The kitchen smelled of fresh bread and roasted meats. A stew bubbled on the hearth, filling the air with a rich herbal scent that made my stomach growl. I opened and closed another cupboard door, my fingertips trailing across jars of preserves and containers of dried fruits.

  Leonard stood in the corner, arms crossed over his crisp white shirt, watching me with barely concealed amusement. A thin sheen of sweat glistened on his forehead from the heat of the kitchen.

  "As I said, I can help you find what you're looking for." His voice carried that particular tone of servants who know they're right.

  I pulled out a jar of honey, inspecting it. "I've got it under control, thank you Leonard."

  "Oh, sure, real hunter and gatherer type you are." The sarcasm in his voice was thick enough to spread on bread.

  I peered around the edge of an open cupboard, giving him an unamused look, one eyebrow arched. Leonard let out a hoot of laughter that echoed off the copper pots hanging from the ceiling. I ducked back behind the door, continuing my search. My fingers brushed against a small wooden box of dried berries that Joy had enjoyed before. Perfect.

  I pulled out the berries and added them to my growing collection. "That's why I'm taking my time."

  For nearly 20 minutes, I arranged and rearranged the food on the plate. Slices of rare beef positioned just so. A small bowl of the hearty stew. Bread still warm from the oven. The berries artfully placed beside a wedge of sharp cheese. Leonard watched, occasionally chuckling when I repositioned something for the third or fourth time.

  The kitchen door swung open. Jacobi entered with Lilach trailing behind him. My brother's gaze fell on the elaborate meal I was preparing, then shifted to me. His eyes narrowed.

  "She needs rest more than food."

  I gave him a look of calculated innocence. "Better to have it ready when she wakes."

  Leonard chose that moment to duck into the cold storage room, but not before I caught the smile he tried to hide. Jacobi glanced at the butler's retreating form with confusion before shaking his head and leaving with Lilach.

  The tray felt heavier than it should as I made my way up the staircase to Joy's room. Each step creaked under my feet, the sound seemingly amplified in the quiet hallway. The smell of the food rose up around me, savory and inviting. I balanced it carefully, unwilling to spill a single drop.

  Joy's door stood slightly ajar. I pushed it open with my shoulder and stepped into the dim room. The curtains were drawn against the afternoon sun, leaving only thin slivers of light to cut across the floor. The air inside was stale and carried the faint smell of healing herbs.

  She lay on the bed, curled on her side like a child. Her white hair splayed across the pillow, tangled in places. I set the tray down on her bedside table and studied her face.

  Her eyes were half-open but unseeing, her lips were slightly parted, her breathing shallow. Even in this state, her beauty struck me anew each time I looked at her. The curve of her jaw, the delicate arch of her throat, the silver-white lashes against her pale cheeks.

  A noise from the bath chamber pulled my attention away. Ross stood in the doorway, water droplets still clinging to his hands. His horns caught what little light filtered into the room, creating strange patterns on the wall behind him.

  "She won't be needing that for a while." He gestured to the food, his voice low and rough. Shadows gathered in the hollows beneath his eyes. He hadn't been sleeping well either.

  I watched as he moved to sit at the foot of the bed, the mattress dipping under his weight. The springs creaked in protest. I walked around to sit at Joy's nightstand where I could face him properly.

  "Where does she go when she goes like this?" My fingers itched to reach out and touch her, to draw her back from wherever her mind had retreated.

  Ross rubbed his face with his hands. His eyes caught mine as he gave me a wry smile. "She's never said, just calls it 'away.'"

  "I haven't heard any of the other Naerithi on our estate talk about it." I glanced at Joy's still form.

  "I've never known anyone else to be able to do it." Ross's voice softened. "Our Joy has some special talents, that's for sure."

  I let a small smile hang on my face at that phrasing. "Our Joy," I echoed softly, tasting the words.

  Ross chuckled, the sound rumbling from deep in his chest. He pointed one long finger at me. "You've got it bad, brother."

  Heat crept up my neck. I grinned at him, sheepish. "That obvious am I?"

  "Clearly not to Jacobi, but to me, yes." Ross sighed, a shadow crossing his features. His shoulders slumped forward slightly. "I have loved and let that slip away from me for fear of hurting someone else. Worst mistake of my life."

  The admission surprised me. It was easy to forget that behind his imposing exterior and sharp tongue, Ross carried his own regrets.

  "You have Lilach." I offered carefully.

  A guilty look crossed onto Ross's face, his eyes darting away from mine.

  I nodded, understanding dawning. "She's the one you don't want to hurt. You're in love with someone else though?"

  "Was, not anymore. No point." His fingers traced an invisible pattern on the bedspread.

  "If I know one thing Ross, you can't just turn off your emotions. Tesh knows I've tried." The words escaped before I could think better of them.

  A surprised laugh erupted from Ross, startling in the quiet room. "Tesh? Selwyn, you can't give the gods nicknames."

  The guilty look was now on my face. Ross waved his hand dismissively, rings glinting on his fingers. "Not that Tesharen would particularly mind, but don't ever say it in her presence." He swung his arm to the side and stretched it with the other until a dull popping noise sounded from his shoulder. "Should you ever be so lucky."

  "Have you ever met her in person?" The question escaped me before I could stop it.

  Ross smiled gently, his eyes distant. "No, I don't believe I’ve had that pleasure."

  "Do you know anyone that has?"

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  His expression shifted, grew guarded. He rubbed the back of his neck, a surprisingly human gesture. "That's sort of a sore point in our family, Selwyn."

  Ross glanced over his shoulder at Joy's still form. The fondness in his gaze was unmistakable. "When she was young, she was the spitting image of Tesharen, to the point where she cut her hair to match the descriptions of her. Word got around, they said that Joy was touched by the gods, so she was… in high demand."

  I leaned forwards, my elbows on my knees. The air in the room felt heavier suddenly, like it was pressing against my skin.

  "Our father, best thing he did was push Joy to join the Blades." Ross's voice hardened. "She hated him at the time, but one way or another she would have been taken away from home and kept behind lock and key. At least with the Blades, they taught her to look after herself, belonging to them saved her from belonging to someone much worse."

  I hesitated, the name bitter on my tongue. "Someone like Marcelo?"

  Ross gave me a half smile that didn't reach his eyes. "The things that piece of shite did to her?" His accent thickened with emotion. "That would have been every moment of her life had she been taken by the wrong person in Naerith. Some of the Naerithi there don't even need to sleep, so there wouldn't have been any reprieve. Not until she died."

  My stomach tightened at the thought. The horror of what Joy had endured was bad enough, but to imagine a lifetime of such treatment was unbearable.

  Ross shrugged, the movement rolling through his broad shoulders. "Don't get me wrong, I'd gut this guy the second I see him, but she still got off easier than she would have if this had happened back home. This guy just got lucky by disabling her and keeping her sedated."

  His eyes grew distant, a strange light entering them. "When Joy is in full flight of attack, at her full strength, it's going to be more than a pleasure watching her tear Marcelo apart, she's going to be pure unstoppable art, ferocity in the most powerful expression."

  I looked at Joy over Ross's shoulder, unable to hide my grin. The thought of her reclaiming her power, turning her fury on the man who had hurt her... it stirred something dark and hungry inside me.

  Ross chuckled, the sound like stones rolling together. "I thought you'd like that. You think you're in love with her now? Just wait until you see Joy unrestrained, there's nothing else in any world to compare."

  Ross stood, gazing back at Joy. His expression held a reverence I recognized from my own face in the mirror when I thought of her.

  "With Joy as a Blade of Tesharen, she's a ruthless force of unstoppable beauty and pain."

  My eyes flicked to Ross on the final word to see him looking at me with a half smile. "Just make sure you can handle her, and you give back as good as you get. She won't want anything but the best, and she deserves nothing less."

  The warning hung in the air between us, not a threat but a promise. Ross grinned and walked out. The door clicked shut behind him, leaving me alone with Joy's silent form.

  I sat on the edge of the bed, the mattress dipping beneath my weight. My fingers itched to touch her, to trace the curve of her cheek, but I kept my hands to myself.

  "Everyone loves you," I whispered, surprised by the roughness in my voice. "Your brothers adore you, and I, let's be honest here, am madly in love with you."

  The confession hung in the air, easier to say when I knew she couldn't hear me. I lay down on the bed beside her, careful not to touch her. Close enough to feel the heat radiating from her body, to catch the faint scent of her skin. Something floral and wild beneath the medicinal smell of healing ointments.

  "Where are you right now? What are you doing, or looking at?"

  The silence stretched between us, broken only by her soft breathing. I watched her face for any sign of awareness and found none. My hand moved of its own accord, hovering just above her arm before gently brushing against her skin.

  My fingertips trailed down her arm, following the curve of her elbow, until they came across a small scratch. Healing, but still visible. More of Marcelo's handiwork.

  My eyes flicked to Joy's face, to the unseeing white film over her eyes. I chewed on my bottom lip as a thought occurred to me. With her ‘away’ like this, I could check her injuries properly. Make sure everything was healing as it should.

  I sat up on the bed and immediately let out a short cry as something dug painfully into my thigh. I stood quickly, hand going to my pocket. My fingers closed around cold metal. Marcelo's knife.

  I pulled it out, cursing my own carelessness. Blood seeped through my trousers where the blade had nicked me. I placed the knife on the side table and inspected the damage. Just a small cut, not worth fussing over. I was just glad no one had been present to witness the humiliating moment.

  Returning to Joy, I positioned myself behind her on the bed. I needed to check the brand, to see how it was healing. The top she wore, a simple shift, clung to her frame. Too tight to push up or pull down without disturbing her.

  I frowned, considering my options. Waking her was out of the question. Removing the garment entirely seemed intrusive. My eyes caught on a small tear at the bottom hem of the shirt. The fabric was thin, worn from repeated washing. Not one of her treasured items, just a simple cotton garment.

  The solution presented itself with startling clarity. I could widen the tear just enough to check her back. The shirt was already damaged, and I could have Leonard find a replacement.

  My fingers found the edge of the tear. I hesitated, guilt washing over me. But the need to ensure her wounds were healing properly outweighed my concern. If infection set in, if the brand wasn't healing as it should, the consequences could be severe.

  Before I could change my mind, I grabbed the two sides of the small tear and pulled hard. The fabric ripped with a loud echoing sound that seemed to fill the entire bedroom. I froze, listening for footsteps in the hallway, for any sign that someone had heard.

  When no one came, I continued, ripping the fabric the remaining few inches needed to fully expose her back. The sound of tearing cloth seemed obscenely loud in the quiet room.

  The guilt that pawed at me was persistent but manageable. I was doing this out of concern for her wellbeing. At least, that's what I told myself as I gently spread the torn fabric apart to reveal the pale skin of her back.

  Most of the smaller wounds had healed over, leaving only faint silver lines against her pale skin. But the brand—that was a different matter entirely. The skin around the Levanth crest remained an angry red, the edges raised and puckered. Dark bruising radiated outward from the burn, purples and yellows spreading across her shoulder blade.

  I frowned, trying to remember when she might have injured herself further. Had she fallen? Pushed herself too hard during recovery? Or was this just part of the natural healing process for such a severe burn?

  It had been several days since our whispered conversation in the darkness of her room, when she'd allowed me to hold her through the night. We hadn't spoken of it since, but I'd caught her watching me when she thought I wasn't looking. Little did she know, I watched her just as often, cataloging each smile, each grimace of pain she tried to hide.

  I also kept a close watch on Jacobi around her. His jealousy was palpable.

  My fingers hovered over Joy's skin before gently touching the edge of the bruising. The heat radiating from the area concerned me. I traced the discoloration carefully, noting how she didn't flinch even in her absent state. The skin felt tight, swollen.

  If she didn't direct her anger outward, she'd turn it inward. I'd seen it before in her training, the way she pushed herself beyond reasonable limits. She punished herself more effectively than anyone else ever could if she felt she was failing.

  My fingers drifted closer to the brand itself. When we finally unleashed Joy on Marcelo, I wanted to be there to see it. To witness her reclaim her power. To watch her take her time with him, make him suffer as he had made her suffer. The thought sent a thrill of dark anticipation through me that I didn't try to suppress.

  My attention was so focused on the brand that I didn't notice the change in Joy's breathing. Didn't see the slight tensing of her muscles.

  A sudden movement shattered the quiet. Joy jerked violently, her hand shooting out toward the side table. Before I could react, her fingers closed around the hilt of Marcelo's knife.

  "Joy, wait—"

  My words died in my throat as she moved with inhuman speed. One moment she was lying on the bed, the next she had flipped over, slamming into me with enough force to send us both crashing to the floor. All the air rushed from my lungs as my back hit the hardwood.

  Joy straddled my chest, knees pinning my arms to the floor. Her face was inches from mine, but there was no recognition in her eyes. They remained clouded over with that unsettling white film, seeing something, or someone, else entirely.

  "Joy, sweetie..." I gasped, struggling to draw breath. "It's me. It's Selwyn."

  She didn't respond. Her grip on the knife tightened, knuckles going white.

  My heart hammered against my ribs as I watched her raise the knife. Her face remained eerily calm, almost serene despite the violence of her actions. This wasn't rage—this was calculated. Practiced.

  The blade caught the light as it descended, a flash of silver heading straight for my chest.