The pillows beneath you were fluffier than the lumpy ones in your rented apartment. The sheets were far softer too. They smelled like cool breezes and starlit nights—and of Julian. Not your pillows. Not your sheets. Not your bed.

Julian’s bed.

You wanted to hug the feathery pillow and curl deeper into the sheets until sleep reclaimed you.

“Crimson.” His voice.

His room was a little wild—like him. Stubble shadowed his jaw, his dark hair messy as if he hadn’t stopped running his fingers through it, and his cravat was a heap on the floor. You didn’t need to see his emotions to know he was concerned. He sat beside you on the bed, but he looked ready to catch you if you took another fall.

“How long was I out?” you asked.

“Long enough to make me worry that this wasn’t just some elaborate ploy to get into my bed.”

You managed a weak smile. “What if I said it was a ploy?”

“I’d tell you that you don’t need one.” He smirked, but it was soft. “You’re welcome in my bed anytime.”

Silver worry still ghosted at the edges of his expression. You wondered if he knew—if he suspected you hadn’t just fainted from exhaustion. That the real ache in your chest had been quieter, lonelier, and much older.

“Thank you,” you murmured.

“I’m here for whatever you need.” He shifted closer to the headboard, leaving space beside him. A silent offer.

You leaned into him. His shoulder was warm and solid under your cheek. You closed your eyes and let your thoughts settle in the quiet between your breaths.

Julian tightened his arms around you and kissed your forehead. He didn’t speak. He didn’t try to reason with you. He just held you like it was enough.

You didn’t know how long you stayed there like that. And you didn’t know if you were sad because your mother had pulled away—or because part of you had stopped wanting her back. You wanted to feel like a good daughter should. But maybe you’d given up trying, a long time ago.

Eventually, you pulled back the covers and sat up. You wanted to stand, but your gown’s usual flair for dramatics made you nervous. Who knew what it had turned into while you’d been curled up in Julian’s bed?

Oddly, it was still the same deep pink as before. Maybe your exhausted heart had drained the magic right out of it.

Julian jumped to his feet, clearly misunderstanding your pause. “Need help?”

“I can manage,” you said.

But he was already gathering you up in his arms before the words had fully left your lips.

“Julian, I can walk.”

“Maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold you.” He grinned like he’d just stolen a secret and gotten away with it.

You didn’t resist. Being held by him was easy. It made everything else fade into the background. He carried you into the sun-warmed sitting room and gently set you on a velvet couch, where rays of afternoon gold poured through the high windows.

Your fingers brushed the edge of a bandage on his arm. “You never told me what happened.”

“It’s a secret.” He rocked back slightly, just out of your reach.

He scratched the back of his neck. Definitely avoiding the question. “Why are you so interested?”

“Because it looks like you’re hurt and you won’t tell me why.”

“What if I gave you a secret instead?”

Before you could respond, he stood and disappeared into his bedroom. He returned a moment later with a weathered cloth-bound book. The ochre cover looked like it had been touched by time itself.

“I had someone pull this from Legend’s library while you were sleeping. It’s one of the oldest books on the Fates—and the Fated objects.”

You tucked your legs beneath you, making room as he sat beside you. “Are you going to read me a bedtime story?”

“Maybe later.” He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a pair of glasses.