The fire had burned low, embers pulsing orange in the dark, and still she shook.

Elise lay curled on her side, the fluffy tunic bunched around her thighs, her bare legs tangled in sheets that were damp with sweat and tears she couldn't stop. Every breath came ragged. Every shift sent a fresh wave of pain through her core—raw, burning, like she'd been torn open from the inside.

The healer pressed cool fingers to her forehead. Elise flinched.

"Still hot," the woman murmured. Not to her. To herself. Like Elise was a puzzle she was trying to solve.

Elise wanted to laugh. You have no idea.

No one had any idea.

The princess had knocked twice. Elise had croaked something—she didn't remember what—and the footsteps had retreated. A knight had come to the door with a report about border patrol rotations. The healer had sent him away. Elise had heard his boots fade down the corridor and felt relief so sharp it hurt worse than the fever.

They couldn't see her like this.

The princess's favourite knight, reduced to a shuddering mess in a bed that smelled of sickness. The woman who'd never missed a dawn watch, who'd sparred through a cracked rib and smiled about it, who'd carried a wounded soldier three miles through a blizzard without stopping.

And now this.

The healer lifted the sheet, checked between her legs for the fourth time that night. Elise squeezed her eyes shut. The touch was clinical, gentle, but her body remembered another touch—wetter, softer, more insistent. A mouth that didn't know when to stop. A tongue that had found her again and again and again.

"The tearing is significant," the healer said, her voice carefully neutral. "I've never seen… I don't know what could have caused this, Elise. The inflammation, the rawness. It's like you were—" She stopped.

Like I was eaten alive, Elise thought. Like a creature with no concept of enough held me open and drank from me until I stopped feeling like a person and started feeling like a meal.

She didn't say it.

She said nothing.

The healer applied more salve—cool, sharp-smelling, herbal. Elise hissed through her teeth. The ache between her legs throbbed in time with her heartbeat, a deep, bone-level soreness that made her want to curl into a ball and never uncurl.

"Rest," the healer said, pulling the sheet back up. "I'll check on you at dawn."

The door closed. The lock clicked.

Elise was alone.

She turned her face into the pillow and let the tears come again.

She wasn't crying from the pain. Not entirely. She was crying because she wanted to see him. Because even now, even with her body screaming protests, even with the memory of collapsing on the stone steps of the abandoned castle courtyard, even with the walk back that had felt like walking on knives—

She wanted to be back in that water.

She wanted his cold hands on her waist. His blue eyes catching moonlight. The soft, wondering sound he'd made when she'd gasped his name.

She wanted to brush his hair again. Feed him strawberries. Watch him smile.

The tears soaked into the pillow. The fire popped. The embers dimmed.

She didn't sleep.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

Day one bled into night into grey morning.

The healer came and went. Brought broth Elise couldn't keep down. Changed the salve. Checked her temperature. Asked questions Elise answered with single syllables or silence.

Are you in pain, Lady Elise?

Yes.

Where?

Everywhere.

Have you been with a man?

No.

The lie came easily. Too easily. Elise stared at the canopy above her bed—heavy velvet, embroidered with the royal crest—and wondered when lying had become so natural.

The healer's eyes lingered. She knew something. Elise could feel it. But she said nothing more, just smoothed the sheets and left a cup of water on the nightstand and closed the door with the same soft click.

Elise stared at the ceiling.

She thought about the lagoon. The way the water looked at midnight—black glass with moonlight shattered across it. The way Azureus had surfaced, his hair plastered to his cheeks, his eyes finding hers like she was the only real thing in the world.

She thought about his mouth.

A fresh wave of heat—not fever—curled through her belly. She ignored it. The ache between her legs throbbed in warning.

You can't, she told herself. You physically cannot.

Her body didn't care. Her body remembered the slide of his tongue, the press of his fingers, the way he'd pulled her deeper into the water and held her there while she shattered against his lips.

She whimpered into the pillow.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

On the second evening, the fever broke.

Elise woke from a half-sleep to find her sheets soaked, her skin prickling with cold, her hair plastered to her forehead. The fire had been rebuilt at some point—she hadn't noticed—and the room was warm, almost stifling.

She pushed herself up. Her arms trembled. Her core screamed in protest.

But she was awake. Clear-headed. Hungry.

The healer appeared as if summoned, took one look at her, and pressed a hand to her forehead. "The fever's gone."

Elise nodded. Her throat was raw. "Water."

The healer brought it. Elise drank until the cup was empty, then drank another. The broth came next—warm, salty, grounding. She finished the whole bowl.

The healer watched her with an unreadable expression.

"You should rest another day," she said finally. "The internal tears need time to heal. If you strain yourself—"

"I know." Elise's voice came out steadier than she felt. "I'll rest."

The healer didn't look convinced. But she didn't argue. She gathered her supplies, gave Elise instructions for the salve, and left with a last, searching glance that Elise met with a blank face.

The door closed.

Elise lay back against the pillows and stared at the canopy.

Tomorrow, she thought. Tomorrow I'll be strong enough.

Tomorrow I'll go back.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

That night, she dreamed of him.

Azureus was floating in the center of the lagoon, his hair spread around him like a halo of spun gold, his silver-blue tail catching the moonlight. He was looking at her with those enormous blue eyes—innocent, waiting, patient in a way that made her chest ache.

She waded toward him. The water was warm. It didn't hurt.

He reached for her, his webbed fingers brushing her cheek, and she turned her face into his palm and kissed the cold skin.

I missed you, she said. Or maybe she only thought it.

He smiled. That soft, slow smile that transformed his face from beautiful to devastating. He touched her lips, her jaw, her throat. His hands slid down her shoulders, her arms, finding her hands and lacing their fingers together.

He pulled her closer.

She let him.

The water lapped at her chin, her lips, her eyes. She didn't need to breathe. She was with him, and the water was warm, and he was holding her, and nothing hurt.

Then the dream shifted, and she was on the shore again, and he was gone, and the lagoon was empty, and she was screaming his name into a silence that didn't answer.

Elise woke gasping.

The fire had burned low. The room was dark. Her cheeks were wet.

She pressed a hand to her chest and felt her heart hammering beneath her ribs. Not from desire. From fear.

What if he wasn't there when she went back?

What if he'd left? What if he'd only stayed because she brought food, and now she'd missed two days, and he'd assumed she abandoned him, and he'd gone back to wherever he came from?

What if she never saw him again?

The thought hit her like a blade between the ribs.

She sat up. Her body screamed. Her muscles protested. The ache between her legs flared into sharp, insistent pain.

She didn't care.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed. The stone floor was cold against her bare feet. She grabbed the chair back, pulled herself upright, and stood there shaking, one hand pressed to her stomach, breathing through the wave of dizziness.

She took a step. Then another. Then another.

By the time she reached the door, she was weeping.

Not from the pain—though the pain was real, a deep, tearing ache that made every step a negotiation. She was weeping because she needed to see him. Because the thought of him waiting alone in that cold water, watching the entrance, hoping she'd come back—

Her hand found the door handle.

She didn't open it.

She stood there, her forehead pressed to the wood, her breath coming in ragged gasps, and she wanted to open the door. She wanted to walk through the castle, through the courtyard, through the abandoned halls, down to the lagoon. She wanted to wade into the water and find him and wrap her arms around him and never let go.

But she couldn't.

She couldn't walk that far. She couldn't climb the broken stairs. She couldn't stand the cold.

She sank to her knees, her forehead still against the door, and she cried.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She woke on the floor, curled against the door, her cheek pressed to the wood.

Dawn light slanted through the window. Grey. Cold. The fire had died completely.

Elise was stiff, shivering, and the pain between her legs had settled into a dull, constant throb instead of the sharp tearing of before. An improvement. Small, but real.

She pushed herself up. Her arms still trembled, but less. Her head was clear. Her stomach—empty, but steady.

She made it back to the bed. Sat on the edge. Stared at her hands.

Callused. Strong. A knight's hands.

She'd never felt less like a knight in her life.

She thought about Azureus. His blue eyes. The way he'd looked at her when she kissed him—like she was something sacred. The way he'd pressed her hand to his heart and let her feel it beat beneath his cold skin.

She thought about the tears in her body. The proof of what they'd done.

She thought about going back.

Tomorrow, she told herself. Tomorrow I'll be strong enough to walk there. Tomorrow I'll bring him food. Tomorrow I'll hold him and he'll forgive me for being gone.

She lay back against the pillows. Stared at the canopy.

Tomorrow.

The word tasted like a promise she wasn't sure she could keep.

The word still sat on her tongue when morning came — fragile, uncertain, already fraying at the edges. She woke to sunlight that felt too bright and a body that still ached, though the sharp edges had worn down to something she could breathe around.

The healer arrived before she'd fully opened her eyes. A brisk woman with grey-streaked hair and hands that knew exactly where to press. She checked Elise's temperature, lifted her eyelids, listened to her chest, and made a sound that could only be described as thoroughly unimpressed.

"You've been out of bed."

Elise said nothing.

"You walked to the door. Don't deny it — I can see the bruising on your knees from the stone floor." The healer sighed, long and heavy, and pressed a warm hand to Elise's forehead. "You are the princess's favorite knight, and you have the self-preservation of a moth."

Elise sniffed. Her nose was still stuffy. Her throat still raw. But her mind was clear, and her heart was pounding with a different kind of urgency now. Not the desperate, clawing need to reach him — that was still there, buried beneath her ribs like a second heartbeat. But something steadier. A plan.

"If someone has lost their voice," Elise said, "and can only speak a few words, and even that is hoarse — how does one treat it?"

The healer stopped mid-motion, a jar of salve in her hand. She looked at Elise with narrowed eyes. "You're not asking for yourself."

"Humor me."

The healer studied her for a long moment. Then she shrugged. "Warm foods. Broth. Soup. Nothing too hot, nothing too cold. Gentle warmth, steady and slow. And rest." She set the jar down with a sharp click. "And please, for god's sake, take care of yourself. You can't help whoever this mystery patient is if you collapse before you reach them."

Elise nodded. Her chest felt tight. Soup. She could do that. She would do that.

The healer left with a final, pointed look and a muttered prayer for the patience of the gods.

Elise dressed slowly. Her leather armor was too heavy, too restrictive — she chose a soft wool tunic instead, loose and warm, with thick trousers and her sturdiest boots. She braided her hair with trembling fingers, tied it off, and left her chambers before she could talk herself out of it.

The village market was crowded. Morning light painted the stalls gold, and the smell of fresh bread and roasting meat hung thick in the air. Elise moved through the bustle like a ghost, her eyes fixed on the cookfires at the far end of the square.

She bought the biggest pot of soup she could carry. Thick with vegetables and herbs, still steaming. Then a loaf of soft bread, still warm from the oven. A small jar of honey. A bundle of dried fish, flaky and sweet. A sack of apples. A wedge of cheese. She kept adding things — a small pastry, a handful of dried plums, a strip of salted meat — until her arms were full and her coin purse was nearly empty.

She didn't care.

She carried everything back to the castle, her muscles burning, her body protesting every step. But she didn't stop. She couldn't stop. Every step was one step closer to him.

Back in her chambers, she laid everything out on the stone floor. The soup in its clay pot, still warm. The bread wrapped in cloth. The honey. The fish. The apples. She stared at the spread and felt something in her chest crack open — a desperate, aching tenderness that made her eyes sting.

She missed him.

The pain of it was worse than the pain in her body. Worse than the tearing ache between her legs, worse than the fever, worse than the cold stone floor she'd slept on. She missed his blue eyes. His soft hair. The way he looked at her like she was the only real thing in the world.

She lay down on her bed, still dressed, still smelling of the market and woodsmoke and the faint salt of her own tears. The afternoon light slanted through the window, warm and golden, and she let her eyes close.

Just a nap, she told herself. Just until the moon rises.

Then I'll go to him.

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

She dreamt of the lagoon.

The water was dark and still, and he was floating at the center, his pale hair spread around him like spun silver, his blue eyes fixed on hers. He reached for her. She reached back. But the water between them kept stretching, widening, until she couldn't touch him no matter how far she leaned —

She woke gasping.

The room was dark. The fire had burned low. Through the window, the sky was a deep, bruised purple, the first stars blinking awake.

Night.

Elise sat up. Her body ached, but the sharp pain had faded to a dull soreness she could work around. She swung her legs over the side of the bed, tested her weight, and found she could stand without collapsing.

Good enough.

She gathered the food. The soup had cooled but was still warm in its clay pot. She wrapped everything in a thick cloth, tied the bundle tight, and slung it over her shoulder. Then she pulled on a heavy cloak — dark wool, hooded, enough to cut the night chill — and slipped out of her chambers.

The castle hallways were quiet. A few guards nodded as she passed. She nodded back. No one stopped her. No one asked where she was going. She was the princess's favorite knight, and she moved like she had a right to every shadow she passed through.

The abandoned wing was darker than she remembered. The torches had burned out, and the only light came from the moon pouring through broken windows. Elise moved by memory, her boots echoing against the stone, her breath fogging in the cold air.

The broken archway loomed ahead.

She stopped.

The lagoon was visible through the gap — dark water, silvered by moonlight, perfectly still. No ripples. No movement. No sign of him.

Her heart clenched.

"Azureus," she whispered.

The water stayed still.