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“Well, you’re not,” she croaked.

To feel her spirit—that vibrant, addictive, spirit—stir back to life wedged air in his throat.

“I thought I had lost you for a moment,” Torin whispered as he ran a gentle hand over her bruised cheek.

She waited before responding, but a flood of tears filled her eyes. “I thought I was going to lose you when you came through the doors to the observatory.”

“You were never going to lose me.” He squeezed her hand and contemplated kissing her again.

“I…I…have so much to say—”

“Shh.” He let a thumb run over her cheek again. He knew she was going to start a discussion about the blood that ran through her veins. That didn’t need to be a discussion today. “It’s okay,” he reassured her. “We can talk later, when you are feeling better.”

She gave him a sorrow-filled smile, one that broke his heart. “Why are you still here? Why don’t you hate me?” A small tremor started wobbling in her chin.

“I could never hate you,” he breathed.

Even if her father was Balan.

He swallowed.

“Hello, my love,” his mother said as she entered the infirmary, dressed in her healing attire. Gideon followed at her heels, his face grave. His mother’s hair was tied back in a bun, but a few of her curls had come loose, like always. No matter how hard she tried, she was never able to tame them.

“She woke around a minute ago,” he informed his mother, still holding Emara’s hand. Naya looked down to where their fingers met. A sparkle flared in her eye as she looked back to Torin. He glanced at Gideon, whose face was unreadable, but he refused to let go of her hand. “And she has already told me off, so that seems like a good sign to me.”

His mother smiled at him and then Emara. “Well, it seems like she is in fighting spirits for a steady recovery.”

“It’s good to have you back, Emara,” Gideon said, a strain in his voice.

She nodded at him, her eyes lowering.

“I feel fine,” Emara said through gritted teeth. She began to rise, pushing against the bed.

His mother moved. “Oh no, my love, just stay put with your head against that pillow. You have suffered a bad concussion and head wounds. You can’t move around just yet. We brought you back to the Blacksteel Tower so that you could rest in your old room until you are ready to go back to normal life. All the empresses send their love for what you did for them.” Naya’s hand reached Emara, and Torin saw Emara take in all the flowers in the room that had been sent. “They will be eternally grateful. Every witch in the kingdom will be. What you endured, what you—” Naya placed a hand to her mouth.

“Honestly, I feel okay,” Emara said. She winced again as her head touched the soft fabric. “I should get up. I will have so much paperwork to catch up on.”

Torin laughed. “Stay put, please. Lorta and Kaydence have organised everything for when you have made a full recovery.”

She always had something to prove.

“No, my darling, your duties will have to wait for a little while,” Naya said, moving the blankets back around her. “Rest up. Healer’s orders.” She raised an eyebrow and ushered Torin to step back.

Placing a small kiss on the back of Emara’s hand, he pulled himself away reluctantly, then took himself over to the fireplace to stand beside Gideon.

His heartbeat quickened as he watched his mother tend to her. Devotion and affection swirled in his heart, and it caught in his throat as he watched the two women that meant the most to him interacting.

What was wrong with him?

He needed to train or spar or something.

Fuck.

Emara’s eyes caught his, her beautiful irises the colour of swords now. As their gazes locked, the whole room spun for a second.

How he felt was indescribable. It was something he had felt only for her.

He was ready to admit that to her.