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It was enough.

Alora fired off the bed before she could hear the rest of his words. An amused chuckle echoed behind her, and she lockedherself inside a bathroom that seemed too large to be attached to the room they rented. But it didn’t matter. There was a tub large enough for two of her, steaming with clean water and a mound of crackling bubbles. Vials of soaps, shampoos, and washcloths that looked like they’d never been used a day in their life sat on its ledge. Plump towels had been left by the tub, and a rug at its base offered comfort as if it had been waiting for only her.

Her battle-black armor peeled from her body. She tried not to gag at the flaking dried blood and stars-knows-what else dusting down onto the wooden floorboards. Catching a glimpse of herself in the mirror, the amber glow of the candles danced off her porcelain skin, causing her to appear a few shades darker. The bags that plagued under her eyes for so many years had mostly faded. And where hollow cheeks once sunk in, they were now more filled, even lifted. And if it wasn’t for the specks of blood, her white hair would have completely glowed.

A smile twitched the corners of her mouth.

For once, she didn’t mind who stared back as she turned away and stepped a foot into the steaming water. Thanking the stars as the glorious heat washed over her screaming feet, she lowered herself until the water swept over horrendously sore shoulders. And for the first time in years, Alora closed her eyes, relaxing into the bliss of a bath.

She hadn’tfeltlike this in years.

Not worrying about Kaine barging in to rip her out by her hair and drag her across cold marble floors. Not listening to his screams from down the hall, before she would panic and jump out, covering herself. Waiting for whatever rage induced fury was to come or what piece of furniture he’d break with her body.

No. Right then—everything seemed peaceful—felt peaceful. It shouldn't have. Not with Elysian’s Savage Prince on the other side of the thin wooden door. Not with the threat of Ravens wandering the town.

Alora sunk under the water, her hair fanning around her head in a white halo as she allowed it to wash over her memories.

Clothing rested foldedin a pile in front of the door; soft, silk night pants and a crimson tunic that was just as smooth. She’d dreaded sliding the fighting leathers back on and over clean skin the moment she stepped from the bath. Alora didn’t have to guess where they came from. And though she didn’t want anything from Garrik, still, she tugged them on. Even stifling the smile that threatened to climb up her face when the silk brushed so delightfully against her skin.

But that disdain instantly misted away the moment she walked through the threshold.

Garrik…

He sat hunched in the chair next to the window, elbows resting on his knees and chin tucked to chest, lost to the darkness that swirled around him like gathering storm clouds. A silver gleam of a ring reflected against the amethyst moonlight, drawing her attention to the rhythmic swirls of his fingers rolling tension out of the back of his neck.

Noiselessly, she watched him as if he were unaware of her presence, then slipped through the threshold and peddled across the dusty floor until his low, weary voice surrendered.

“You here to chastise me again?” he murmured, not lifting his head. Those strong fingers stopped kneading and sunk craters into his muscles. “I am not sure I would survive it right now. So if you wish to deliver my end, now would be the perfect time.”

Part of her searched for the words, the ones that cut as sharp as shattered glass and sent her poisoned tongue to sizzle anger and bitterness into his skin, but the other half remembered the male who had been wholly awestruck by her sparks in the night sky. The male who was tender and warm and so peaceful that he was seemingly incapable of breathing.

Alora cautiously extended a step, said, “Not tonight. I still need a way back to camp,” and dared to ask when he didn’t smile or even so much as lift his head, “what’s bothering you?” Trying to mask that slight worry in her voice, coaxing him into talking about what she’d seen bubbling inside him since they flew from the dock.

Garrik dropped his head lower, fingers splaying through his hair until his nails curled brutally into his scalp. “I think it would be far easier to tell you what is not.” His words were flat, tormented.

She dared another step. The worry only built as she stopped inches from his boots. Still, he didn’t look at her. He said nothing more at all, which only fed her concern. “You don’t have to go through whatever this is alone.” She hoped he could hear the sincerity in her tone.

But he darkly laughed. A sound that sent vicious shivers through her bones. “Ihaveto.”

Alora held her gaze on the slow curl of his fingers, imagining for a moment a tint of crimson. “Why?”

He didn’t respond for some time.

At last, he deepened a breath. “To keep everyone safe.”

Everyone—she knew he meant so much more than his friends, his Shadow Order, his Dragons. He meant he’d shoulder the burden of Elysian’s safety, too. And far beyond that, if given the chance. She’d come to know him as the selfless male who would battle a beast on wings of shadows for someone who wanted nothing more than his death. Garrik, the Savage Prince,who would quite possibly save the most ruthless heart if he could find a way.

Butthis. This wasn’t the High Prince she knew. This wasn’t the male who taunted and irritated her until her cheeks would scarlet and her blood would boil, threatening to launch a fist at his smug face or tease back. The lovely, smooth-talking High Fae she met in a tavern or the stone wall High Prince of sophisticated grace who led armies. Who flashed her the most honest smiles when no one was around or spoke of strength and comfort in sun-kissed tents.

There was no trace of him there.

And Alora couldn’t bear it. Couldn’t bear the thought—the question—who kept him safe?

Garrik went still when her fingers lightly brushed his chin.

Look at me. Come on, just look at me, she thought, needing to see his eyes.

For a moment, the softness of her fingertips brushed his skin. Then, she lifted his chin, expecting to see silver.