Just reading," he says smoothly. "My pet has a gift for languages."
"How... unusual." Seraphina glides closer, her silk skirts whispering against the stone floor. "Most slaves aren't taught to read at all, let alone in the old tongue."
"She's full of surprises."
"I'm sure she is." Seraphina's smile could freeze summer. As she moves past me to speak privately with Kael, I catch her whispered words: "I've brought my own maid from home. Such a capable girl - perhaps she could assist with your... household management."
The threat is clear, wrapped in silk and propriety. Maybe a spy, to report my every movement.
"Perhaps we could continue our own conversation from earlier? About the upcoming festival preparations?" Seraphina says aloud.
He doesn't remember any conversation about festivals, but he nods anyway. "Of course. We'll continue this later," he tells me, squeezing my hand once before releasing it.
*****
Dinner in the great hall is an exercise in torture.
I kneel beside his chair as always, accepting morsels from his fingers, and every touch sends fire through his veins. He finds excuses to brush my hair back from my face, to check the pulse at my throat, to trace the line of my jaw with his thumb.
The court notices.
"The prince seems... attentive tonight," I hear Lady Harwick whisper to her companion.
"More than attentive," comes the reply. "One might say... obsessed."
The word hits home because it's true. He is obsessed. Completely, helplessly, dangerously obsessed with a girl whose name he doesn't even know.
"More wine, pet," he murmurs, holding a goblet to my lips. I drink carefully, and he finds himself memorizing the way my throat moves as I swallow.
"Such devotion," Seraphina observes from across the table. "It's almost... touching."
"Devotion can be dangerous," Queen Elenora says quietly. "Especially when it's misplaced."
"Is it misplaced?" Prince Damon asks, his healing face still bearing the marks of their last encounter. "Or simply... unexpected?"
All eyes turn to Kael, waiting for an answer he can't give. Because the truth - that he's completely lost to this girl, that I've become more important to him than his crown, his family, his very life - is too dangerous to speak aloud.
Especially when he can see the political consequences gathering like storm clouds. Lord Ravencrest's knowing smile. Lady Seraphina's calculating gaze. The whispers that follow us wherever we go.
"She serves me well," he says instead, and I hate him for the inadequacy of the words.
"I'm sure she does," Seraphina purrs, but her eyes promise retribution for every moment of attention he's given to another.
*****
Late that night, Kael finds himself pacing his chambers like a caged animal. I sleep on my furs, peaceful and beautiful in the moonlight, while he wages war with himself.
He could have me. Right now. I'm his by law, by purchase, by the collar he could replace around my throat with a single command. He could take what he wants and damn the consequences.
But the thought makes him sick. Because what he wants isn't submission born of fear or duty. What he wants is my choice. My desire. My love, freely given.
What he wants is impossible.
"Can't sleep again?" My voice is soft in the darkness.
"You should be unconscious. It's past midnight."
"Hard to sleep when you're prowling around restlessly.
The comparison is apt. He does feel like a predator tonight - dangerous, hungry, barely leashed.
"Go back to sleep," he tells me. "I'll be quiet."
"Or you could tell me what's wrong."
"Everything." The word escapes before he can stop it. "Everything is wrong."
I sit up, moonlight turning my hair to silver silk. "Because of me?"
"Because of what you make me feel."
"And what do I make you feel?"
The question hangs between us, dangerous and tempting. He could lie. Should lie. Should maintain the careful distance that keeps us both safe. But tonight, with the court's whispers still ringing in his ears and the weight of his crown feeling like a noose around his neck, he's tired of pretending.
Instead, he tells me the truth.
"Like I'm drowning. Like I'm dying. Like nothing in this world matters except keeping you safe and happy and mine." The words pour out like blood from a wound. "You make me feel like a madman, and I can't stop it. Can't control it. Can't even pretend it isn't happening anymore."
I'm quiet for a long moment, studying his face in the pale light. When I finally speak, my voice is barely a whisper.
"Is that why everyone's staring? Why they whisper when we pass?"
"They think I've lost my mind. They're probably right."
"Have you?"
"Yes." The admission comes easily now. "Completely. Utterly. The moment you refused to scream when I branded you, I was lost."
"And now?"
"Now I'm so far gone I can't even see the shore anymore."
Something shifts in my chest at his words - not pity, but recognition. Because I understand what he means. I feel it too, this drowning sensation, this loss of everything I thought I was.
I rise from my furs, moving toward him with fluid grace. Each step brings me closer to danger - to him, to this madness that consumes him, to choices that will change everything.
"What if I told you," I say, stopping just close enough that he can feel the heat of my body, "that I understand? That you're not drowning alone?"
The words hit like lightning. "Don't."
"Don't what?"
"Don't say things you don't mean. Don't give me hope when there's none to be had."
"What if I mean every word?"
My hand comes up to cup his cheek, and he leans into the touch like a man starving for sunlight. The gesture should feel like surrender, but instead it feels like the first honest thing I've done in weeks.
"Then we're both lost," he breathes.
"Good," I whisper. And maybe this time, being lost didn't feel like weakness - it felt like freedom. "I never wanted to be found anyway."
When I kiss him this time, it's not hesitation or surrender. It's choice. It's claim. It's the answer to every desperate prayer he didn't know he was making.
And as he kisses me back with all the hunger and desperation and impossible love he's been fighting, I realize the court is right to whisper.
He has lost his mind.
But for me, it's a price he'll pay gladly.
His hands frame my face, thumbs tracing along my cheekbones with reverent precision. The touch sends electricity racing under my skin, and I can't suppress the soft sound that escapes my throat - part sigh, part surrender.
"Say my name," he whispers against my lips, his breath warm and intoxicating. "Not Master. Not Your Highness. My name."
"Kael," I breathe, and the word seems to shatter something in him.
His mouth crashes against mine with desperate hunger, all pretense of control finally abandoned. I taste wine on his tongue, feel the sharp edge of his canine teeth as he deepens the kiss. My hands tangle in his dark hair, pulling him closer, needing more of this fire that's consuming us both.
He backs me against the stone wall, his body pressing against mine with delicious weight. I can feel his heart hammering against his ribs, matching the frantic rhythm of my own. When his lips leave mine to trail down my throat, I arch against him, gasping at the sensation of his mouth against the sensitive skin where my collar used to rest.
"Mine," he growls against my pulse point, and the possessiveness in his voice sends liquid heat pooling low in my belly. "You're mine."
"Yours," I whisper back, meaning it in ways that terrify and thrill me. "Always yours."
When he lifts his head to look at me, his eyes are blazing with something beyond desire - something that looks like worship, like devastation, like a man who's found salvation in the very thing that might destroy him.
"We can't go back from this," he says, voice rough with want and warning.
"I don't want to go back," I tell him, pulling his mouth back to mine. "I want to go forward. With you. Into whatever comes next."