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10. Twilight

You didn't know how late it was, but Rhysand asked for a healer to look at your hands, and as she worked in silence, people moved through the house with purpose, to and from the study, whispering.

You weren't sure what was going on, but Helion was still here — you'd seen him pass the sitting room a few times now.

Part of you assumed they were discussing what to do with you now — now that you were a liability, that is.

You hadn't even thought of it at the time because you'd been busy trying not to kill Azriel, but Nyx was here, somewhere in this house. And if you'd somehow hurt him, you never would've forgiven yourself.

You glanced to the right where moonlight streamed in, taunting you; every breath felt like you were one spark away from a gas explosion.

You tried to ignore it by closing your eyes, but all you saw was Azriel standing in your room, wholly unprepared, inches away from certain death.

The healer had just finished cleaning your palms when someone appeared by the edge of the room. You did a double-take when you realized it was Helion.

"Hello," you said, offering a brief smile. "You don't have to loiter, you know. I don't bite."

Helion smiled back, but it was with affectionate concern. "You must be exhausted, physically and mentally. I'm sorry you've had such a complicated past few days here."

"Oh, um— You don't have to apologize. It's not your fault, and — life happens."

Helion hummed in agreement as he approached you, as graceful as ever. "I can take it from here. Thank you."

You realized he was speaking to the healer.

All at once, she blushed, stammered, bowed, and then left.

You stared, dumbfounded, as the High Lord of the Day Court sat on the coffee table and organized the supplies to his liking. He picked up an ointment and then turned to you, waiting.

"Oh, right." You offered him your palms, and as he spread the cream in a thin layer, you added, "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I'm aware," he murmured. There was something gentle but playful about his tone, and in a strange kind of way, it put you at ease. "I'm doing this because I have ulterior motives."

You tried not to grin and failed miserably. "So honest."

Helion laughed through his nose.

Switching to your other hand, he said, "I just . . . wanted to speak with you alone. When Rhysand explained your situation to me, I almost didn't believe him at first, but because he possesses the harp . . ." Helion trailed off with a shrug. "I suppose stranger things have happened in Prythian. Before, when I called you an interloper of cosmic proportions, I meant it. But you wouldn't be the only one; there have been others like you over the centuries, including Amren."

"I'm aware," you echoed him.

Helion chuckled as he finished up with the cream, dabbed the excess away, and then laid pads of cotton on your palms.

As he wrapped your hands in gauze, he kept glancing up to be polite. "I wanted to do this alone because Rhysand can be . . . protective to a fault. You see, he cares fiercely about those in his inner circle, and whether you like it or not, being Azriel's mate makes you intrinsic to that circle now."

You furrowed your brow. "I mean . . . I had a feeling. But what're you trying to say?"

"Prythian's still recovering from a war, so we're at a disadvantage," Helion explained, "and now that the other Courts know about the Dread Trove, we can't afford to be divided, not at a time like this. So we need all the help we can get, even if it comes from an interloper." He gave you a pointed look. "But Rhysand's protectiveness is getting in the way."