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Gods.Food.

My eyes blinked open slowly, lashes heavy. The room was warm, the fire still crackling low, and the first thing I saw was a tray placed on the chest near the bed. Steam curled up from it—roasted meat, thick broth, baked bread glazed with butter. Anapple, perfectly red. Cheese. A small glass of dark berry wine. And next to it all, a vase of fresh flowers—roses, pale yellow with soft orange curling around the edges of the petals, delicate and open.

My chest ached looking at them. They didn’t belong in a cold northern outpost. They didn’t belong inmy world.But they were beautiful.

“You’re awake,” Andros said from near the hearth, already dressed, sleeves rolled up, hair slightly damp like he’d washed. His dark blue eyes burned like frozen flame, cold, brilliant, and impossible to look away from.

I pulled the fur tighter around me, sitting up slowly. My body ached in places I didn’t want to think about too hard. “How long was I out?”

“Long enough,” he said. “I was about to pour that broth over your head.”

I ignored him and lunged for the food. The second I took the first bite—thick, hot bread smeared with soft cheese—I groaned. Loudly.

He raised a brow. “That good?”

“Shut up.”

I didn’t stop. I tore through the meal like I hadn’t eaten in days—which, thinking back on it, was nearly true. The meat vanished in minutes. I drank the broth straight from the bowl, ignoring the spoon entirely. I had half the apple in my mouth before I even looked up.

“You need to chew,” Andros said, amusement creeping into his voice. “Slow down, you’re going to choke.”

I narrowed my eyes.

Then I tossed the rest of the apple at his head.

He caught it, laughing under his breath. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I didn't respond at first, just took another bite of bread andglanced again at the roses.

“Who brought the flowers?” I asked quietly.

Andros shrugged. “One of the servants. Garrick probably made someone go out and cut them from the greenhouse back at the ridge. Figured you’d like something soft in the room.”

After I finished eating, I collapsed back into the pillows with a sigh that came from somewhere deep in my soul. The furs tangled around my legs again, and I didn’t bother fixing them. I was exhausted. Every muscle felt wrung out, my skin too sensitive, my thoughts still half-floating in a haze of afterglow and fatigue.

Andros came to sit on the edge of the bed, arms crossed, watching me like a wolf who’d finally cornered something wild—and didn’t know what to do now that it had stopped fighting.

“You good?” he asked, lips twitching.

“I’m sore,” I muttered.

He smirked. “From the riding orthe riding?”

I threw a pillow at his head. He dodged it easily, chuckling to himself. Then he leaned forward, brushing hair from my face with fingers that, for once, weren’t rough or demanding. Just gentle.

“I’ll get a bath drawn. You’re not moving anywhere without soaking those legs first.”

“You’re bossy when you’re smug,” I mumbled, eyes half-closing.

“And you’re clingy when you’re tired,” he shot back.

“Am not.”

He smiled, then stood, grabbing the tray and setting it aside. As he moved to the door to bark orders about the bath, I finally asked the question that had been sitting in my chest like a stone.

“Where’s Dain?”

Andros paused. His back was to me for a moment, then he turned, his expression softer than I’d expected.