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“I was adjusting. I will be fine in a few minutes. I’ve trained for this.”

He huffed out another harsh breath of frustration. “I did not mean to imply that you are weak. I know you are anything but.”

“You know nothing about me,” she retorted.

“I know more than you think.” His eyes dipped to her chest, to where a Curse Mark adorned her skin beneath her tunic, before he met her gaze once more.

“Who told you about that?” she hissed, the sting of betrayal making her ears ring.

“I’ve seen it before. That night you reacted poorly to the Healer’s tonic.”

“I know you’ve seen it. Who told you what it was?”

“No one. I have studied ancient magic and Marks for decades. The first time I saw it, I knew what it was.” His tone had gone impossibly soft for the male she knew him to be. Her gaze went to her lap because she didn’t want to see the sympathy shining in his. “Who gave you that Mark, Eliza?”

“You need to leave.” Her chest was tight, breathing too difficult, as the memory of receiving that Mark surged to the forefront of her mind.

At a blade being dragged across her mother’s throat.

At men holding her down while the male she’d known to be her father gave her the Mark.

Curse Marks were just that. A curse. From the moment they were given. They burned when etched into one’s skin. She’d never experienced the pain of a burn until that day—not with fire in her veins—and this one seared her very soul.

Then there was being abandoned, left to fend for herself. Having to learn to trust again, and still not letting anyone really see all of her.

“I know those feelings,mai dragocen.”

She’d forgotten he was still sitting there with the flood of memories. Her emotions had to be screaming at him down the bond she did not want.

“Who gave you that Mark, Eliza?” he repeated.

“It does not matter. It’s done. Please leave.”

“I’m not leaving. Not after I all but drained you of your magic.” She turned to look at him. His body was angled towards her, his arm draped along the back of the sofa, fingers resting near her shoulder. “It’s not supposed to be like this,” he said again.

“None of it is supposed to be like this,” she replied. “But life does not give a shit about how things are supposed to be.”

“That is a fair statement,” he conceded. He shifted his arm along the back of the sofa, bringing his hand up to rest his temple against his fist as he studied her. He didn’t say anything else, a comfortable silence settling between them.

Finally, Eliza said, “You can stay in my rooms under two conditions.”

“I cannot wait to hear what they are,” he replied dryly.

“You’re sleeping out here. On the sofa.”

A brow arched. “We have shared a bed before. Was I not behaved?”

She scowled at him. “You said we never needed to discuss that again. Stay out here, or find another room.”

“We can circle back to this topic. What is your other condition, Milady?”

“We are not ‘circling back’ to this, Razik,” she said indignantly. She would have said more, but he was leaning closer now, and her thoughts had scattered at the small smirk on lips that were all sorts of distracting.

“The second condition?” he pressed.

She held his gaze when she said, “You never speak of the Mark I bear again.” He went still. “Never again, Razik.”

He opened his mouth, but before he could say anything in response, there was a knock on her door. “General?”