Dorian glowered for a long moment at the trembling shape curled beneath the blanket, listening to the muffled sniffles she tried so desperately to hide. With a quiet sigh, he lifted the fallen cover, stepped close, and tucked it gently around her shaking shoulders. Once certain she was wrapped against the night chill, he turned and walked back toward the horses, Marcus trailing after him.
"Well, my friend," Marcus muttered as he scratched the back of his head and offered an apple to his silver-grey mare, "that conversation didn't exactly go the way we hoped… Our defence, of course, is that talking to women has never really been our strongest suit." He flashed a crooked grin. "Still—you could have told her you didn't force yourself on her last night. Now she's going to spend the whole night panicking about which one of us is planning to crawl under her blanket."
"It doesn't matter," Dorian replied, shrugging. "We don't need her to trust us."
He stroked the muzzle of his stallion, though his words rang hollow even to himself.
It was true—trust wasn't necessary. She couldn't run in this state if she tried.
But Spirits, why did it unsettle him that she looked at him the same way she looked at those filthy men in the baron's hall? His instincts whispered that he should earn that trust, soothe her fear, do something—anything—to stop those tears whenever her gaze accidentally met his.
No.
Absolutely not.
That was not why he was bringing her home.
…Then why was he doing this?
Why did he care what the girl thought?
"Mhm. Sure," Marcus sighed, watching him with the kind of patience that came from seven centuries of friendship. He hadn't seen Dorian unsettled over a woman in more than three hundred years. And certainly never enough to risk this much for one. Marcus wisely kept that observation to himself—for now. Better to save it for a moment when it would sting more.
For a while, the night passed in silence. Then Dorian noticed a pattern: a soft, irregular tremor beneath the blanket. Leonie was shivering so violently it made the fabric quiver.
Dorian cursed under his breath.
He hesitated only a heartbeat before Marcus began to rise.
"What are you doing?" Dorian asked sharply.
"Trying to sleep," Marcus replied flatly. "Which will be significantly easier if I warm her up before she freezes to death." He took two strides toward Leonie, ready to sit beside her—
—and suddenly he was airborne.
He hit the ground with a thud.
"What the—?" Marcus groaned, stunned. "Did you just throw me?"
If it weren't the dead of night, he'd already be swinging.
"You're overreacting," Dorian muttered, though even he wasn't convinced. He'd moved on instinct, pure and sharp as a blade, without thinking. And now he stood there, awkwardly, staring down at the trembling girl.
"You're only scaring her," Marcus pointed out dryly as he pushed himself up.
A painfully logical argument. Of course the girl would panic if yet another man tried crawling into her sleeping space. Dorian was simply trying to be considerate—that was all. It wasn't as if he cared that Marcus might get close to her. This was rational. Entirely rational.
Marcus snorted.
"Right. Because what she really wants is to be approached by the one man she's convinced assaulted her yesterday."
Grumbling, Marcus flopped back down beside the fire.
Dorian inhaled slowly, then gave up and stretched out beside the girl.
Leonie, who had been shivering from the cold for half an hour, barely registered the movement until she felt a strong arm slide around her—pulling her gently, yet firmly, into the warmth of a solid chest. Her pulse spiked instantly. Not from excitement. From blind terror.
No. No, no, no. It's happening. It's really happening.
A tiny, strangled sound escaped her. She tried to twist away, desperate to flee, but Dorian loosened his hold just enough that their bodies no longer touched—his arm simply resting over the blanket, caging her protectively.
"Don't move," he whispered against her ear.
She froze.
Her breath came in fast, shallow bursts; he could feel the fear trembling through her.
He didn't tighten his hold.
He didn't touch her skin.
He didn't force anything.
He simply lay there… humming?
Yes.
Dorian's deep voice drifted around her, humming an old elven lullaby—one sung to frightened children when nightmares clawed at their sleep. And as the melody flowed, Leonie's mind began weaving an image: a river winding through a canyon, its water crystal-clear. When the sun slipped behind the ridge, the river glowed blue, illuminated by fish-like creatures dancing in the depths, lighting the current with shimmering trails.
To that vision she finally surrendered, exhaustion pulling her into a peaceful sleep—
as though the water itself washed away the horrors from her mind.
Dorian let out a long, quiet breath when he felt her drift into true rest.
He slipped out of her thoughts as delicately as he had entered.
At last,
she would sleep without fear.