Claimed By Fire And Crown

Chapter 16

I woke to warmth.

Not the fire.

Something deeper than that.

For a few seconds, I stayed still beneath the blankets, caught somewhere between sleep and consciousness while soft morning light filtered faintly through the curtains. The house was quiet enough that I could hear the distant creak of wood settling downstairs, followed by the muted sound of something moving through the kitchen.

Rhaegar.

The realization came immediately now, effortless in a way that should probably concern me more than it did.

I stared at the ceiling for another second before dragging a hand across my face and sitting up slowly. The blanket slipped down into my lap as I tried to gather my thoughts through the lingering fog of sleep.

Then I froze.

The warmth was still there.

Not around me.

Inside me.

Low beneath my ribs, steady and unfamiliar, something pulsed faintly like heat buried under skin. Not painful. Not even uncomfortable.

Aware.

I pressed a hand lightly against my stomach, frowning immediately. “Nope,” I muttered under my breath. “Still weird.”

The warmth flickered in response.

I jerked slightly.

“Oh, absolutely not.”

A quiet laugh escaped me before I could stop it, mostly because the alternative was panicking, and I’d already done enough of that for one week. I pushed the blankets aside and stood, the oversized shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder before I fixed it impatiently.

The room smelled faintly like cedar smoke again.

Or maybe that was just him lingering everywhere now.

That thought was dangerous.

I ignored it.

Mostly.

The floor creaked softly beneath my feet as I crossed toward the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to let more light spill into the room. Morning had settled fully over the woods outside, pale gold filtering through the trees while mist still clung low against the ground.

Peaceful.

Too peaceful.

I rested one hand lightly against the window frame, watching the woods for a second before the memory of yesterday slammed back into place hard enough to tighten my chest again.

The Butcher.

The witch.

Fire recognizes its own.

My father selling me like I meant nothing.

The warmth under my ribs flared sharply at the thought, heat rushing suddenly through my chest before settling again. I inhaled quickly, gripping the edge of the window harder as I forced myself to calm down.

Emotion affects it.

Great.

“Morning.”

I nearly jumped out of my skin.

My head snapped toward the doorway where Rhaegar leaned against the frame, one shoulder resting casually against the wood as he watched me with entirely too much awareness for this early in the morning.

“You really need to stop doing that.”

One dark brow lifted slightly. “Walking into rooms in my own house?”

“Appearing silently like some kind of sleep paralysis demon.”

A faint shift touched the corner of his mouth before his gaze drifted over me briefly. Heat crept instantly into my face when I realized exactly what he was looking at.

Or rather—

What I was wearing.

The oversized shirt suddenly felt like a terrible decision.

“You slept,” he observed.

I crossed my arms immediately. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“I’m not surprised.” His gaze returned to my face. “You needed it.”

That calm certainty again.

It should not have been this annoying while half awake.

I looked away first, glancing back toward the window before noticing movement outside near the edge of the clearing. My attention sharpened immediately, shoulders tightening before I realized it was only a deer slipping between the trees.

Rhaegar noticed the reaction anyway.

“He’s not here,” he said quietly.

My jaw tightened slightly. “You don’t know that.”

“Yes,” he replied evenly. “I do.”

I turned fully toward him then, frustration surfacing faster than exhaustion this time. “You say things like that constantly.”

“Because they’re true.”

“That’s not the point.”

Rhaegar straightened slightly from the doorway, his expression shifting just enough to show he was actually paying attention now instead of simply observing me unravel in real time.

“The point,” I continued, “is that you keep expecting me to trust things I don’t understand.”

Silence stretched briefly between us.

Not tense.

Measured.

Then he nodded once.

“Fair.”

The response caught me off guard enough that I blinked at him.

“You agreed with me?”

“You were correct.”

“That’s somehow more unsettling.”

Another one of those almost-smiles appeared briefly before he pushed away from the doorway completely. “Come downstairs,” he said. “You should eat.”

“I’m not a hostage.”

“No,” he agreed. “Hostages usually complain less.”

I stared at him in disbelief as he disappeared down the hallway before I could respond.

The annoying part?

I followed him anyway.

The smell hit me halfway down the stairs.

Coffee.

Actual coffee.

I stopped mid-step for a second, genuinely shocked enough that it overrode every other emotion currently ruining my life.

Rhaegar stood near the stove when I reached the kitchen, sleeves pushed slightly up his forearms again while something cooked in a pan in front of him. Morning light spilled through the windows behind him, catching against the dark edges of his hair while the fire from earlier burned lower in the fireplace across the room.

The entire scene looked so painfully normal that my brain almost rejected it on principle.

“You cook?” I asked before I could stop myself.

Rhaegar glanced over his shoulder at me. “You continue sounding surprised by basic life skills.”

“You fought someone in an alley six hours ago.”

“And?”

“And now you’re making breakfast.”

“Yes.”

I stared at him for a second longer. “That shouldn’t work together as well as it does.”

A quiet sound of amusement escaped him before he turned back toward the stove.

I hovered awkwardly near the bottom of the stairs for another second before moving farther into the kitchen, drawn more by the smell of coffee than dignity at this point. My body felt strange this morning—lighter in some places, heavier in others, like something inside me had shifted overnight while I slept.

The warmth beneath my ribs hadn’t disappeared either.

If anything, it felt steadier now.

My attention drifted toward the mug sitting near the counter before stopping abruptly.

Steam curled upward from the surface.

Except—

It wasn’t moving normally.

I frowned slightly and stepped closer.

The steam twisted faintly toward me before settling again.

I went completely still.

“No,” I whispered.

Rhaegar looked up immediately.

“What happened?”

I pointed accusingly at the coffee. “It’s doing things.”

His gaze shifted toward the mug.

Then back to me.

And the irritatingly calm expression on his face told me this was somehow not surprising to him either.

“That’s new,” he admitted.

“That is not the reaction I wanted.”

The steam curled again.

Toward me.

I looked at it in horror before slowly lifting my eyes back to Rhaegar.

“I think your house is flirting with me.”