As if she'd sensed her master, she stirred. The whole room stilled as they watched him approach her.

She lay in the bed, still mostly unconscious, but trying to wake. The gathered group watched apprehensively as he stopped beside her. He stared down at her for a moment. Focusing on her breathing, her heat beat, accessing her wounds.

His emerald eyes went nearly black as they lingered on her middle. At the bandage that hid the gash across her abdomen. She's asked them to let it scar. She hadn't said why before passing out from the pain.

"Get up." He commanded through clenched teeth. His eyes had returned to her face. Somehow, it had not been damaged in the battle.

Again, she stirred. Her head moving from side to side as she attempted to wake herself.

"Get up," he spat, fists balled at his sides. His knuckles were white as he studied her. As if his stare alone would wake her, "and tell me what happened."

"I got the job done." She'd said it so softly it could've been mistaken for a rustle of leaves or a wisp of wind. Her eyes had not opened, but her hand raised to shield her eyes as she spoke.

"Barely," was all he said.

"The lights," she rasped, "they're too bright."

"No," her master held the Dark Prince with a stare that could level a town. The Prince had moved to distinguish the lanterns. The stranger walked to the end of the bed where she lay, hand still covering her eyes.

"I don't see why there's any need for her to be uncomfortable. She's healing." The Prince said.

"Why don't you sit up, and tell the Princeling why they will not cater to your pathetic whims."

"That's not necessary," the High Lord cut in, "my son knows his place."

But the elf male was not listening. He merely looked over his shoulder at his charge. Her eyes were peaking from under her arm that was covering her eyes from the harsh light. He stared at her, still as stone. Waiting.

Slowly, she placed her arms beneath her and started to gingerly push herself up. Her arms gave out almost immediately and she groaned as she hit the pillows.

"Finch." He snarled, "Sit. Up."

She clenched her teeth and her brow lowered as she met his gaze. Again, she placed her hands beneath her and began to hoist her upper body into a sitting position. Her breathing was labored.

The elven female called Finch made it half way, propping herself on an incline with her arms behind her.

A deadly calm came over her master as he turned to face her, "All the way, Ashworth."

"This is the best you're going to get."

Without breaking her stare, he sat on the bed, "Would you like to explain to me how you were nearly killed? How you let them close enough to deliver a killing blow?"

"I think that's a little-" One of the other males started, but the High Lord stopped him with a hand.

The elven male didn't miss a beat, "Tell me, Finch Ashworth, greatest archer in all of The Wood. Tree Walker. Star Reader. The one who bends elements to her will. Who climbed to the peak of Mount Tripi and drank from the ancient pools of our fathers."

The room was silent as the weight of her titles settled into the air. She was not royal blood, but she had achieved enough to have nearly equal rank. Noble, dangerous, efficient.

Her eyes bore into his. Fierce and unyielding. Her jaw was clenched as she fought to stay upright.

"How did you allow someone to pierce the flesh that I have claimed? How did you allow another living being, a lesser life form by all accounts, to skewer you? To attempt to steal what is mine? To take your last breaths, when you know that privilege belongs to only me?"

Her gaze softened. The words didn't seem loving, but they must be for her to react in that way. Had it truly been so long since she'd been shown love, that she thought this was it?

"There was no other way."

He stood and stepped to her side. He held her as he lowered her back down to her pillows. His magic dimming the lights. He bent toward her, pressing his lips to her forehead. "I know," he sighed against her skin, "Rest, Mate, you've done well."