Page 114 of Sunder

When had he opened that?

She frowned, her brow furrowing as she breathed in. There was food in the room.

Well.

That was a slight improvement to waking her for no reason—or for that reason simply to prove she lived and breathed and to quell his anxious heart in that regard.

“How is your head?”

She opened her eyes, and she really tried not to glare. “I don’t know yet,” she mumbled, trying to assess her own condition before she did something foolish like try to move. She’d learned that lesson a long time ago. If she could find a comfortable spot,if nothing ached or protested, she would not sacrifice her place for anything.

There was a chair next to her bedside table that most certainly had not been there before. The lamp was not lit, so the whole day couldn’t be gone yet. Sometimes pains in her head could lead to a horrid roiling in her stomach, but that seemed blessedly absent. What had been a sharp, unavoidable throb had turned into a dull awareness at the back of her head. A warm cloth. She would have asked for one of those if her mother was present. But Athan...

She took a breath.

He would be no different. Eager to please, ready to fetch anything she desired. “Could I have a warm cloth for my head?”

Athan leaned over her, murmuring for her to show him where it hurt most. It was easier simply to place his hand where it hurt than to explain it, and he nodded briskly and left the room without even a hint of protest from the bond.

He liked to be useful. Liked to be useful toher.

She sighed, pulling the blanket up toward her nose. She could make out the edges of a tray—there was a mug rather than a bowl. Tea? Maybe something medicinal.

But no, it smelled like food. And now that it was in the room with her, her stomach seemed to waken, reminding her of its desire for something to eat since the night before.

She gave it an absent sort of pat, sorry she hadn’t listened. Perhaps that would have saved this whole miserable start to the day if she had.

Athan came back with... not a cloth. Or, at least, not just a cloth dampened with hot water. It looked more cushion than anything, and he coaxed her onto her back, moving the pillows about to better accommodate her as she sat up.

She let him do it, although she was tense and ready to reject the setup in favour of returning to her side, where she’d been snug only a moment before.

A moment. A few breaths.

And then warmth was pressed to the back of her head before he eased her back against the newly arranged pillows.

“How’s that?” Athan asked, looking her over to ensure all was as it should be.

She wriggled just a little, her wing shifting to a more suitable spot. “Very nice. Thank you.” She held out her hand for him to take, and he brought it to his lips instead of holding it like she intended. It was a tender gesture, one that made her heart warm even if the rest of her responses were quiet. No flutters, no hoping he’d draw his lips to her wrist, following the threads he’d learned the night before.

Just a warmth of being cared for. Loved, even when their room had transformed back into a sickbed.

It didn’t mean she liked when he placed her hand back on the bed.

She wouldn’t grow despondent. He had things to do. People to help that did not happen to be her.

“I brought you a meal,” Athan informed her, no matter how unnecessarily.

“I noticed,” she admitted, ready for him to hand her the tray and be gone again. Not that she did not want his company, but it was always easier to expect the solitude of her room rather than be disappointed when no one stayed for long.

“Yes, well,” Athan started, and she was left with the distinct impression he was nervous. Which was strange, and she really should try to riddle it out for herself, but that seemed like far too much effort. He leaned over for the tray, hovering and fussing until he was certain nothing would slosh anywhere.

Her eyes narrowed. There was a mug filled with soup, as she’d suspected. But surrounding it were a great number of things that most certainly might make up food, but had never graced her plate in their current form. A few had foots still attached, others with green tops that were lacy and perhaps she’d seen garnishing a joint of roast. She picked up one of them, eyeing both it and Athan curiously. “Am I meant to eat this?”

She would, if he thought it would be good for her, but it did not look particularly appealing.

He grimaced, or perhaps it was a half-hearted attempt at a smile, but he shook his head. “I don’t want to presume about your wellness. And if you’d rather eat and sleep longer, that is perfectly all right.” He drew a hand through his hair, frustrated and flustered, which was rather a strange look compared to his usual composure. “You were so sad about your cookery lessons. So I thought I might bring one... to you.”

He glanced up at her, and this time his smile was a little more genuine. Hopeful. That maybe he’d done right, but fully prepared to be told she didn’t want it.

---