Caelith quickly composed herself and spoke with careful courtesy, "Thank you, my lord."
She reached out to take the bowl—yet the instant her fingertips brushed against Rhaegar's, she recoiled as though burned, drawing her hand back at once.
A low chuckle escaped him, his eyes moving away from her blushing face.
Setting the bowl upon the small table beside the couch, he leaned in, his presence closing around her like an overwhelming spirit.
"You were not so distant last night. I am rather hurt now."
Caelith forced her expression into calm, though the faint flush upon her cheeks betrayed her once again.
"Last night… I was not in my right mind. The medicine clouded my head—I remember nothing. If I behaved improperly toward you, my lord, I beg you not to take offense. I am truly sorry."
"You remember... nothing?" Rhaegar arched a brow.
His hand came up, closing lightly around her wrist—not enough to hurt, yet firm enough that she could not slip free.
