She froze.
For a long moment, she could not speak. Her eyes searched his face, as if she feared he would vanish if she looked away.
"Alaric…" she whispered.
Then she sat up slowly, her heart pounding in her chest.
"This isn't real," she said softly. "I must be hallucinating from the herbs."
Alaric walked closer and Maravelle flinched and drew back at once.
"Easy," he said gently, lifting his hands. "Calm down."
She moved farther back against the pillows, her breath uneven.
"You are not real," she whispered. "I must be going mad."
"You are not going mad," he said. "I am back to Vargorath."
Her eyes softened, filling with tears. She held out her hand, and he took it, lowering his head to kiss her fingers.
Then he sat beside her on the bed, close but careful.
"How… how?" she whispered, lifting her hand to his face as if to be sure he was real.
"Your son — the king — came to the realm I was sent to," Alaric said quietly. "So I followed him here."
