I’d seen blood before, but nothing prepared me for the sight of him like this—wrapped in linen, half-conscious, skin blistered and torn from the fire. The pyre Cersei meant for me had nearly taken him instead.

The room was too quiet. The scent of herbs clung to my dress as I dipped the cloth into the cool water again, wringing it out with steady hands I didn’t feel inside. My heart thudded like a war drum.

“Easy,” I whispered, brushing the cloth gently along his temple. He winced, even in sleep.

I couldn’t lose him. Not after everything.

He stirred again, jaw tightening, his breaths ragged. The fire had touched nearly half his side, cruel and unforgiving. And yet he saved me. He saved us.

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his forehead. “You stubborn fool,” I whispered against his skin. “You always did need a better sense of self-preservation.”

His eyes fluttered open. “Still beautiful,” he rasped, voice cracked, but his smile was unmistakable. “Even when scolding me.”

Tears welled in my eyes before I could stop them. “You shouldn’t have done it,” I breathed.