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His words jolt me. “Please,” I demand gripping the edge of the bar. It’s a little too loud, and heads turn. The back of my neck heats. “The wine is a sleeping aide.”

Ezra’s eyebrow arches. “Do you normally have trouble sleeping?”

“Oh, yes,” I tell him, sleep-deprived laughter burbling up in my throat.

The finished drink swims in my vision. I reach for it, but to my dismay my palm doesn’t connect.

“Whoa there.” Ezra is moving away, and I whimper in displeasure. A moment later he’s here on the other side of the counter, an arm around my waist.

I shudder.Much better than the wine.

He curses. “Sweets—you’re so out of it. Let’s get you off your feet.”

He navigates me to a booth, although how he manages when my limbs are water, I’m not sure. I drift for a moment, and when I come to I’m clinging to him, his hard chest under my palm, his arm tucked across my wings.

“Please,” I mumble, not sure what I’m asking for.

Ezra deposits me in the booth and sets the drink in front of me. He shoots a look back at the bar and curses again. “I can’t stay. I’ll check on you when it’s calmed down, but drink this, okay?”

“Say you’ll come back.”

He swipes a hand over his face. His cheeks are dark pink in the low light, all the way down to his jaw. “I’ll come back, I promise.”

I slump into the booth and let my eyes drift shut.

I don’t know what wakes me — probably the normal chatter of the club. I jolt upright, my memory firing with perfect clarity. Humiliation bursts in my veins.

Oh, no.

I look around frantically. The club is fuller than before and I can’t see if he’s still behind the bar. I made such a fool of myself. He said he’d check on me, but I don’t want to face him.

I leave the riigan wine on the table and flee. I’m sure I’ll sleep like the dead tonight.

After that, the unbearable but obvious conclusion is that I need to break this ridiculous dependence on the human.

Unfortunately sleeplessness makes me terrible company, and it isn’t long before I’ve been rude to nearly everyone at The Sanctum in my quest to stay away from Ezra. I can’t seem to make myself stop. I watch as if from afar, horrified with my own behaviour.

“You need a hand?” Larch offers as I struggle with the newfangled human-style laundering machine. For some reason I’ve decided that keeping busy will distract me, but everything the staff normally does for me is infuriatingly complicated.

“I can do it,” I hiss, glaring at the knobs and dials.

“Alright.” Larch holds up his hands. “Just offering.”

Wrestling with the machine calms me enough to regret my snappishness. When it’s finally humming away, I escape back to my room, not that it improves my mood much. The four walls that used to comfort me now feel claustrophobic. In a fit of frustration, I throw open my box of fabrics and dig through them, looking for something fiddly enough to hold my attention.

A beautiful white silk lace catches my eye. I haven’t made a costume for myself in a while — and when I do, they’re pretty but utilitarian, designed for Bear’s comfort. It would be nice to make something that justfeelsexciting.

The thrill of cutting, tacking, and folding chases away my exhaustion for a few hours, but by the time Orion knocks on the door, I’m starting to flag again. I rub my face with a sigh and get up to let him in.

“Dinner, Your Highness.” He gives me a faintly menacing grin and my stomach sinks. He slides past me and sets a plate on the dresser.

Both the title and his shallow bow afterward are pointed. They saystop acting like a spoiled princeling.

“Thank you,” I tell him, fighting not to squirm under his eye.

“Thank Larch,” he replies smoothly. “He seems to think you need buttering up.”

I wince. “If you could pass on my apologies —”