The return to Dravenhold should have felt like triumph, but it dragged like a funeral march.
The gates yawned open to receive them, guards saluting wearily as ranks of soldiers trudged through with their heads down. Armor clinked dully, banners sagged in the drizzle, and the muddy air stank of smoke, horses, and too many days without rest.
Marin walked behind Kael, careful not to slip in the ruts carved by wagon wheels. From a distance, the General seemed his usual self: tall, steady, cloak snapping in the cold wind like a banner of its own. But up close, she noticed the cracks. The tremor in his gloved hand on the reins. The way his jaw was clenched too tightly, as if he were holding his body together by sheer will.
When they reached the keep, Kael dismounted without ceremony, handed off his reins, and strode inside. No officers followed. No soldiers dared to approach. Marin, unsettled, hurried after him.
She found him in his chambers slumped in a chair, boots half-unlaced, cloak pooling on the floor. His head rested against one palm, hair shadowing his eyes. For the first time since she had known him, the Wolf of Dravenhold looked… undone.
Marin froze in the doorway. He's always unshakable. Always untouchable. And now—he looks like he might shatter.
Her chest tightened. She crossed the chamber, skirts whispering across the stone floor. "You're sick."
"I'm fine," he muttered, voice rough and low.
She ignored him and pressed her palm to his forehead. Heat scorched her hand. She flinched. "Fine?" she snapped. "Kael, you're burning."
He let out a sound halfway between a sigh and a growl. "It's just a fever."
"Just a fever?" Marin planted her fists on her hips, temper sparking. "If you collapse in the war room, your officers will think the kingdom has fallen. You're going to bed. Now."
One eye cracked open, ice-blue and faintly amused. "You're ordering me?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "And if you refuse, I'll drag Nyssa in here and let her drown you in willowbark tea until you curse the day you were born."
His mouth twitched, almost a smile. "…Terrifying."
It took everything she had to move him from the chair to the bed. Kael muttered about unfinished reports, scouts needing orders, maps to be redrawn. Marin countered each protest with absurd threats: burning the reports, locking the scouts in the stables, hiding the maps in her dowry chest.
Finally, she braced her shoulder against his arm and shoved until he toppled onto the mattress with a grunt.
"Undignified," he muttered into the pillows.
"Alive," she retorted, tugging off his boots. "That's the goal."
She turned to fetch the water basin Nyssa had left—but his hand shot out and seized her wrist.
"Stay."
It wasn't an order. It was a plea.
Marin's breath caught. She sank onto the bed's edge, her voice soft. "I'm not going anywhere."
The fever pulled him into a restless haze. He tossed against the sheets, muttering half-formed orders, cursing enemies in languages she didn't understand. His grip on her hand was iron, unyielding. Every time she shifted, he tightened his hold, as if afraid she would vanish the moment he closed his eyes.
At one point Nyssa slipped in, placing jars and steaming cups on the nightstand. She glanced at the sight—Kael clinging to Marin like a drowning man—and raised one brow.
"You'll manage," she said with a faint smirk before leaving.
Marin buried her face in her free hand. They're all going to know. Saints, they'll never let me forget it.
Kael stirred, cracking open hazy eyes. "Don't leave me."
Her heart lurched. She leaned closer, brushing damp hair from his brow. "I'm right here. I won't leave."
His gaze was unfocused, but the words landed with heavy weight. "You… steady me."
The whisper carved through her chest like a blade.
Marin swallowed hard, forcing a teasing lilt into her voice. "And you terrify me. Charging into battle, never thinking of yourself."
His lips twitched faintly. "Lucky… you're here."
Her throat tightened. She bent her head, hiding her face. Don't say things like that, Kael. Not when I can't tell if you mean it—or if it's just the fever talking.
Hours blurred together. She dabbed his forehead with damp cloths, coaxed him to sip bitter teas, and wiped sweat from his temple. He fought her every time.
"This tea is foul," he muttered.
"Drink."
He scowled. "Exile the tea."
Marin nearly laughed the cup into his face. "You can exile me too if you like, but you're finishing it."
When he obeyed grudgingly, he muttered, "Tyrannical… merchant."
Her cheeks heated. Don't call me that with that tone, Kael.
Later, half-conscious, he whispered, "Conquer you? Impossible."
Marin froze, cup trembling in her hand. Her face flamed, her heart hammering. Is that the fever speaking, or is that really you?
The night was endless. The keep outside was silent save for the drip of rain and the distant creak of guards' armor. In the chamber, only Kael's ragged breathing and her own heartbeat filled the air.
She refreshed the cloths again and again, smoothed damp hair from his forehead, whispered reassurances when he muttered her name. At one point he curled slightly toward her, still gripping her hand. She didn't pull away.
Exhaustion caught her eventually. She slumped forward in the chair, cheek pillowed against the mattress, her fingers still laced with his.
The pale light of dawn spilled through the shutters, faint and cold. Kael stirred, eyes opening with more clarity than before. His fever had broken; the dangerous heat was gone, replaced by warmth that felt almost human.
"You're still here," he rasped, voice low.
"Of course I am." She sat up, hair a mess, eyes sore from lack of sleep. "Did you think I'd abandon you?"
He studied her in silence, the frost of his gaze softened by something that sent her pulse racing. Slowly, he lifted his hand—weak, trembling—and brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. His knuckles lingered against her skin, tracing warmth down her jaw.
"No," he murmured. "I didn't."
The intimacy of it stole her breath. Her heart stuttered. She looked away too quickly, forcing brisk words into the silence. "Good. Because next time, I'll be waiting with barrels of willowbark."
For the first time in days, his lips curved faintly. "Terrifying."
Marin smiled back, but her thoughts spun in chaos.
He terrifies me, too. Because last night, I wasn't just his wife. I wasn't luck. I was