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“You’re the last, aren’t you?” she realizes with the kind of clarity that cuts. “The last guardian.”

“Was the last.” The admission cuts deep, jaw tight with old pain. “Twenty years of carrying an oath that felt broken. Then you walked into my world and made it all make sense.”

“That’s a lot of pressure for someone who just learned she’s not human.”

“Lucky for us you’re stubborn as hell.” My thumb strokes across her cheek. “Lucky you chose me to help carry it.”

The healing water works its magic, drawing poison from her system and knitting together whatever the Truth Stone damaged. But more than that, the connection between us grows stronger—guardian to royal, protector to protected, two halves of something ancient finally finding each other.

“Okay, healing’s done,” she announces after what feels like hours but was probably only minutes. “Time to get out before someone comes looking.”

“Not yet, Thorn.” I don’t budge, arms still bracketing her in the warm water. “You need rest. Real rest, not stubborn soldier recovery.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re exhausted. There’s a difference.”

“Orion.” She turns in my arms, eyes flashing with that royal authority that makes my blood sing. “I can handle myself.”

“I know you can, Thorn. Doesn’t mean you should have to.” I lift her effortlessly from the water, ignoring her protests. “The tree hollow’s got soft moss, stays warm, completely secure. You’re sleeping.”

“You can’t just decide?—”

“Watch me.”

I carry her to the ancient tree’s hollow despite her increasingly creative threats, settling her into the soft moss that lines the natural chamber. The moment we cross the threshold, she goes rigid in my arms.

“No,” she breathes, panic flooding her scent. “Orion, I can’t—the last time I was in here?—”

“Hey.” I stop immediately, kneeling in the entrance so she can see the open air behind us. “This isn’t like before, Thorn. You’re not buried. You’re not alone. And you can leave anytime you want.”

Air catches in her throat. “I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. Thought I was going to die in the dark.”

“Look at me.” I wait until her wild eyes focus on mine. “You’re not trapped. The opening stays clear. And I’ll be right here—no one gets past me to hurt you.”

“Promise me.” It comes out more like an order than a request, but I catch the fear underneath. “Because if you’re lying—” She stops herself. Fae can’t lie. “Because I need to know someone’s telling me the truth.”

“I promise. I’ll sit right in the doorway where you can see me. Nothing gets through without going through me first.”

“This is ridiculous,” she mutters, but she’s already relaxing into the moss, her body finally admitting what her mind won’t. “I don’t need a nursemaid.”

“You don’t need a lot of things, Thorn. Doesn’t stop you from deserving them.” I brush a strand of hair from her face, marveling at how something so fierce can look so fragile. “Sleep. I’ll keep watch.”

“What if the nightmares come back?” Her voice cracks despite her best efforts to stay steady. “What if I can’t tell what’s real anymore?”

The vulnerability in her voice makes something crack open in my chest. “Then I’ll wake you up and remind you who you really are. As many times as it takes.”

I position myself in the entrance, back against one side of the opening, legs stretched across to the other. A living barrier between her and the world.

“See? Can’t get more guarded than that,” I tell her. “Nothing gets past without my permission.”

Her eyes flutter closed, exhaustion finally winning the war against stubborn will. “Every day?”

“Every day,” I promise, settling into watch position. “For as long as you’ll have me.”

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