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The connection broke.

Dull silver eyes struggled to open.

Garrik collapsed back in the chair. A throbbing pulse threatened the sanity behind his eyes. Unable to form one structured thought or any amount of ambition to move. Even lacking the motivation to breathe. The one thing that wassupposed to be easy, he had tochooseto continue doing. He was exhausted. In more ways than one.

So starsdamned tired…

But his eyes, they could not stay closed. For the moment he began to slip into the darkness, the moment he would drift away?—

This time, Smokeshadows brought him an entire bottle.

It would not be enough. No matter how much. It was never enough.

A tap at the entrance had him setting the bottle beside his chair as a hushed, bleary voice drifted through the canvas. “Sire? Might I come and bring you something to eat?”

Garrik stood from his chair at Eldacar’s voice. He opened the entrance, allowing him to come inside. “Thank you, Eldacar.”

Eldacar stepped inside, the scent of the steaming bowl of stew proceeding his arrival.

Garrik had moved to the table and pulled a chair to the center of the room, sitting it angled to the side but facing his own. The High Prince waited for Eldacar to sit before taking the bowl and finding his own. They sat in silence. Garrik ate slowly, blinking away the exhaustion with every savory spoonful as Eldacar twirled his thumbs in enclosed hands.

When the silence was too much, Eldacar leaned forward in his chair. His mouth opened and lingered there before he retracted to twirl his thumbs.

“Out with it.” Garrik spooned another bite.

From the expression on his face, Eldacar was quite hesitant. He peered down at his boots and twisted one in the pelt covering the dirt. “How many days has it been since you’ve slept?” Eldacar’s eye held the reflection of Garrik’s untouched cot.

He continued to eat.

“You mustn't push yourself this far, sire.”

Garrik swallowed a hearty bite. “I am fine.” And scraped the last of the stew inside.

“You’re not fine. You look like you will collapse at any moment. How many shields are you holding? Not to mention the amount of darkness you’ve been using. I’m surprised you’re still conscious. You need rest, sire…Real sleep.” Eldacar opened his bag and began to shuffle around inside. Glass clanged together in his search.

Real sleep?Garrik held back a scoff and instead exhaled an easy sigh, watching as Eldacar produced a familiar jar.

Lifting his palm in a pointed gesture, Garrik refused to use it. “I will sleep when I am dead.” He grinned, placing the empty bowl on the ground before walking to the table and shuffled through the parchments lying there.

But Eldacar continued. “That may very well be soon if you don’t rest. The books warn that if you push too far?—”

“I know what the books say. I will not hear this again.” Garrik glanced over his shoulder to see Eldacar surveying the ground with a blush heating his freckled cheeks. It was not lost on him that Eldacar simply cared. They all did—too much. But their concern was ill-placed. Misguided. Unaccepted.

He was … fine.

“I have news of Aiden,” Garrik redirected. “Thalon confirmed that if he should continue breathing by morning, recovery is strongly expected.”

Those flushed cheeks swelled Eldacar’s glasses up his face. Relief bubbled with a long exhale. “Thank Maker of the Skies. Never thought I’d see the day when Aiden would be brought down over a female.” Eldacar shook his head, meeting Garrik’s quiet smirk.

Garrik turned his eyes to the unicorn insignia crested on the correspondence crackling in his grip, but the ink lettering was ablur. The subject of discussion lost to his sight behind flooding memories.

In the simplest and kindest terms … Aiden belonged in a brothel. His ventures were wholly relentless over pursuing females. Not only of his own kind but in any form of High Fae or faerie. Relentless and unabashed.

In the past, even quite recently, Garrik unwillingly interrupted his captain in the throes of his night’s latest consensual conquest. One in particular sent a repulsed shiver down his spine recollecting an opened door and a pale ass pounding into a creature that smelled of stagnant sea on a blistering day.

Many times, Garrik had rescued Aiden from threatening fathers over their daughter’s honor or paying the dues of parlor house visits. Even so, Garrik would never admit it, but he would not wish Aiden differently.

The daydream faded. Garrik placed the parchment on the pile, splaying his fingers to shuffle pages across the table. Grinning over the obvious tampering—and not from his own hand—and poured himself another glass of bourbon before returning to his chair beside Eldacar.