Page 82 of A House of Gold
I keep my eyes closed, taking inventory. My body aches everywhere, deep, bone-tired exhaustion that comes from absorbing a major sin. The forty-seventh tattoo on my arm throbs dully. My throat is raw from screaming.
I'm wearingone of his shirts, soft cotton, too big, smelling like him. I don't remember putting it on. He must have dressed me at some point while I slept, peeling off my blood-stained clothes and replacing them with something clean. The thought should bother me more than it does.
Behind me, Croesus shifts slightly. His arm tightens around my waist. He's wearing loose black pants and nothing else. I can feel the warmth of bare skin against my back, the solid muscle of his chest, the steady rise and fall of his breathing. His hairis loose, not pulled back like usual, and I can feel the strands against my shoulder.
This version of him is different. Softer. Without the suits and the perfect presentation and the weight of three thousand years pressing down on every word. Just an angel in his own bed, holding someone who understands his curse.
"You're awake," he says quietly. Not a question.
"How did you know?"
"Your breathing changed." His voice is rough, but I know he doesn’t sleep, so it’s not because of that. "How do you feel?"
"Like I got hit by a truck." I finally stretch a little and blink my eyes all the way open. Golden light filters through impossible windows showing a sunrise that doesn't exist. "How long was I out?"
"Eighteen hours." His hand spreads across my stomach, holding me close. "You slept through the night and most of the next day. I've been checking to make sure you were still breathing."
The admission is casual, but I hear the worry underneath it. He was afraid I wouldn't wake and that maybe the greed absorption had broken something vital.
"I'm okay," I say. "Just exhausted."
"You absorbed fifteen years of my curse. Exhausted is an understatement." He pauses. "Are you hungry? Thirsty? Do you need anything?"
The question catches me off guard. Not because he's asking, but because of the way he asks, genuine concern, not obligation. Like my needs matter more than his own comfort.
"Water," I manage. "And maybe food. I can't remember the last time I ate."
He's up immediately, moving with that fluid grace that reminds me he's not human. His bare feet are silent on the floor. I watch him cross the room, black pants sitting low on hiships, the muscles of his back shifting as he moves, hair falling loose past his shoulders. Without the formal clothes and careful grooming, he looks younger. Less like a lord and more like... a person.
An impossibly beautiful person, but still..
Water starts running in the bathroom, then he's back with a glass which I drink like I've been lost in a desert.
"Slowly," he warns, but doesn't take the glass away. Just waits until I've drained it. "I'll have food brought up. What do you want?"
"Anything. I'm not picky when I'm starving."
"Everything, then." He moves to the door, speaks quietly to someone I can't see. When he returns, he settles on the edge of the bed again, his gaze off to the corner of the room, but I don’t think for one second he’s not laser focused on every part of me. His hair falls forward, and he pushes it back absently. The gesture is so human, so normal, that it makes my chest ache.
This is what he could be without the curse. Without the constant performance of being Lord of Gold. Just... him.
"What?" I ask.
"You're different." He reaches out, then stops himself. His hand hovers near my face before falling to the bed between us. "Since the absorption. Since you felt what I feel. You look at me differently now."
"How did I look at you before?"
"Like I was a monster wearing a beautiful face." His voice is matter-of-fact, no self-pity. "Like you were calculating how to survive me. And now..."
"Now what?"
"Now you look at me like I'm something that needs saving."
The words land between us like stones dropped in still water. Ripples spreading, disturbing the surface, revealing depths underneath.
"Is that so wrong?" I ask quietly.
"I don't know." He finally touches me, fingers brushing my cheek, tentative, like he's afraid I'll pull away. "I've been called many things over the years. Monster. Devil. Lord. God. But never something that needs saving. And definitely never been called something worth the effort of redemption."
