When I dragged heavy lids open at last, the whole room lay drowned deep in shadow.
Long confused minutes blurred everything — thoughts slow‑tangled, senses dulled — until my very first small shift sent pain hammering straight behind my eyes. I made a small sound before I could hold it back.
Across the quiet… chair creaked soft under weight shifting.
I blinked slow, fighting the fog away.
Draven sat still near the tall window: one leg slung loose over the other, shape cut hard and half‑dark against thin silver moonlight. Just watching. No noise. No hurry.
That fixed, cold stare dragged memories stumbling back sharp: the black file… the rushed warnings… my waiting… his sudden dash off… and later — the corridor…
I frowned weak, voice thick and raw: "What happened… exactly?"
He breathed slow and hard — tipped his head back like it was nothing worth fussing over. "You went down."
Brows pulled tight in denial. "I did no such thing."
"But you did," he said flat. "Right there in the passage." Short pause — deliberate, heavy. "And I had to haul you all the way back here again."
I stared at him with what little strength I held — heavy‑eyed, doubtful. "That sounds… made‑up and overdone."
"It isn't."
I tried to push myself upright — and instantly the room span wild, dizziness rushing hard enough to dim my sight. He clicked his tongue once in plain annoyance… and stood smooth and fast before I could try that mistake twice.
"Stay still."
Naturally… I ignored him anyway. Stupid move.
The moment I moved again — his hand came down firm and heavy on my shoulder, pressing me gentle but impossible to fight straight back deep into pillows… that effortless strength always feeling like play‑work to him.
"You burn hot with fever," he said — plain fact, no softening.
Only then I saw the small table set ready beside the bed: neat — medicine cup, warm soup, bread slice laid out waiting.
I lifted gaze slow back to him. Draven sighed rough and deep… dragged the tray closer where I could reach.
"If you hadn't been halfway tolerable these last days," he rumbled low, "I'd never waste a whole night playing nurse‑guard for you."
Even through pounding head and lead‑heavy limbs… I huffed weak. "That almost sounded… like you care."
"Never meant that way."
Liar.
He set things down careful… dragged his chair right tight beside the bed. "Sit up proper and eat."
This time I obeyed — mostly because my body was too broken‑down to fight properly.
Soup steamed soft… but sickness had killed every bit of hunger. I picked slow, half‑hearted — barely three or four spoonfuls at all.
Draven watched exactly three steady beats… then his patience ran right out.
No warning. No polite lead‑in. He just reached out… snatched the spoon straight from my fingers.
I blinked, confused and cross. "Draven — really —"
"Open." Tone dropped — hard, final. No room to argue.
"I can feed myself fine!"
"Your effort so far says different clear enough."
Frown sharpened deep. "I mean it."
"And so do I."
He lifted the spoon slow toward me again. I folded arms weak and tight across chest, stubborn as could be: "No."
His eyes locked heavy and cold on mine for one long breath… then voice dropped lower — dangerous, rough, sharp as steel edge:
"Don't force me… to do it the hard way."
I stared straight back. "That is definitely a threat."
"Exactly what it is."
Before I could shape fresh protest, he moved spoon forward again. At last I gave in — every line of my face shouting annoyance — swallowing quick bites just to make him stop.
"Enough truly," I complained after a few more.
He ignored me flat. "One more."
"I have zero hunger left."
"Tough luck then."
When he finally let up, I felt humiliated and properly put out.
Next came medicine cup pressed firm into my palm. I drained it fast — desperate to be done with the whole nonsense. But even that wasn't enough check for him. Eyes narrowed sharp and hard.
"Swallowed it true… or hid it in your cheek like some child?"
I stared back in pure disbelief. "…Am I suddenly five years old again?"
"Answer me plain."
With dramatic, exaggerated irritation I pulled lips wide to show empty mouth. Only then did he lean back — looking satisfied at last.
Impossible man.
Quiet settled heavy again.
He moved back toward that favourite chair near glass… gaze drifting out into dark night. Moonlight drew every hard, sharp line of jaw and bone… and under that still, cold look I read too much tension. Far too much.
Slowly my earlier petty irritation died away. I looked closer — and saw something wrong right under his calm.
His fingers lay stone‑still along chair‑arm — far too still for Draven. Like every muscle, every thought, was clamped tight under iron control… some unseen weight crushing him heavier than he'd ever admit loud.
"You know…" I ventured soft into silence, "you could try speaking things too sometimes. Instead of dragging every burden alone forever."
No answer came at first.
Then — rough dry huff drifted back. "And since when exactly," he bit out even and hard, "have I been able to trust you with everything?"
Those words should have stung. Strangely… they didn't.
Because this closed‑off, guarded Draven… was already showing me more truth than he realised himself.
I pushed myself upright slow against pillows — careful, steady despite dizziness.
"You have begun trusting me already," I said soft and sure.
That finally caught him — gaze shifted fully round toward me across dim room. I held it steady, unwavering.
"You just… haven't admitted it to yourself yet."
Silence stretched long… heavy… thinking sharp.
Then he tipped head faint back once more. "I've let you know… only what I chose," he drawled rough, like handing down some tiny favour. "Be grateful for that much."
Even through fever‑heat and ache… faint smile tugged through. "How noble and generous of you indeed… Your Grace."
"Besides," he rumbled lower, "you called yourself my guardian angel… didn't you?"
That simple line hit deeper than I expected — chest tightening sudden and sharp.
He turned fully then… looked at me straight in dim silver light. Thin amusement softened the hardest edges just a hair… but danger coiled tight right underneath every word.
"Still…" he went slow and grit‑hard, "mark this true: you've known me barely one month."
Another heavy beat hung between us.
"And you still don't grasp… exactly what kind of man you tied yourself to."
Instantly the air changed — lighter feel gone… turned thick, heavy… charged with something far sharper than politics ever were.
I swallowed careful… slipped legs slow free from covers. Floor stone‑cold under bare feet as I moved step‑by‑step toward him. Draven watched every single movement — never blinked, never turned, never moved back… never stopped me.
I halted quiet right behind his chair… fingers resting light along high carved edge… leaned forward slow… breath brushing soft near his ear.
"Then tell me yourself," I whispered low into hush.
First change all night: his breathing shifted — barely visible… but unmistakable. Suddenly room felt smaller… walls pressing in… air thin and hot.
"I mean it," I murmured deeper. "You never have to carry every weight or secret alone."
Silence — until movement struck fast and hard.
His hand shot backward firm and sure… clamped round my wrist in grip that would not yield. Breath caught sharp. In one brutal smooth pull he dragged me forward — balance gone instantly… stumbling down pressed hard against chair‑side and his own solid frame.
Before I could steady or pull away… second hand lifted slow: thumb resting light but absolute right under jaw — holding my face fixed upward. Not rough… worse. Perfect control. Total command.
Dark eyes locked deep into mine — cold, unblinking… reading every flicker.
"You keep making one fatal mistake, Seraphina," he said low — voice soft‑sounding but gritty‑edged as a blade.
Heart hammered wild. "And what mistake is that?"
Thin crooked smile touched lips — terrifyingly gentle.
"You keep thinking," he answered plain and grim, "that I act careful… or decent… because it's what I truly want to do."
Truth dropped heavy and undeniable right between us. Thumb brushed once hard along jaw… then lifted away completely.
"Let me make it plain once and for all: I am no good man," he stated like carving fact in stone. "You've only been lucky… so far… to catch me when I haven't let the worst come loose yet."
I could not look away even if I tried — not this close… not while that voice wrapped tight round every sense.
Then gaze swept sharp once over my face… and just as fast as he pulled me near — he let go completely. Leaned back deep into chair again like nothing heavy happened at all.
"Back to bed and rest," order fell flat, cold — switch flipped shut instantly.
My fingers curled unseen tight against dress — small shakes I could not stop. He turned gaze again toward dark glass… as if I were nothing more now than distant thought.
But I saw it clear: rigid tension still clamped hard along jaw. The iron grip he kept on every slow breath.
And chilling truth hit sharp: He wasn't the only one fighting… desperate… not to snap control right apart.
***
Deep later… I woke shaking hard.
Weak gasp escaped as I curled small tight under covers — body trapped in fever's cruel swing: burning heat racing veins one breath… ice‑chill rattling bones the very next.
Room darker now — only faint dying glow left from embers throwing long wavering shadows up stone walls. Throat raw and sore… head throbbing worse than before.
I shifted slow and aching… until blurred sight hunted that familiar shape again near glass: Draven.
Still there. Never moved.
Half‑reclined in chair… eyes closed… arm loose but ready along rest… looked like light doze only — yet even still he held that sharp, wakeful edge that never truly sleeps.
Chest ached strange and heavy.
"…Draven?" Whisper scraped raw past throat.
Instant — eyes flew open. Sharp. Alert. Fully awake. Found me in one heartbeat.
"You're up again."
I swallowed hard against soreness. "I feel… rotten right through."
"Because fever climbs worse," he said calm… already rising and striding silent toward bed. Mattress dipped faint as he leaned in — cool hand pressed firm fast to burning forehead. His jaw set harder. "You burn far hotter now."
"That sounds… very bad news."
"It is exactly that."
Even under lead‑weight tiredness… faint weak smile tried through.
He sighed rough exasperation… reached for medicine table where draughts stood ready measured. "You'll owe me dear for all this trouble later," he grumbled while pouring fresh dose sharp‑careful.
Blinks slow and heavy. "Just for falling ill?"
"For putting up with you through it," came dry snap back.
Small breathless laugh broke — cut sharp‑off as fresh violent shiver racked every bone. He saw it instantly… jaw clamped tight with sudden raw, unhidden worry.
"I go straight now," he bit out already turning for door, "to fetch stronger herb‑mix from the physician's quarters."