By the fourth night, the fever came back with a vengeance.
It didn't whisper this time.
It roared.
Kael convulsed against the chains, muscles twitching beneath skin that steamed in the cold night air. His breath came in gasps—too fast, too ragged—and his fingers had split open from the repeated straining.
"Elara—" he rasped again, voice choked with agony.
Elara scrambled across the floor of the stable, slipping on the blood-slick dirt as she dragged the damp cloth back to his forehead. His skin was hot—too hot—like burning metal. She pressed the cloth down, whispering, "Breathe. Just breathe, damn you—"
His back arched.
With a sudden, sickening snap, one of the iron-banded chains ripped free from the support beam. Kael flung his arm outward, claws extended, slashing through the air.
"Elara, move!" he howled.
But she didn't.
Instead, she crawled closer.
And that's when she saw it—beneath the loose wraps on his left wrist, something was wrong.
The silver shrapnel embedded near his veins had begun crystallizing.
Not healing.
Spreading.
"Oh gods," she whispered.
The fever wasn't just from blood rot. It was from silver decay. His body was turning against itself.
Kael gasped through clenched teeth. "I need—you have to—kill me—"
"No." Elara pressed her weight against his chest, forcing him back. "Not again. You don't get to beg for death every time it hurts."
His golden eyes flared. "You don't understand—"
"Make me."
Kael growled. "If you let this fester, I'll lose control. I'll tear through this barn and—"
"And what?" she snapped. "Kill me? You've had a hundred chances."
He didn't answer.
Instead, he bit down on his own wrist.
Hard.
Blood spattered across the hay.
"Stop!" Elara reached forward, grabbing his face with both hands. "Kael—stop punishing yourself!"
"I wasn't built to survive this," he whispered, voice hoarse. "I was made to burn. Every bone in me screams for fire. And you—you're ice, Elara. You soothe it. You slow it. But gods, I can't contain it."
For a moment, she saw him—not as the beast, not as the tyrant, but as a man completely undone.
A man who didn't want to die, but couldn't bear to live.
"I should let you bleed out," she murmured. "You bit me. You threatened me. You think I'm stupid for keeping you alive."
Kael didn't respond.
Elara reached into her satchel, pulled out a rusted surgical needle and thread, and without flinching, grabbed his injured wrist.
He did flinch.
"What are you doing?" he hissed.
"Sewing shut the part of you that wants to die."
She threaded the wire with shaking fingers and stitched. Crude, quick, ugly.
But effective.
Each pull of the needle made Kael's body twitch—but he didn't stop her.
When it was done, Elara pressed her forehead to his, both of them panting.
He didn't pull away.
He closed his eyes.
"You should've let me go in that forest," he said, barely audible. "You should've left me to rot."
Elara let out a hollow laugh. "And you should've let me die when you bit into my leg."
He winced. "I didn't mean to—"
"You never do," she said sharply. "But you always do."
Silence.
Then, quietly:
"Why do you keep choosing death?"
Kael opened his eyes, slow and heavy. "Because living feels like punishment."
That broke something in her.
Tears welled uninvited. She turned her face away, but he caught the shimmer before she could wipe it.
Kael leaned forward.
And gently, reverently, licked the tear from her cheek.
"Elara," he said, not like a name—but like a prayer he didn't believe he deserved.
She froze.
Then slapped him across the face.
Hard.
He didn't flinch.
He blinked.
Nodded.
"I deserved that."
"No," she said, stepping back. "You deserved this."
And she drew her dagger.
Kael's breath caught. "What are you—"
She dragged it across his palm. Not deep. But enough.
Blood welled.
He stared at her.
And then she pressed her own palm to the cut, letting their blood mix.
The contract mark flared between their skin.
Then—
She kissed the wound.
Soft.
Deliberate.
"From this moment forward," Elara whispered, voice shaking, "you don't get to die unless I say so."
Kael didn't speak.
Couldn't.
His body trembled—not from pain.
From something deeper.
Fear.
Need.
Longing.
Then he laughed, quietly, brokenly. "Little fool."
Elara leaned into him, eyes like firelight. "That's Queen little fool to you."