The rest of the meal passed in a silence that was heavy enough to crush bones.
Vera ate. She didn't want to—her pride demanded that she starve rather than accept charity from the man who had just used and discarded her lips like a napkin—but her body had its own agenda. She had grown up in the Gray District, where turning down roasted meat was a sin punishable by death or stupidity. She wasn't stupid.
So, she cut the duck. She chewed. She swallowed. And with every bite, she felt Kassian's eyes on her.
He wasn't eating anymore. He had finished his meal with terrifying efficiency and was now leaning back in his chair, swirling the last dregs of wine in his goblet. His gaze was unreadable, heavy-lidded and dark, tracking the movement of her fork to her mouth as if he were memorizing the mechanics of it.
Vera wiped her mouth with the linen napkin, dropping it onto the empty plate with a finality that echoed in the room.
"I'm done," she stated, pushing the chair back. The legs screeched against the marble floor. "Now, where do I sleep? The couch? The rug?"
Kassian didn't blink. He set his goblet down.
"The couch is decorative and uncomfortable," he said, his voice low and raspy, the sound of gravel grinding together. "And the rug is Persian silk, too expensive to be drooled on."
He stood up. The movement was fluid, predatory. The exhaustion that had plagued him earlier seemed to have receded, replaced by a strange, humming energy. Vera's ice had done its work; he looked recharged.
"You sleep where you are needed," Kassian said. He walked past her, the heat of his body brushing against her shoulder like a phantom caress. "In the bed."
Vera scrambled to her feet, turning to face him. "Absolutely not. The contract said I had to stay by your side. It didn't say I had to be your... your warmer."
Kassian paused at the foot of the massive four-poster bed. He turned slowly, his expression flat.
"The contract says you are a resource," he corrected. "Do you think the fire stops just because I close my eyes? Night is the worst time, Vera. When I sleep, my control slips. If you are not touching me, I will wake up in an hour screaming, and the bed curtains will be ash. Do you want to wake up on fire?"
Vera opened her mouth to argue, but the words died in her throat. She remembered the scorched walls of the secret room. She remembered the melted steel chains.
"Fine," she snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "But I stay on the edge. And you keep your hands to yourself."
Kassian let out a dry, humorless chuckle. He began to unbutton his shirt.
Vera's eyes widened. She spun around, facing the fireplace. "What are you doing?"
"Undressing," Kassian replied calmly. The sound of fabric rustling filled the room. "I do not sleep in uniform. And neither should you. That dress looks like torture."
"It's fine," Vera lied to the flames. The corset was actually digging into her ribs, making it hard to take a full breath. "I'll sleep in it."
"Don't be an idiot," Kassian's voice came from closer now. "It has metal stays. If I heat up during the night, that metal will sear into your skin. Unless you want branded ribs, take it off."
Vera squeezed her eyes shut. He was right. He was infuriatingly, logically right. But she had nothing else. Her thief's tunic had been burned by the maids.
"I don't have anything else," she hissed, humiliation burning the back of her neck.
Something soft and heavy hit the back of her head.
Vera turned, catching the black fabric before it fell to the floor. It was a shirt. His shirt. The one he had just taken off.
She looked up. Kassian was standing by the bed, clad only in loose black trousers. His chest was a landscape of muscle and scars, the pale skin marked by the faint, pulsing network of orange veins. Without the shirt, the heat radiating from him was palpable, warming the air between them.
"Put it on," he ordered, climbing into the bed. He didn't bother with modesty; he moved with the arrogant comfort of a man who owned everything he saw. "It will cover you more than that scrap of silk you're wearing."
Vera fled to the bathroom.
She stripped off the blue gown with shaking hands, gasping as her ribs were finally allowed to expand. She pulled on Kassian's shirt. It was enormous. The hem hit her mid-thigh, and the sleeves swallowed her hands completely. She had to roll the cuffs up three times just to see her fingers.
But it was the smell that hit her hardest.
The fabric was infused with him. Sandalwood, woodsmoke, and the sharp, metallic tang of ozone. It was a heavy, masculine scent that wrapped around her like a second skin. Wearing his shirt felt far more intimate than the kiss had been. It felt like a claim.
I am not a person, she told herself, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked small, pale, and terrified. I am a medical drug. A human ice pack.
She took a deep breath, steeled herself, and walked back into the bedroom.
Kassian was already lying down, propped up against a mountain of pillows. He was watching the bathroom door. His eyes swept over her form, taking in the oversized shirt, the bare legs, the nervous way she hugged her arms.
For a second, the clinical detachment in his eyes faltered. His pupils dilated.
"Better," he grunted, shifting to the right side of the mattress. He patted the empty space beside him. "Get in."
Vera approached the bed as if it were a guillotine. She climbed onto the mattress, the silk sheets cool against her legs. She scurried to the far left edge, lying down stiffly and pulling the duvet up to her chin.
"Goodnight, Your Majesty," she whispered, staring rigidly at the ceiling canopy.
Silence.
One second. Two seconds.
Then, a heavy sigh.
"Vera," Kassian said. "We established the rules ten minutes ago. Distance is not one of them."
Before she could protest, he moved.
He didn't ask. He didn't negotiate. He simply reached out, wrapped a massive arm around her waist, and dragged her across the mattress until her back collided with his chest.
Vera gasped, stiffening.
"Quiet," he mumbled, burying his face in her copper hair.
He arranged them like puzzle pieces. He lay on his side, his large body curving around hers, engulfing her. His arm draped heavily over her waist, his hand resting flat against her stomach, splaying his fingers to maximize the contact. His legs tangled with hers, his knees pressing into the back of her thighs.
He was a furnace. The heat radiating from him was intense, seeping through the thin silk of the shirt.
But the moment his skin touched hers through the fabric, Vera felt the shift.
It was a physical decompression.
She felt the tension drain out of his muscles. The rigid hardness of his chest softened against her back. His breathing, which had been shallow and tight, deepened into a slow, rhythmic cadence.
It was the feeling of a machine powering down.
"Better," he breathed against her neck, his voice slurred with relief. "So much better."
Vera lay there, trapped in the iron embrace of the most dangerous man on the continent. She should be terrified. She should be plotting her escape. She should be disgusted.
But as the "ice" in her blood rose to meet his "fire," a strange, treacherous comfort washed over her. The symbiotic loop established itself. His heat warmed her eternal chill; her cold soothed his eternal burn.
For the first time, Vera wasn't cold. The gnawing ache in her joints, the constant shivering that she hid from the world... it was gone.
It was biology. It was magic.
"You're scorching," Vera whispered, trying to ignore the way her body was traitorously relaxing against him.
"And you are a block of ice," Kassian murmured sleepily, his thumb rubbing soothing circles on her stomach over the fabric of the shirt. "You are perfect."
The room fell silent, save for the crackling of the dying fire in the hearth.
Vera stared at the shadows dancing on the wall. Her mind was racing, replaying the day.
"Kassian?" she whispered into the darkness.
"Hmm?"
"If the Duke finds out... about this," she gestured vaguely to their intertwined bodies, though he couldn't see. "About me being the cure. What will he do?"
Kassian's hand stopped moving on her stomach. For a moment, she thought he had fallen asleep.
Then, his voice came from the dark, low and terrifyingly lucid.
"He will try to kill you," Kassian said. The sleepiness was gone from his tone, replaced by cold fact. "He will try to poison you, or stab you, or hire a mage to stop your heart. He needs me to be unstable. He needs me broken. You are the glue holding the cracks together."
Vera's blood ran cold, and it had nothing to do with her magic. "That's comforting."
"But," Kassian continued, his arm tightening around her until it bordered on painful. He pressed a kiss to the back of her head, not a romantic kiss, but a seal of protection. A mark of ownership. "He will have to go through me to get to you."
He exhaled, his breath hot against her ear.
"And I have burned armies for less."