018 - One Form Of Helplessness

018 - One Form Of Helplessness
His eyes held mine, deep and intense and stealing the breath from my lungs.
I blinked at him, confused by the intensity in his voice. "I... what do you mean?"

His hand dropped away, and I immediately missed the warmth. "Cassien hurt you tonight because he saw weakness and mistook it for giving up. Others will try to do the same. But with me..." He paused, searching for words. "With me, you can let the mask slip. But only with me."

I nodded slowly, not entirely sure I understood but sensing how important his words were. Something in his manner suggested this wasn't casual advice but hard-won wisdom.

"Good." He moved to pour wine from a bottle on a side table, offering me a cup. "Now, about these practical matters. The pack priest is Father Benedict, yes?"

"Yes," I said, accepting the wine gratefully. The first sip burned, but the second was smoother.

"His son Marcus is my closest friend. We trained together, fought together. I can have those papers rushed through by tomorrow evening." He took a sip of his own wine, thinking. "As for your maid—my father might hate my presence in his perfect little home but he still owes me a favor. A word from him about reviewing the case should be enough,"

My eyes widened a fraction, "I wouldn't dare as for such a thing, Zeirik,"
It would be unwise on his end to give up a favor from the king simply because he wanted to help a woman he'd just met.

The general shrugged, looking as though the matter wasn't as important as I assumed it would be, "My father offered a boon simply because he knows there is nothing I want that he can give to me, I have no use for it Yasmin..." His head tilted to the side, eyes turning impossibly darker the longer he stared at me, "And I don't like seeing you cry."

Relief and guilt both flooded through me so suddenly that my hands shook. "You can really do that? You can help her?"

"I can. I will." He set down his cup and moved toward the door. "I'll have guards collect your belongings from the guest wing. You'll stay here tonight—my chambers have a proper bedroom, and I can make do with the sitting room," He offered, his tone firm and leaving no room for argument.
Still.

He was giving me his room.

"I couldn't—" I started to protest, but exhaustion hit me like a physical weight. The events of the day, the emotional chaos, the constant effort required to keep myself together...it all crashed down at once.

Zeirik must have seen it in my face because his expression softened. "You're barely standing, Yasmin. Rest. By morning, I'll have everything settled."

He opened the door and spoke quietly to someone in the hallway....guards, from the sound of the voices. Then he returned, moving to what I assumed was the bedroom door.

"The room is yours for tonight," he said, pushing it open to reveal a space that was clearly his but somehow felt neutral in the firelight. "Sleep. We can discuss details tomorrow when you're not swaying on your feet."

I wanted to protest, to insist I was fine, to maintain some sense of independence. But the bed looked impossibly inviting, and my bones felt like they'd turned to lead.

"Thank you," I whispered, and meant it more than I'd ever meant anything.

He nodded once, a sharp gesture that somehow conveyed both understanding and promise. "Sleep well, Princess."

I stumbled toward the bedroom, pausing in the doorway to look back at him. He stood by the fire, already pulling blankets from a chest to make up a bed on the sitting room sofa. The sight made my chest tight with an emotion I couldn't name.

"Zeirik?"

He looked up, his gray eyes catching the firelight.

"Why are you helping me?"

For a moment, he was silent. Then that familiar half-smile ghosted across his lips, but there was something sharp beneath it.

"Let's just say your husband and I have unfinished business as you both do," Then his lips curled up, "And I can't let my future bride marry me unhappily now, can I?"

I wanted to ask more, understand the burning look in his eyes and why it felt dangerous when his gaze raked my skin.

Instead, I nodded and closed the bedroom door behind me, leaning against it for a moment to gather myself.

The room was all dark furniture, simple linens, the lingering scent of leather and rain. But it felt safe in a way my own chambers never had. There was something solid about it, permanent, as if nothing could touch me here.

Or perhaps it was just the presence of the man behind the door that made me feel that way.

I stripped out of my dress with fumbling fingers, too tired to care about propriety. The shift I wore beneath was thin linen, barely adequate for sleeping, but it would have to do. Tomorrow I would have my own clothes again, my own things. Tonight, I was just grateful for a bed and four walls between me and the rest of the world.

I slipped between the sheets—they smelled like him, that comforting scent of orange and rain—and pulled the heavy blankets up to my chin. The mattress was firm but comfortable, and the pillows were soft enough to cradle my aching head.

But sleep didn't come easily. My mind churned with questions and doubts and the terrifying realization that I'd just placed my fate entirely in the hands of a man I barely knew. What if he changed his mind? What if his promises were empty? What if I'd simply traded one form of helplessness for another?

In the end, darkness took me as my body prepared for what would come next.

War.