Sleep didn't come as she planned, and when it did, her dreams tore between Karsyn and Edrien. Rhosyn sat up in bed, mentally done with the torment it delivered. Shadows clung to the four walls, shapes of familiar objects huddled against them.
It took a few nights, but she learnt how to navigate the layout without needing to light a candle. She slipped off the bed, heading for the washbasin. Rhosyn stepped, which turned into a kick as her toe connected with the bed post and she bit back a curse. Pain shot through her and she found a way to blame it on Karsyn.
The night didn't look close to yielding and she grumbled that there was yet hours of this dragging torture. Maybe if she washed her face, she could clean her mind from their faces and be done with it—at least for today.
Rhosyn poured the jug of water into the basin and started to clean herself, the water cold on her hot skin and she sighed. Never had she welcomed the cold, until now.
A clatter broke the quiet, a chill slipping between her legs.
"Sir Caerwyn," she called, wondering if he heard her wandering around her rooms and panicked. She did kick that bed pretty hard.
Silence sounded deafening and she couldn't hear his heavy boot-steps.
"Sir Caerwyn?"
Rhosyn stepped around the room divider, noticing her bedroom door still closed and something felt off. Eyes sweeping in the dark and finding a shadow that didn't belong.
The figure was cloaked by night, his blade betrayed by moonlight and she felt her blood drain.
Everything slowed and sped up in equally confusing measure. Rhosyn's throat went dry. Her words wouldn't come. Panic drilled through her, demanding her to move and she bolted.
She didn't know why she thought she could make it to the bedroom door. Her limbs burned as she sprinted, but the man behind her was faster and moved like death.
Breath knocked out of her. The floor came to meet her and a weight drove the sense from her. She reeled and when her mind started to connect the dots again, Rhosyn realised she was face down, the shadow straddling her and she couldn't reach her dagger.
He grabbed her hair and pulled. She tried to resist, but his grip was strong and her scalp burned in agony. Her head was jerked back. A knife flashing around and Rhosyn did the one thing she could. She threw her head back, feeling it connect with his face and hearing a dissatisfied grunt.
It startled him enough to buy her another second, but she knew he'd recover. His grip tightened in her hair, a curse hot on his tongue and Rhosyn yelped in pain.
Before she could glimpse the blade in the night light, a crash thundered and the weight was torn from her back. She gasped down a breath, a hand reaching out to her and she drew her dagger.
"My Lady," Caerwyn hushed and his features came into focus immediately.
Rhosyn's grip on the blade slipped and it clattered to the floor. Nothing held in her head, information slipping on shaky legs.
Sounds snatched at her attention and she sought out the shadow of death—just a man. Karsyn had him by the throat, half raised up the wall, the assassin looking pathetic compared.
She couldn't register the look in his eyes. Capture the details that swarmed the room. Her eyes caught on the knife that had only been drawn at her neck moments ago. It sat at her feet pointless.
Movement trembled around her, men entering the room and looking to Karsyn. It was then that she realised the sound had dampened to a mute hum. She felt how it brushed against her, but her brain refused to process it.
Hands pulled at her and she pushed them away. They wrestled to hold her and she hated how it swelled panic inside her. Caerwyn was right there, she was sure of it, but darkness crowded her.
Solid arms slipped around her and easily shifted her weight into a chest. Rhosyn tried to pull away, but the ground came away and she clung to the body, fearful of falling.
Things shifted and she found herself staring up at winter eyes she knew too well.
"I can walk, Your Grace," Rhosyn stated dryly.
Karsyn didn't put her down—well not yet. The room shifted as he carried her, and only when he reached the bed did he lower her onto it.
The room looked different in the aftermath. Rhosyn found herself searching for shadows that didn't belong. Karsyn crouched in front of her, blocking her view and she felt herself shrink.
"You're shaking, Rhosyn," his voice was soft, and she realised she was.
She trembled despite his warmth and her heart wouldn't calm. His thumb stroked her cheek and it came away wet—she was crying?
"You're going to be fine now," Karsyn assured and she couldn't figure out why he was being so gentle.
Rhosyn's hand came up and pulled his away from her face—he let her. But his hand didn't let go of hers now. She needed to unwrap herself from him. Build up her defence and save face. But there was something in the way that his steel eyes held her that prevented her from putting her mask back on—and she told herself it was because he saw through her.
"I'm fine." She dropped her gaze.
Karsyn's hand held hers more firmly, his other swept up and brushed her hair lightly from her face. It must've been a mess, her scalp still ached from the attack. His fingers glossed her cheek and she leaned into it despite herself.
Then she felt herself wrestle control of her heart and something as close to her stone-face composure melted into place. Karsyn could see when she armoured up. Something reassessed and he pulled back.
"Sir Caerwyn," he called over his shoulder. "You'll keep watch over Lady Rhosyn."
"Of course, Your Grace," Caerwyn saluted as if taking a command and sealing it into his heart with a fist.
The duke's eyes sank back into hers and something fluttered over her.
"You'll be safe, try to get some rest."
It was what she'd been trying to do for the past few hours—not that he'd understand that he'd been plaguing her. She supposed that in a weird way, if he hadn't, then maybe she wouldn't have woken for the shadow of death tonight—or again any night after that.