Word Count: 1958

~Lavelle

I rush inside, Neela on my heels.

Crashing through the door, I enter my fathers room, immediately feeling the dank press of illness against my skin. A single candle flickers on the window sill, draping my fathers body in shadow.

He's propped up on his pillows, head lulled back. His body jolts with every cough he forces out, followed by a rattly breath that makes my stomach twist.

This is bad. Really bad.

"What is wrong with him?" I ask breathlessly.

"He must have caught a chill, miss," Neela says, wringing her hands in front of herself. "He's coughing something horrible, and he has a terrible fever."

I approach the side of his bed. His eyes are glassy, his skin waxen. He hasn't been lucid in years, so when he gets sick like this, it's especially dangerous. He has no way of helping himself.

"This is bad," I whisper, resting the back of my hand against his damp forehead. He's burning up.

"You should take him to a physician, miss. I am exhausted, and I'm not sure there is much I can do for him." Neela winces, hopeless. "My daughter, she—"

I turn to her, forcing myself to calm. "Go home, Neela. It was unfair enough of me to keep you here this late."

She has a young daughter and no partner. Neela needs to return home to her, regardless of how ill my father is.

She smiles weakly, tired lines pressed beneath her eyes. "Thank you. I've given him medicine, so he should be fine through the night. Keep him hydrated and the sweat off his body."

I nod dutifully. She collects her bag and departs.

Neela is barely gone a moment before Zyre steps into the room. In my haze of panic, I completely forgot he was on my property. Now he stands, staring down at the male in bed who I've tried to keep from the rest of the world for many years.

I shift in front of him, pinning him with a fierce look. "You need to leave."

He's looking over the top of my head, his expression knotted with concern. "Your father is gravelly ill."

"I can see that," I bite out.

Father falls into a coughing fit that comes straight from his lungs. It's crackly and rough. I immediately approach his beside again, unnerved by his pale, slick skin and the way his mouth parts for each desperate breath.

Zyre may be an imposter here, but I can't put all my focus into getting him out.

"That is a bad cough. You need to loosen the congestion in his lungs and throat so he can breathe better," he instructs, reaching my side.

"Don't you think I know that?" I snap. I'm not sure why I'm being so abrupt with him, I just can't help but panic. "He hasn't been this sick in so long..."

Last time he was this sick, he almost died. While I don't feel much of an emotional connection to him anymore, I feel a conflicted moral duty to keep him alive.

"I'll heat some water over the fire. You find a bowl and towel." Zyre sweeps through the room without hesitating, immediately reigning in command of the situation.

I could demand he leave, I could take the help he's offering...

"What about his fever?" I ask.

"I'll wet some rags in lukewarm water and drape it over his skin," he explains as he steps into the main living space outside."If the water is too cold, it will only make him warmer."

"But-"

He looks over his shoulder at me, eyes dark. "Trust me."

What other choice do I have? I don't know much about caring for someone so ailing, and Zyre seems to feel comfortable taking charge of the situation. All I can do is relinquish control to him and hope it's enough.

I do as he instructs, collecting a towel and a bowl while Zyre heats water over the fire. While it warms, he collects another bowl of room temperature water and a few rags, bringing everything into fathers room.

"Wipe the sweat off his back and then put a blanket over his shoulders," he instructs carefully, his voice firm but coaxing.

"Okay," I breathe, obliging the command.

My father is worryingly still as I wipe down his back. He doesn't flinch once, unable to conceive of anyone around him, let alone that we are trying to save his life.

Once I've wiped up the worst of the sweat, I drape a blanket over his shoulders just as Zyre enters the room again with a bowl of steaming water in his hands. We arrange my father so he's sitting on the edge of the bed, then place the towel over his head, the bowl balanced beneath his face.

"Breathe sir," Zyre instructs calmly.

The towel over his head locks in the steam from the rising from the bowl of hot water. My father has no other choice but to breathe it in, hopefully loosening the worst of the congestion in his body.

He continues to cough, and after a few minutes, each cough sounds less severe. I pull away the towel while Zyre puts the bowl to the side. I lean close, straining to listen to his lungs.

"His breathing is sounding better already," I note, letting out a shaky sigh of relief.

Zyre helps me lower father back into bed, ensuring he's supported by the pillows. His head immediately lulls to the side, completely lost to the world.

"He may need to do this multiple times throughout the night," Zyre says.

I look at the side of his face, awareness returning to me. He's standing in the same room as my father, who I've fought to keep away for everyone's eyes for years. He's learnt my darkest secret.

"You didn't need to help me..." I murmur, willing myself to calm as the stress of this night settles over me.

The gaudy engagement ring on my finger is suddenly entirely forgotten.

He looks tired, a breath exhaling from his lungs. Beyond being exhausted, he looks burdened, which I can relate to. I see so much of myself in him.

"I thought I better." His brows crease as he gazes at my father. "He's clearly unwell. He should see a physician in the morning."

"I can't take him to one. I can't tell you why, either," I tell him.

My father has faced this sickness like this before, and he's always pulled through. Neela takes excellent care for him, but this can't last forever. Eventually, he will become so sick, he won't come back from it.

But my father is not a good man. He committed a terrible crime, and if the people of this village knew he was still alive...the consequences would be catastrophic.

For some reason, Zyre doesn't press the issue.

"Very well. If he is fine tomorrow, he'll make it through."

I look down at my father's slumbering face, hating all the similarities I see between us. It's not like I particularly like my father —  in fact, I deeply resent him. But I letting him die may as well make me a murderer.

"I'm uncertain of whether I should be relieved by that," I admit to Zyre. "Either way, thank you for the help."

He has no reason to help me, but he chose to anyway. I don't get the feeling he wants to use this to blackmail me, but how can I be sure? He as everything on me, and I have absolutely nothing on him.

"So, your father is alive," he says bluntly.

I turn to him, my desperate spiel already building on the back of my tongue. "Please don't—"

He raises his hand to stop me. "I won't tell Avi."

He says it so earnestly, the relief is overwhelming. I believe him, for once. Maybe he is taking pity on me, seeing how pathetic my life is, even though I've married an Alpha. Maybe it has softened whatever darkness is in his heart.

"My father is bedridden. He cannot live without my support of Neela's," I explain.

"That's why you needed to return tonight, isn't it?" His voice softens.

That, and I wanted one more night in my normal night, in this home. I need to think, about this engagement, and what it's going to mean to be married to an Alpha.

And more specifically, what it is like to be married to Avi.
 
"I don't know what I'm going to do when I move into the palace." I wander out of fathers room, Zyre following behind me. The fire Neela lit earlier bathes the dark room in flickering light, the warmth spilling into my cheeks.

"Avi would understand," he says.

I sink down onto my threadbare couch, kicking my feet onto the small table in front of it. Zyre looms a few steps away, like he isn't sure how to act in my space.

Maybe it's the dark and the warmth soothing me, but he looks good here. I know he doesn't belong here, in my home, in my life, but in this moment, it feels like he does.

"Maybe he could forgive me for another lie, but he won't forgive me if he learnt other things...they would all come out if people were to learn that my father is alive," I tell him.

Once again, he doesn't pry. "I see."

"Add this to my list of debt," I mumble tiredly, rubbing the tension from my face. My expression has been stuck in a grimace for the past few hours.

Zyre remains silent for a moment. The only sound is the crackling of the fire and my father's croaky breaths from the room.

"Your life is a complicated mess, Lavelle," he says eventually. "Marrying Avi, it...it may only make your life more difficult."

"You asked me to flee, but I clearly cannot. While it is difficult to decide what to do about my father when I move tomorrow, I will figure it out." I sink into cushions of the couch, feeling them exhale stuffy air around me.

I will tell Avi, eventually. He'll keep it a secret, he'll help me. He'll understand that I've had to keep my father alive, and like Zyre, he won't pry until I'm ready.

I hope.

"Allow me to stay the night. We can take turns tending to your father." He slides his hands into his pockets.

I shake my head. "I can't ask that of you..."

Zyre doesn't know me, and me owing him more favours will only sink me deeper into trouble.

But the thought of him leaving...I don't want to be alone. I'm tired of feeling alone all of the time, and Zyre is capable, strong and he doesn't ever waver. If I allow him to stay, he won't leave until he knows I'll be okay.

"You haven't asked. I've offered," he murmurs steadily.

"Zyre—"

"I want to." His expression softens as he takes a step closer.

Turning him away would be the right thing to do. I just got engaged tonight, and if I should be spending my night with anyone, it should be Avi. But Avi isn't here, and Zyre is willing to help me get through this night with my father.

He's just doing the right thing. It doesn't mean anything.

I look up at him. "Alright. You may stay."

🧡••🧡

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