Marked

Chapter 15

RIV POV

She spoke softly as she worked, her voice weaving through the silence like something sacred.

A memory from a time before blood and blades. Of horseback rides and laughter beneath trees. Of sunlight and freedom and parents who loved her.

A piece of her childhood—tiny and warm, something she'd kept hidden until now.

And she gave it to me. I didn’t know why. But I liked it.

Each word, each glimpse into who she was before the world broke her, only made me want to know more. Her favorite season. Her first horse. If she still dreamed about riding through those woods again.

If she ever would. She finished applying the salve, her fingers deft and gentle. The bandage came next—clean cloth wrapped snugly around my thigh, tied off with a careful knot.

I watched her hands as she worked. The way she bit her lip without noticing. Then, quietly, she asked, “Are you still hungry?”

I had eaten everything she brought. Down to the last scrap. But I shook my head.

“No.”

She nodded once, gathering the empty bowl and cloths, stacking them neatly, silently. She turned to leave, her arms full, her focus already shifting—

And I reached out.

My free hand caught her wrist, gentle but firm. She turned, surprised, eyes wide as they flicked to mine. I held her gaze. And said, “Thank you. For healing me.”

A breath left her lips. Not quite a sigh. Her lashes lowered, and she nodded slightly, almost like the words hurt more than the wounds ever had.

“I’ll try again in the morning,” she murmured. “After I’ve rested.”

She stepped out into the corridor, setting the supplies beside the door, and returned a moment later with two blankets folded beneath her arm. She paused in the doorway, hesitant. Then crossed to my cot and laid one blanket gently at the foot of it.

I watched her every move, unsure what to say. Unsure why the sight of her—tired, quiet, still choosing to stay—made my chest ache in a way nothing else had.

She laid the blanket down carefully across the far corner of the cell—just outside the range of my chains, but close enough that I could still hear the soft rustle of her movements, the exhale of her breath as she lay down.

She didn’t say anything. Just turned onto her side, facing the wall. I watched her for a moment, confused, restless.

Then, quietly, I asked, “Why are you staying?”

She hesitated. I saw it in the stillness of her back, in the slight hitch of her breath before she answered. Her voice came out soft and low.

“I just… want to make sure nothing bad happens again.”

A pause.

“And I said I wouldn’t let her hurt you again. I meant it.”

No defiance. No fire. Just quiet conviction and something like… guilt. Maybe even shame. She didn’t turn around. Didn’t meet my eyes. Just curled up on the floor, blanket pulled to her shoulders like it could hide the weight she carried.

I blinked at her. This small, stubborn female… sleeping on cold stone to guard a killer. Because somehow, in all this madness, she’d decided I was worth protecting.

I drew in a breath, slow and deep, and pulled the heavy blanket over myself with my unchained hand. The fabric was warm where her hands had touched it. No one had ever stayed for me.

Not since—

Not ever. I leaned my head back against the wall and let my eyes close, but sleep didn’t come easily. Not with her across the room, curled up like something fragile pretending to be made of steel.

Not with this unfamiliar ache in my chest that wouldn’t go away. Not with the sound of her breathing filling the dark like a lullaby I’d never been allowed to have.

She didn’t trust me. Not completely. But she hadn’t left me alone either. And for someone like me…

That was more grace than I deserved.

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RYN POV

I woke slowly, the chill of the stone floor seeping through the blanket and into my bones. My back ached, my shoulder stiff from sleeping curled up on my side—but I didn’t regret staying.

Not for a second. Across the cell, he still slept.

His dark hair was tousled and fell slightly over his forehead. The deep creases that normally carved his brow were gone now, smoothed away in sleep. His lips were parted just slightly, breath even and steady. Without the tension in his jaw, or the weight of the world etched into his face…

He looked younger. Softer. Not like the King’s blade. Not like a killer. Just like a male. A broken, burdened male who had endured far too much alone.

I sat there for several long minutes, watching him in the silence, listening to the low rhythm of his breathing.

I didn’t know what this feeling was, not exactly. But it was growing. And I wasn’t ready to name it. Eventually, I stood. Careful. Quiet. I folded my blanket and stepped around him, leaving the other one on the cot.

He didn’t stir. Not even when the lock clicked behind me.

The main room was empty, a few embers still glowing in the hearth. I stretched, easing the ache in my limbs, and crossed to pour myself some water.

That’s when I heard the steps. Boots on wood. Not from the cellar—but the stairwell. Teryn appeared at the top, her expression unreadable.

I tensed instinctively. Watched her every step as she descended. Waited to see if her gaze flicked toward the basement door. It didn’t. She looked at me instead.

“I owe you an apology,” she said quietly.

I didn’t answer. Just waited. Teryn came to stand near the hearth, her arms crossed, but her voice… softer than I’d expected.

“I got carried away last night,” she admitted. “I let my anger cloud my judgment. That won’t happen again.”

I studied her face. There was remorse there, but also… walls. Not unlike the ones I kept behind my own eyes.

“I appreciate the apology,” I said, my voice cool but steady. “But if it does happen again, I won’t let it slide.”

Teryn nodded once. “Understood.”

I didn’t tell her that I no longer trusted her to be alone with him. I didn’t have to. Because I wouldn’t leave him alone with her ever again.

Teryn leaned against the edge of the stone hearth, arms crossed, gaze focused on the embers like they might hold the answers she didn’t want to say out loud.

“We can’t keep him here,” she finally said. “The Veil will want him. For more than just questioning.”

I already knew that. Still, hearing it out loud sent a ripple of unease through my chest.

“He’ll need to be blindfolded,” she continued. “We can’t risk him seeing any of the entrances to our strongholds.”

I nodded slowly. “Agreed.”

“We leave tonight,” she added. “It’ll give his leg a little more time to heal. Enough that he can walk on it—barely.”

I didn’t argue. Because she was right. And we didn’t have the luxury of safety, not for long.

Once she headed back upstairs to gather supplies, I remained in the kitchen and set to work with what little we had. There were dried vegetables, hard cheese, and a bit of salted meat tucked into one of the cellar crates. I cobbled together something edible, warming it over the fire until the scent filled the room.

Then I plated it with a bit of bread and poured a cup of water. And carried it downstairs. The door creaked softly as I entered the cell.

He was still asleep, one arm draped over his torso, the other still locked in the manacle. The blanket was tangled around his legs, his face turned slightly toward the wall.

Peaceful, for the moment. Younger again. I set the plate and cup on the low side table. Then crossed to his cot. Kneeling beside him, I reached out and touched his uninjured arm.

“Hey,” I said softly. “Time to wake up.”

The effect was instant. He jerked upright with a harsh gasp, breath coming fast and sharp. His eyes snapped open—wild, panicked, not seeing me at all. His chest heaved. Muscles locked.

And a low, feral growl ripped from his throat as he tried to pull away from the cot, from the manacle, from me. But I didn’t flinch. Didn’t move. I reached up and gently pressed my hand against his forearm, firm but steady.

“You’re alright,” I whispered. “It’s me. You’re safe.”

He blinked. Once. Twice. And then those deep blue eyes finally focused—really focused—on my face. Recognition dawned slowly. Followed by shame. His breathing slowed, but his jaw stayed tight.

I didn’t let go of his arm. Not yet.

“It’s okay,” I said again, voice low. “You’re okay.”

He didn’t answer. Just stared at me like he couldn’t understand why I hadn’t recoiled. Why I hadn’t run. But I stayed. Because whatever haunted him in sleep? In that moment, I decided he wasn’t facing it alone anymore.

His body coiled like a blade waiting for the next strike. I reached behind me and picked up the plate from the side table, holding it out toward him.

“Here,” I said softly. “You should eat.”

He stared at it for a long moment before taking it from my hands. His fingers brushed mine—brief, calloused, warm.

He didn’t thank me this time.

He didn’t need to.

While he ate in silence, I moved to rinse the bowl I’d used for the salve last night. The scent of herbs still clung to it faintly. I gathered more clean cloths from the supply stack by the door and set them near the cot.

When I turned back, he was halfway through the food, slower now, but still eating. I leaned against the far wall, arms crossed loosely over my chest.

“We’re leaving tonight.”

He looked up, chewing stilled. I let the words come slowly, clearly.

“We’re taking you to the Veil. To one of our main strongholds.”

His jaw tightened slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“You’ll be blindfolded,” I continued, “to keep the location secret.”

I waited, expecting some kind of snarl or resistance—but he just nodded once, accepting it without comment. I took a slow step forward and crouched near the cot again, careful not to crowd him.

“I’ll try again with my magic after you’ve finished eating. Your leg’s still bad, and the walk won’t be easy.”

Another pause. Then I added, more softly, “It’s a long way. On foot the whole time.”

He didn’t speak. Just listened. Those blue eyes never left mine.

“But I’ll be with you,” I said. “The entire way.”

I let that sit between us.

“I won’t leave your side. And I won’t let anything happen to you.”

I meant it. More than I probably should’ve. More than I could explain.

And by the look on his face… I think he felt it too.