I’d left Cair in bed, sleeping soundly for the first time since we’d left the capital—maybe even before that, if I was being honest. Normally, he would rise before I did, or he’d stir as soon as my eyes blinked open, he was just so in tune with my body and so unwilling to miss a single second of me being awake. In this instance, though, all the exhaustion and distress had caught up to him, but thankfully, putting a pause on the war had given him the chance to take advantage of every moment we had to spare. He’d still grumbled unintelligibly when I’d first attempted to sneak out, his arms curling instinctively around me to try and coax me back to him, but I couldn’t oblige. I’d needed the fresh air, so I’d kissed him on the forehead, promising I would be safe if he went back to sleep, and surprisingly, he’d listened without much protest.

Or his body had.

We had slept together every night since our heartfelt connection in the bathtub barely a week ago, often sleeping in until much later in the mornings than we were used to back at the palace. Cair needed it as much as I did: the rest and the closeness. He’d spent much of our journey here being concerned for me. Comforting me through nightmares, searching tirelessly for the reaper’s master, and even once the worst had blown over, he’d been so wired that he couldn’t relax long enough to drift off.

His head was a whirlwind, and I understood that feeling. He was filled with unresolved rage, his instincts were fighting against him, and thoughts of me lying dead were still clear in his mind. Every time he had come near me, he felt a fire ignite in his gut, even more so whenever I’d matched the energy. At first he’d tempered the flames, gritting his teeth and bearing them for my sake, offering what innocent affections he could muster, but as the days passed, it had become harder and harder for him to resist. He hadn’t wanted to risk delaying my healing, so instead of seeking any comfort with me, he’d left the room once I was deep in sleep and sat by the fire in the living room, thinking. Stewing.

I felt fucking awful that it had taken so long for me to notice his suffering. The bags under his eyes, the weariness in his frame, the irrationality. I’d automatically jumped on the self-conscious train, instead of realizing he was just too stressed to be fully present, but I knew he didn’t hold it against me. I didn’t know if that perception made me feel worse or better, but either way, we were both heading in the right direction, and that was what mattered.