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"She's fine, merlin," Lou called from her seat on the porch. "And your pacing isn't going to get her out of bed any faster."
If she's fine, Sel wanted to bite back, then why is it 11 and she's still not out of bed?
But instead he stopped where he was and took a long slow breath, relishing the self-control it demanded. A week ago he wouldn't have been able to quiet the restlessness this way, not even temporarily, but a week ago Bree hadn't yet infused him with enough aether to flatten a master merlin.
"Sorry." He ducked his head in Lou's direction then found a low stone wall nearby to perch on and wait.
If Valec's juice was a shot of happy memories—a momentary numbing and reminder of what was worth holding on to—then Bree's aether, her root, was an infusion of years worth of rest and safety. It was healing. It left him feeling so… whole. And hungry.
He turned the memory over in his mind, wondering at it again.
That moment when the cyffion had broken, he'd dreamt about what it might feel like. What that instantaneous rush would be like when his senses returned and the air was suddenly alive again. But the actual moment was nothing like what he'd dreamt, because he hadn't just been wrapped in the ambient power of the air. He'd been wrapped in her.
Bree's power was like nothing he'd ever felt. Like nothing else he would ever feel. It was rage and pain and fear, all deep enough to make his own suffering seem like a child's tantrum, but it wasn't only that. Her power was threaded through from one end to the other with love. Her power was an embrace. Powerful and terrible and wonderful. And more than that, it was a promise.
No more deaths.
He'd heard her whisper those words before, but he hadn't realized what they meant to her, how deeply they suffused her. He understood now. That fierce, violent love that burned in her power was everything the kingsmage oath ought to have been. No. It was everything a king ought to have been, and ancestors help the poor kingsmage trying to stand in front of that train to keep the king alive.
A small smile tugged at his mouth, before the sound of footsteps from inside the house pulled his attention. The front door creaked, and then Bree was stumbling out onto the porch and down the stairs.
It took every bit of his newfound self-control not to panic as he rushed to her side.
"Are you okay? Should I get William?"
"Ugh. God. It's nothing. I'm fine." Heat flashed over her cheeks at the same time that the scent of blood reached his nose. Only this blood was less metallic, more…
He felt his own cheeks burn and was momentarily thankful she was too busy studying the dirt to notice.
"O-okay," he said. "There's still breakfast in the barn. Probably cold by now, but—"
"Y-yeah," she said, hurrying her step.
Alice greeted them before they got inside, followed shortly by William, and Sel was more than grateful to hand care of the king over to her best friend, making himself useful a little further away.
***
"You're hovering, you know," William remarked nonchalantly as he returned to the sink after plying everyone with a first round of tea. "She's not going to break if you look away. I promise."
"It's not that." Sel tried to keep his voice level, but put more vigor than was strictly necessary into washing the dish in his hands.
William wasn't fooled.
"If you need a breather," he said, his voice cast low so that only a merlin would hear, "no one's going to judge you for stepping away from the uh… sensory overload. She's safe here."
"She's stubborn," Sel growled back.
"She's stubborn?" William asked with no attempt to hide his amusement.
"She's making herself suffer. Needlessly. I can hear what—" Sel cut off abruptly, setting the half-cleaned plate back in the dishpan.
William quirked an eyebrow. "Not every discomfort requires treatment, you know. Sometimes people prefer to let harmless things pass on their own, regardless of discomfort levels. There's nothing wrong with that. But…" He handed a towel towards Sel. "Would you like my professional opinion?"
Sel's eyes flicked between William's and the towel, but he made no move to take it.
William continued unphased, "Typically, application of heat is effective at reducing the symptoms of dysmenorrhea."
Sel clenched and unclenched his jaw. He knew exactly what William was implying. And William knew it.
"Fine." Sel snatched the proffered towel and dried his hands, then tossed it right back at William's insufferable grin before stalking back into the other room where Bree and Alice were now sprawled in plush armchairs.
One glance at his expression, and Alice suddenly bounced up from her chair. “I need a refill!” she declared, grabbing a teacup that was still half full and scurrying from the room.
“Uuuugh,” Bree groaned, tugging one of the throw pillows out from beside her and pressing it over her face.
Sel hesitated a step, but what was he going to do now? Turn around and suffer William’s poking the rest of the day? No. He knelt beside the arm of Bree’s chair.
“You’re hurting,” he said, making his voice as gentle as he knew how.
“N’sht,” she mumbled, barely intelligible through the pillow.
“I can… I can hear it.”
She groaned loudly, bringing up her knees to curl in on herself with her back to him.
“Bree, may I?” He leaned on the armrest and held out one hand near her elbow, only just close enough that she’d be able to feel the heat radiating from his fingers.
She lifted one corner of the pillow to glare daggers at him, but he could see it was a front. She wanted what he was offering and was only considering if her pride would tolerate it.
Her heartbeat told him her answer a moment before her words did.
“Fine,” she said curtly, yanking the pillow back down to cover her entire face and neck, and pulling it tighter against her for good measure.
Sel leaned forward, slipping his hand gently under her arm and pressing his palm to her clenched belly. Once it was there, he realized with a flush that he had no idea what to do next. Was this enough? Did he just wait like this? Awkwardness clawed up the back of his neck, and he was suddenly thankful that Bree’s pillow was hiding him as much as it was hiding her.
Then she moaned, a low sound of relief that sent a new wave of heat across his face, and it was all worth it. Her curled form relaxed a fraction, then her hand found his and repositioned it slightly, pressing his fingers more firmly against her until they nearly dug in.
“There. No… there.” Another moan. He could hear those subtle contractions lessening and evening out, could see the tension slowly ebbing from her limbs.
Silently he thanked the ancestors of this place for the empty room and that pillow. No one had to see what her moans were doing to him. How intoxicating her closeness was all on its own.
“Sel?” she whispered through the pillow.
“Yes?”
“Thank you.”
Suddenly, he didn’t care if they stayed there all day or who might see them. This moment? This feeling? It was enough.