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“Gods,” I said, lifting my gaze to hers. “You could’ve been disemboweled.”

“You’ve always been so observant,” she snapped.

And I was also glad to see her temper hadn’t been wounded. “Why didn’t you say anything? This could become infected.”

“Well, there really wasn’t a lot of time,” she said, standing there with her arms at her sides. “Considering you were busy betraying me.”

“That’s no excuse.”

She let out a cutting laugh. “Of course, not. Silly me for not realizing that the person who had a hand in murdering the people I care about, who betrayed me and made plans with the one who helped to slaughter my family to use me for some nefarious means, would care that I was wounded.”

She was right.

She was completely right to think that.

And also utterly fearless.

“Always so brave,” I murmured, dropping her shirt. I turned. “Delano,” I called out, knowing he wouldn’t have gone too far. The wolven appeared in a heartbeat. I quickly told him what I needed, then I waited. I knew Poppy had returned to leaning against the wall and could come at me at any moment.

But I didn’t think she would. That wound was causing her pain.

Delano returned, handing the items to me in a basket. I could tell he wanted to ask about her before he left.

I faced her. “Why don’t you lie—?” I looked around, shoulders tensing once more upon seeing the mattress. “Why don’t you lie down?”

“I’m fine standing, thanks.”

Impatience grew as I moved toward her. There was no way I could do this with her standing. “Would you rather I get on my knees?”

Poppy held my stare as her lips started to curve up—

“I don’t mind.” I drew my lower lip between my teeth. “Doing so would put me at the perfect height for something I know you’d enjoy. After all, I’m always craving honeydew.”

Her eyes went wide as anger heightened the color in her cheeks. It wasn’t the only thing, though. For a moment there, a different kind of heat hit her blood.

Poppy pushed off the wall and stomped her way to the mattress. She sat. “You’re repulsive.”

I laughed as I walked over to her and knelt, having gotten what I needed from her. For her to sit. And I also discovered that she was still attracted to me despite everything. “If you say so.”

“I know so.”

I grinned, placing the basket on the floor. She checked it out, probably looking for something that could be turned into a weapon. She would be disappointed there. I motioned for her to lie back.

“Bastard,” she muttered but did as I requested.

“Language.” I reached for her shirt again, but she grabbed it herself. That reminded me of something very important. Control. She needed control because she never had any. “Thank you.”

Her lips thinned.

I smiled slightly, pulling a bottle from the basket. A bitter, sharp scent crowded the cell the moment I unscrewed the lid.

“I want to tell you a story,” I said, eyeing the wound.

“I am not in the mood for story time—” Poppy gasped and grabbed my wrist with both hands as I took hold of the clothing. “What are you doing?”

“The blade damn near ripped out your rib cage.” Anger sparked. “It extends up the side of your ribs.” I waited for her to deny that. She didn’t. “I’m guessing this happened when the sword was wrestled from you?”

Poppy stayed silent, but her grip remained on my wrist. Did she think…?

I sighed. “Believe it or not, I’m not trying to undress you so I can take advantage of you. I’m not here to seduce you, Princess.”

Her lips parted as she stared up at me. Her shoulders lifted from the mattress, and her fingers were too damn cold against the skin of my wrist. A tremor ran through her once more, and I had no idea what was going through her head at the moment. It could be anything, but the longer she stared at me, the more I knew it wasn’t good. Her thoughts were painful. I saw that in how her eyes started to glisten.

And I heard it in the hoarseness of her voice when she asked, “Was any of it true?”

Was any of it…?

I knew then what I should’ve made myself see while we were in the stables. That she had forgotten that our time together earlier was real.

Poppy let go of my wrist, closing her eyes. Mine followed. Anger rose. She’d forgotten. The anger I felt was wrong. I knew that, but I was also furious with myself for expecting her to remember. There was no point in telling her otherwise. She wouldn’t believe me.

Opening my eyes, I got to work. Lifting her shirt again, I looked closer at the wound’s jagged edges. I needed to close the gash, and there was a much easier, quicker alternative to what was to come. I could give her my blood, but I would have to force her to take it. This would hurt her, but completely stripping her of control? I had a feeling that would do lasting damage.