To heal a Rogue

BONNIE

Lysander’s lamb vanished before I’d even made a full, noticeable dent in my fish, and I watched him reach for the bread basket with the casual hunger of someone who hadn’t just spent ten minutes tearing his family apart. He ripped off a piece, buttered it with unnecessary precision, and caught me watching.

”What?”

”Nothing.” I nudged a piece of fish through the lemon butter, more interested in the motion than the meal. ”You just ruined your cousin’s night, and now you’re eating bread like it’s the highlight of your day.”

”It might be.” He took a bite, chewing slowly, savoring it with an exaggeration that made it clear he was performing for me now. ”This bread is extraordinary. I don’t think I’ve properly appreciated bread until this exact moment.”

”You’re ridiculous.”

”I contain multitudes.” He reached for his wine, swirling it once before taking a sip. ”Besides, a man has to eat something after sentencing his cousin to darkness. It builds an appetite.”

A laugh escaped me, unexpected and sharp. After everything—Ryker’s blood on the infirmary floor, Edelina’s slap echoing off Johann’s cheek, the chandelier trembling when my temper nearly snapped—it felt surreal to sit here, poking at soup while Lysander joked about bread.

But maybe that was the point. Maybe survival was nothing more than a patchwork of small, foolish moments, sewn together until they almost looked like living.

”How’s the fish?” he asked, nodding toward my plate.

”Good. I think.” I’d barely tasted it. ”I’m not very hungry, if I’m honest.”

”You need to eat something. Your stomach made its opinion known rather loudly in the hallway earlier.”

Heat crept up my neck. ”I was hoping you’d forgotten about that.”

”Never.” He grinned, and for a second the exhaustion lifted off his face entirely, leaving something younger underneath it, something that looked almost carefree. ”I intend to remind you of that moment for the rest of our lives.”

”Wonderful. Something to look forward to.”

I swallowed another bite, if only to prove I could, and the silence that followed wasn’t uneasy. It was the hush after a storm, when the wind finally surrenders, and only the drip of water remains. I let myself rest in it, shoulders sinking from where they’d been braced since the infirmary.

”So,” Lysander said eventually, setting his wineglass down and turning his attention fully toward me. ”Earlier. You said you had something to tell me.”

My stomach plunged, heavy and sudden.

I’d known it was coming. I’d been the one to say it, after all, the one who’d promised Fia and myself that tonight would be the night. But hearing him ask the question out loud made the whole thing feel suddenly real in a way it hadn’t been when it was still just a plan rattling around in my head.

”I did,” I admitted, setting my spoon down carefully beside the bowl. ”I do.”

He waited. He didn’t press, didn’t lean forward with that intense, searching look he sometimes got when he was trying to pry a secret loose before its time. He just watched me, patient, in a way that made the admission feel both easier and somehow worse.

I opened my mouth. Closed it. Then opened it again.

”I’m scared,” I said finally, the words smaller than I meant them to be, swallowed half by the candlelight and the low murmur of the fire crackling somewhere behind me.

His expression changed—not alarm, but a gentle focus that made me feel like I was the only thing that mattered.

”Why?” he asked, his voice gentle enough that it almost undid me right there.

I stared down at my hands, at the faint pink line across my palm where I’d cut myself for the soul bond hours earlier. It had already healed, of course. I had not even realized when I did it. But I could still feel the sting of it if I thought hard enough, still feel the echo of Ryker’s blood hitting the bowl beside mine.

”Because I don’t know what you’ll think of me after,” I whispered. ”Because every time I’ve told someone something true about myself, it’s changed how they look at me. And I don’t think I could survive it if you looked at me differently.”

Lysander reached across the table, covering my hand with his. His thumb traced slow, deliberate circles over my knuckles, warmth seeping into my skin and driving out the chill that had settled when I began to speak.

”Bonnie.” My name in his mouth always sounded like it meant something. ”There is very little in this world that could make me look at you differently. I watched you heal my throat when some wanted me dead, and the other half wanted you turned in and out for doing it. I watched you turn yourself into a weapon today to protect people who’ve spent days treating you like a disease. I’ve seen you at your worst, and you’re still the best thing to happen to me.”

”You don’t even know what it is yet.”

”I don’t need to.” His grip on my hand tightened slightly. ”Whatever it is, it will not change how I feel about you. I promise you that.”

I wanted to believe him. A small, stubborn part of me did—the part that had softened and split open these past weeks, though I hadn’t dared look too closely. But another part, older and worn thin, kept whispering that promises were only beautiful until the moment they broke.

I thought of Ryker’s face as he died, the way he’d looked at me like I was the architect of every bad thing that had ever happened to him. I thought of that twisted man who happened to share my blood. I thought about how much had happened today, how much had already broken and bled and died within these walls before the sun had even fully set.

”Can it be tomorrow?” The words tumbled out before I could stop them, quiet and a little desperate. ”I know I said tonight. I know I promised. But so much happens here every single day, and I don’t want to add to it. Not tonight. Please.”