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“How long have you been taking it?” His jaw feathered at the question and I averted my eyes.

“This was the first time. But . . . Valerian root for the last few months,” I admitted, forcing my voice not to crack.

“Okay,” he breathed out, running a hand through his tousled hair as he pushed himself from the floor, standing to his full height. “How much did you take?”

I hesitated.

“The whole vial,” I finally answered and he stayed silent.

I glanced up to see his eyes already on me.

“I thought, because I had been taking Valerian root for so long, that my tolerance would be higher and I just . . . I just needed sleep.” He nodded, reaching for a towel that sat on the vanity across from me and draped it over the edge of the bath.

“You could have died, Ataliia.” His voice was tight as he said the words, but I couldn’t tell if it was anger or fear he was trying to contain. “Do you understand that? If I had not been here, If I had not heard you . . .”

There was nothing I could say—I knew that. And though it wasn’t my intention, I wasn’t fully sure that I would have minded.

“I will make a tea that will flush the excess from your system. Now that you are conscious, you need to get into warm clothing to help the blood flow through your limbs at a regular pace,” he said, walking to the threshold between rooms.

He paused for a long moment, letting out a deep sigh as his fingers tightened around the edge of the door before lookingback toward me. His eyes darkened to the deepest blue I had ever seen as they connected with mine.

“I know the pain you feel, Ataliia—how exquisite it can be. Know what it is like to need an escape from the memories that haunt you to your very core. The ache that consumes every part of you, until you would do anything just to make it stop, even for a moment. But if you stare into hell long enough, the devil will offer you his hand.” His voice was low, almost a whisper as it carried the weight of his own suffering toward me.

“This is not the way. You have to find the strength within yourself to face these demons, to work through the agony. Numbing yourself—taking this path—will only lead you to ruin.”

I stared at him, seeing the raw emotion in his eyes, the understanding born from experience.

At that moment, I knew. Knew he carried wounds as deep as my own, scars on his soul that no one else could see.

He held my gaze a moment longer before turning and disappearing into the other room.

I sat motionless in the now-tepid water, his words echoing in my mind like a griever’s melody. With shaking limbs, I slowly pulled myself from the tub, wrapping the towel around my dripping body. The fabric was soft against my chilled skin as I padded into the bedchamber.

In the adjacent room, I could hear Andrues moving about, preparing the tea as I let the towel drop to the floor. I pulled a heavy tunic over my head, the fabric caressing the back of my thighs as I turned to see Andrues standing in the open doorway with a steaming mug in his hands.

He paused, his eyes flickering over me before quickly averting his gaze and handing me the tonic.

“Drink it all,” he instructed, still not quite meeting my eyes. “It will taste bitter, but it will clear the toxins from your blood.”

I nodded, the heat seeping into my palms as I lifted it to my lips. The liquid scalded my tongue and I welcomed the sensation as I quickly drained it. Setting the empty vessel on the bedside table, I finally lifted my eyes back to Andrues.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice hoarse. I lifted my hand to my neck, as if I could soothe the vocal cords just underneath the surface.

Andrues took two frantic steps toward me, his hands raising quickly to cup my face and pull me toward him. His breath ghosted across my lips as his gaze held mine, intense and unwavering.

And for just a brief moment, I forgot how to breathe.

“Don’t youeverscare me like that again, Ataliia,” he commanded in a whispered plea. The scent of him reignited my senses as it flowed from his skin and I leaned into it.

We stood there, staring back at each other in the silence as his thumbs brushed over the peak of my cheek bones. His touch was gentle, almost possessive, as his fingers flexed against my skin. Then he blinked, taking a step back and breaking the spell between us as a sharp, involuntary breath lodged itself in my throat from the loss of his warmth.

He took another step away from me and cleared his throat.

“You should rest, the tonic will make you tired. I will be nearby if you need anything at all,” he said, tearing his eyes from me as I took a half step forward.

“Please—” I sucked in a ragged breath, forcing myself not to reach for him. “Don’t leave.” The words sounded desperate as they filled the charged air around us.

And they were—desperate.