I stay in my room for the rest of the day and refuse food. I try to sleep, but the tears keep waking me up.

What am I even doing? What do I have left for me?

The morning doesn't come with answers. I'm as lost and empty as before, but now I'm also restless. Sleep isn't interested in me right now and, frankly, I'm not interested in it either.

Sleep is too quiet, and that means my doubts have plenty of room to fill in the silence.

Work, though, is a fantastic way to drown it all out.

With four dragons still patrolling the border, five off to trade the furs, and one stuck in bed, there are only eleven pairs of hands to keep the castle running.

Having grown up a princess, my concept of chores was attending balls and making nice with foreign dignitaries. It will be a steep learning curve, but I'd rather be useful than sulking in my room. It's not like Cephias is going to be up and about to see me in the hallway.

Of course, he may have told the others to keep me behind a locked door again.

When Jennit comes to drop off breakfast, I ask if I can come down and help with what's needed. She cocks her head and studies me for a moment, but tells me I can do as I please.

Either Cephias hasn't expressed his disappointment in me to the others, or she doesn't care when there's so much work to be done. Whatever the reason, I decide to make myself useful.

Or I'll at least try to be useful.

By the end of the day, I think I've done more harm than good helping around the castle. However, I pick up the rhythm quickly, and over the next few days, I become a part of the machine.

At night, I consider taking up beside Cephias again. Word is he's still sleeping more than not. Perhaps I could serve my vigil without him noticing. However, the fierce resentment in his words still echoes in my thoughts, and I can't stomach a second round.

So instead, I spend my evenings constructing the cup that may never end up in Cephias's hand.

The first lump of clay Gatteo delivered was just enough to make something taller than a teacup, but shorter than a glass. I was happy with my craftsmanship, given I don't have a pottery wheel to work with. However, it felt like it needed more.

When Gatteo brought a larger lump the next day without me even asking, I took that as a sign that I had more work to do. So I began fashioning a dragon encircling my creation—a dragon that looks strikingly like a certain orange beast.

Tonight, I'm fashioning the wings, which will arch out with the curve of the cup so it doesn't make it awkward to hold.

A knock at the door sends a jolt of surprise through my focused frame, causing my hand to pinch the wingtip into a thin sheet.

"Who is it?" I call out with a resigned sigh in my voice.

"Miss—I mean, Taliyah—it's Jennit. My lord is asking for you."

"He is?"

Fear coats my cheeks and I wonder if I'm due for another tongue lashing now that he's had time to heal. Will he tell me he's decided on some form of punishment? Will he revoke my freedom and place me in a real prison cell?

"Yes, mis—Taliyah. He asks that you come up at your earliest convenience."

"My earliest convenience?"

I whisper the question to myself to see if the words make more sense when I say them. But they still feel strange to my ears. Last time we talked, it sounded like he'd be glad to bring me misery in any way he can.

This...this almost feels like a gesture of good faith.

"Should I tell him you are not ready to come up?"

I don't know if her question is because she knows what was said between him and I, or if my silence confuses her. However, I don't wish to have anyone caught in our mess, so I get up and approach the door.

"Tell him I need to clean up a bit and then I will head over to see him."

"Of course. I'll let him know right away."

Don't be too eager about it, I think to myself as I go to my wash basin. I don't want him to have another reason to be cranky with me if I need more than just a little time to mentally prepare.

I rinse the clay from my hands, which have grown dry and cracked. My skin hasn't been in great shape since I got here because of the frigid conditions. However, my nightly ritual of molding my clay has only aggravated the problem.

I apply a liberal amount of lotion from the little jar Jennit crafted for me. My hands tingle with the cool moisture, which excites my weary nerves.

"Alright," I say to the empty room. "Better to get this over with instead of prolonging the inevitable."

Despite my voiced conviction, it still takes a few moments for my feet to comply. They continue to be lead weights as I climb the quiet stairway to the top of the tower. The slap of my footsteps echo in the cavernous hall. I approach the looming double doors as if my executioner is waiting behind them.

Once at the threshold, my determination dissipates, and I stare at the door handle.

My nightmares have been bad enough. Revisiting the scene of his battered body, bleeding out upon the balcony and rewatching his hate-filled tirade against me while shaking with pain and fatigue, is enough to render me weak and useless.

But to see his handsome face and penetrating eyes, knowing that his lips will be too busy chastising me to kiss my skin again, is possibly more than I can handle.

But, I have to handle it. I can't stand out here forever.

I push open the door and step inside.

"You stood out there for a while."

I haven't even fully crossed the threshold, and he is already aiming his words at me. However, they are not as sharp as before and I'm able to keep my feet and continue into the room.

"Just preparing myself for the punishment I deserve."

"You didn't seem to feel you deserved my anger last time."

He's propped up against his headboard and though his arm still lies limp beside him, his chest rises and falls with greater ease than before.

"I don't think I deserved all of it, I suppose, but I'm not so foolish as to think myself innocent of all that transpired."

"Will you come to the bedside?"

His question is flat, neither annoyed nor welcoming. I shift my weight by the door, but then step forward toward his bed.

He watches me take slow, uneven steps. His silence pushes me away, but his gaze...his gaze draws me in.

It's hot with fire, but I can't tell yet what it is burning with.

"How are you feeling?" I ask.

It's a stupid question. He must feel like shit after having his wing nearly torn from his shoulder, all because his ungrateful guest fled into a land she had no knowledge of.

But what else am I supposed to say?

"I'm getting some movement back in my left arm." He looks down at his palm and wiggles his fingers ever so slightly. "I held a cup to my lips at lunch. Then I spilled it everywhere, but it was something."

What is it I hear? Frustration, indifference, pride? I can't tell.

"I'm sorry."

"So I've heard." He looks back up at me and my progression stops. "Please sit down. I'm sorry too."

All the air rushes from my lungs, and the corners of my eyes burn. Oh, how a handful of words can lift the weight of the world.

"I'm really, truly sorry, Cephias." I close the distance between us and draw the chair as close to his bedside as possible. "I honestly intended to do everything I could to protect all of us. I did not want you to get hurt."

"I know," he answers with a forceful exhale that flares his nostrils. "I knew back when I first woke up, but all I could hear in my head were questions. How long have I been out? What's happened to my clan? Are they safe? How much time do we have? Can I protect them like this?"

"I'm sorry."

The words are barely more than a shuddering breath. Cephias shakes his head and angles his palm toward me. I don't know if the gesture is that of invitation, but my heart wants to take that leap.

Before he can withdraw it, I clasp hold of his hand and cradle it between both of mine.

"We both have reasons to be sorry. I shouldn't have yelled. The fever, the pain, the fear—they're all excuses."

"You responded the way you felt in that moment. I wasn't necessarily thinking clearly either when I ran out that morning. I was planning and preparing so I could trail behind the caravan at a safe distance. But then I woke up far later than I wanted to. Probably because a certain dragon kept me up most of the night..."

"You don't think that was my intention, do you? To exhaust you so you wouldn't wake up in time to stop us from leaving without you?"

To say the thought hadn't crossed my mind would be a lie.

I don't know if I should look at his face, but then a pair of tender fingers push the bottom of my chin. He tilts my eyes back to his.

He's closer now, having turned his shoulders so his right hand could reach me. It's brought him forward, and his face hovers inches from my own.

Most of the smaller cuts on his body have become scabs, but there's still two nasty gashes across his nose and brow. Yet even those terrible wounds cannot mar the beauty of his ravenous eyes and playful smirk.

"And here I was thinking maybe you allowed me to touch you that night because you wanted to distract me from leaving in the morning." He chuckles and my lips tremble with a relieved smile.

"No matter how hard I try to deny myself," he says, "I cannot get you out of my thoughts. Seeing you working beside my people, serving them as if your blood is not human, that tore down my barriers. I selfishly took you in my arms that night because I couldn't bear the thought of being away from you for two months."

"So we're both selfish?"

"Without a doubt."

He smiles and I feel the gods opening the heavens to me.

"Well, I'd say you saving my life makes up for you refusing to take me with you."

"I feel like I should still have some good will leftover from that to use to my advantage down the road."

"A life saved is a hefty credit to your name, so it is fair that you can turn more of it in should you slight me in the future."

"I'll be sure to make good use of it."

He leans in, and though his scent is utterly intoxicating, I worry about how much pressure he's putting on his left shoulder.

"Sit back," I urge, placing my hand upon his good side and coaxing him toward the headboard.

"Still acting as if you can tell your generous host what to do."

His voice lilts with playful teasing. The furious man from a few days ago has subsided with the debilitating pain of his wounds.

"I have acted poorly, given my status. I'd like to apologize."

"I think you've spent your lifetime allotment of the word 'sorry' at this point. I don't need you saying it again."

In my effort to reposition him on the bed, I have drawn myself over his body. My legs are flush with the edge of the mattress as my torso leans in over him. My hand is unwilling to part from the heat of his skin. Instead, my fingers trail down from his shoulder to canvas his firm chest.

"Perhaps instead of saying it, I should show you how remorseful I am."

"Oh?"

There's confidence and pleasure in his voice. He angles his lips to mine, but I place a finger against them.

"No tasting," I remind him.

"Apparently you're not sorry enough to drop that rule."

"No tasting for you. I didn't say anything about me."

"My dear, I can't help but savor you if you lock your lips with mine."

"That's not where I intend to lock my lips."

I'm about as surprised as Cephias is by the even coolness of my words. But once I've uttered my desires to the world, I can no longer deny them.

I want to express my joy for his forgiveness and humility. I want to express my guilt and offer my apologies.

I want to give him the same pleasure he gave me that wonderful night.

"You...you don't have to do that."

I look up at him through my lashes while my hand skims down his stomach and across the blanket covering his hips. I apply gentle pressure, my fingers navigating the lumps beneath the covers in search of my object of desire.

His breath catches when I nudge into something long and hard. My fingers tense and I brace myself for the next step in our dangerous dance.

But then his hand finds my wrist and pulls me away.

"I mean it, Taliyah." His voice is firm, but pleading. His eyes are unwavering, but tired. "I don't want you doing this because you think this is the only way to ask for forgiveness. We both wronged each other. Let's call it even."

I let his words hang in the air as I chew over my own.

After a painful moment of silence, I pull my wrist away, letting it fall back to his chest. I then lean in so the tips of our noses brush together.

"This is me telling you I want to do this. Using it to ask for forgiveness is just a door to get me there, but I need you to believe me when I say it." My fingers drag down his rippling stomach, regaining the progress they had made earlier. "Cephias, I want you to listen to me and know that I'm saying every word with purpose and clarity."

My hand reaches the hem of his blanket, which is bunched around his waist. I feel the taut muscles jump as I grip the edge of his covers.

"You've teased me with the press of your cock too many damn times and what I want is to take it in my hand so I can feel just how much I drive you crazy. I want to know how fast the blood pulses, how hot the need burns, and how close you are to bursting with desire. I want to know all of that is for me, so when you scold me again or deny my marriage proposal, I can recall with excruciating detail just how much your body needs me—even when your words say otherwise."

I pull back the blanket and find him naked and straining. He moans before I even touch him, and his thick length twitches with anticipation.