She’s standing there barefoot, hands clasped in front of her, eyes steady but unsure.
“I lost the right to that title the day my Beast took control,” I murmur. “Whatever power I held… whatever honor came with my name… it died with the man I couldn’t protect.”
She doesn’t look away.
“I don’t see a monster when I look at you,” she says. “And I don’t see a failure. I see someone who still protects what matters. No matter what it costs.”
The fire pops behind me, but I barely hear it.
What Idohear… is the faint, uneven rhythm of her breathing.
She’s still in pain.
She steps farther into the room, and that’s when I truly look at her.
Her sleep clothes are soft. Simple trousers and a loose top that brushes against her frame like clouds. Her hair falls freely around her shoulders, slightly damp from washing, curling at the ends.
She looks…
Unarmored.
Not fragile…never that. Butundressedin a way that unsettles me. Not because of impropriety.
Because she trusts me enough to appear this way.
And suddenly Ineedto know how much pain she’s in.
“Come and sit,” I demand, voice lower than I intended.
She hesitates just a moment before moving to obey.
I wait as she crosses the room, watching the way she moves. Slowly, carefully, favoring her right side just slightly.
She lowers herself into the chair across from me with a quiet breath, shifting her hair over one shoulder like it’s a practiced habit.
“This really isn’t a big deal,” she says softly.
I don’t respond right away.
Because she’s wrong.
Everything about thisisa big deal.
The way she hides the wince in her breath. The way she pretends not to notice that I’ve noticed.
The way she still feels the need toprotect mefrom the truth of her own suffering.
My claws ache beneath my skin.
I lean back in my chair and wait.
There’s no need to repeat what I want to hear.
She already knows.
She takes a slow breath, then releases it with care. Like she’s trying not to shatter something inside her.
“My father isn’t a good man,” she begins quietly. “He has… anger issues.”