There was nothing forced in the way Clyde fed him—no stiffness, no visible reluctance, no trace of the distant authority everyone else feared.
He did it naturally, as though the title of Sovereign had fallen away the moment the door closed.
As though he were simply a man sitting beside his injured spouse—
a husband caring for the person he loved most.
Ryley had thought he would be able to reject him.
Pull away.
Refuse every small kindness.
But his heart would not let things remain that simple.
When the next spoonful came, Ryley turned his face away.
Clyde paused. "What is it?"
Still saying nothing, Ryley slowly reached for the spoon himself, bandaged fingers trembling as they closed around the handle.
The movement was weak, unsteady.
Yet Clyde did not argue.
He loosened his hold immediately and let him take it.
For a brief moment, neither of them moved.
Then Ryley lifted the spoon with visible effort.
