Chapter 36. The Gate of Teeth

The fire would not let her sleep.

Even unconscious, Seraya radiated heat in slow, uneven pulses, as if the mountain still whispered through her blood. Bandages clung to her ribs in scorched layers, edges charred no matter how carefully the healers replaced them. Each time someone drew too close, her mark flared in warning—wild, volatile—until they retreated. The throne room had been emptied and the wounded moved elsewhere, but Seraya remained where she had fallen, suspended between waking and gone, tethered by a thread that refused to snap.

That thread was Alaric.

He remained at her side for three days without moving from his place.

He refused rest and turned away the healers’ wine. When Veyra offered him relief, he shook his head. When Mairead ordered him to sleep, he ignored her. And when Letha asked, gently, what he was waiting