(Almera POV)
Romulus slept.
Not the restless half-sleep I had grown used to during the nights when the poison stirred, but a deep, unbroken rest that carried him through the morning and into the high arc of the sun. The curtains were drawn to keep the light gentle, the room hushed to the point where even the palace seemed to hold its breath.
I sat beside him, one hand resting lightly at his wrist, feeling the steady pulse there—stronger than it had been in weeks. Each beat reassured me, yet I did not dare move away.
Healing never truly ended when the patient slept.
It lingered. It watched. And it listened.
The poison lay quiet now, coiled deep within him like a beast lulled into slumber. Not gone. Not defeated. But contained. That alone had cost me more strength than I cared to admit. My body felt heavy, my limbs slow, yet every time I considered shifting—even standing—the memory of his pain anchored me in place.
He needs me here.
