I'd been running nonstop for days.
New staff members, revised battle plans, kitchen shortages, supply delays, a squabble between two of her high-ranking lieutenants—and through all of it, I kept going. From dusk until dawn, no breaks. No complaints. Just work.
I didn't even realize how tired I looked until I entered the throne room that evening, scrolls tucked under one arm, and she looked up from her war table with a frown.
"You look like you've been beaten with a steel club."
"Only emotionally," I offered with a weak smile.
She stood, walked toward me, and took the scrolls from my hands.
"You're resting."
"I'm really fine," I said, reaching for the documents again. "There's still so much to—"
"That was not a suggestion," she said flatly. "That was an order."
I sighed. "So… what do I do then?"
She looked me over once.
"Don't break anything."
With no direction, I wandered to the other side of the throne room and sat on the steps beneath the great stained-glass windows. I watched her as she returned to her seat—radiant, poised, wrapped in dark silks and authority.
Her wings shifted every few minutes. Her tail occasionally twitched in irritation when she came across something in the report she didn't like. Her fingers tapped against her cheek, deep in thought.
I don't know how long I sat there.
She noticed.
"Why are you just staring at me?" she said, not looking up.
"I wasn't doing anything," I said.
"That's the problem."
I blinked.
"Come closer," she said.
I stood and walked forward.
"Closer."
I took a few more steps.
She turned her head slightly. "You think that's close?"
I hesitated.
Then, finally, she patted the cushion beside her throne.
I obeyed, sitting stiffly beside her, shoulders tense.
She continued working, eyes on the scrolls in front of her, pretending my presence meant nothing.
It meant everything.
"I could be working, you know," I said softly.
She didn't look up.
"You'll work when I tell you to work."
"But—"
"And stop asking."
I shut up.
She scribbled something with a feathered quill. Dipped it in ink again. Her expression barely changed.
But once—just once—her wing twitched toward me.
By the time she finally finished and rolled up the last scroll, the candles in the chamber had burned low.
She set the documents aside, leaned back against her throne, and sighed.
"You've wasted your brain on me."
I looked at her. "What do you mean?"
"You could have studied magic. Been a scholar. Or a craftsman. You spend all your time watching me, waiting on me. Working for me."
I smiled faintly. "That's not a waste."
She narrowed her eyes.
"I just like being around you."
She didn't answer.
But her fingers brushed mine.
Just once.
The headache came first.
Then the dizziness. Then the chills, then the heat, then the kind of fatigue that made my bones feel like they weighed a hundred pounds each.
I tried to ignore it.
The castle didn't stop because I was tired. The scrolls didn't organize themselves. The war council still needed their briefings, the throne room still needed cleaning, and Vilo's favorite tea didn't steep itself.
So I kept working.
I didn't say anything. I smiled where I could. Pushed through the blur in my vision. Carried on.
It was only when I staggered against the throne room wall, quietly panting, that one of her senior advisors—a horned woman named Ervanna, who'd spent years studying human biology—stepped in.
"You're sick," she said bluntly. "You need to lie down before you collapse."
Vilo looked up from her scrolls.
"What?"
Ervanna turned to her calmly. "He's burning with fever. I can smell it. You can't tell because he's always warm from serving near your fire."
Vilo's eyes narrowed.
She looked at me.
I looked away.
"Did you know you were sick?" she asked coldly.
"I… maybe a little," I admitted weakly.
She stood.
"You knew."
"I thought it was just a little cold—"
"Go to bed."
Her voice cracked like thunder through the throne room.
"I said I'm fine—"
"That was an order."
I didn't argue again.
---
Hours later, I lay under a mountain of thick blankets in her bed. Not mine—hers. I was too weak to move, too hot to sleep, and too miserable to enjoy being in the one place I usually felt safe.
The door creaked open.
She entered.
No armor. No robes. Just a loose wrap around her frame, her silver hair cascading down her back.
She sat on the edge of the bed, staring at me with eyes filled not with fury—but with something worse.
Hurt.
"Why?" she asked, voice low. "Why would you be so stupid?"
"I had a responsibility," I whispered, coughing. "To take care of you. To make sure everything runs smoothly."
She looked away. Her claws dug into the blankets.
"You thought I'd be disappointed in you."
I hesitated.
"I didn't want you to think I couldn't do my job…"
She was silent for a long time.
Then she turned back to me.
"I'm your wife before I am your ruler."
Those words hit harder than any blade.
"I chose you. I brought you here. I made you mine. And now you're telling me that I'm not allowed to take care of you?"
I opened my mouth, but she didn't let me speak.
"You insult me," she said quietly. "By hiding your pain. By pretending I wouldn't care. You think I wouldn't drop my crown the moment I saw you fall?"
I stared at her.
She stood and turned toward the doorway.
"Tomorrow," she said firmly, "you will do nothing. And I will take care of you."
"I'll be fine—"
"You're not allowed to argue."
"But I—"
She glanced over her shoulder, her expression sharper than any sword.
"Do not make me repeat myself."
And then she left.
I sank deeper into the pillows, throat dry, heart pounding, skin on fire from more than just the fever.
She cared.
She cared so much, it hurt her that I didn't see it.