Elian was indeed being spoiled rotten.
I found him in the private dining room adjacent to our chambers, seated at a table laden with enough food to feed a small army. He was laughing—actually laughing—as one of the younger servants performed some kind of silly dance with a bread roll. Ethan stood in the corner, his usually stern expression softened by what might have been the ghost of a smile.
"Mom!" Elian spotted me and immediately scrambled down from his chair, rushing over with his arms outstretched. "Mom, you're okay! They said you had important empress things to do and I shouldn't worry but I was worried anyway because—"
I swept him up into my arms, ignoring the sharp protest from my injured ribs. He was warm and solid and alive, and for a moment, nothing else mattered.
"I'm okay, baby," I whispered into his hair. "I'm okay."
"You smell like blood," he said matter-of-factly, pulling back to examine me with those too-wise eyes. "Did someone try to hurt you again?"
