Page 131 of Knot Heirs: Serenity's Reign

"Why're you doing this?" she asked suddenly, her voice clearer than it had been.

Darius considered the question, hand stilling against her shoulder. "Because you need it."

"You have... people for this."

"I don't want people. I want to do it myself." The admission surprised him almost as much as it seemed to surprise her.

"Why?"

He resumed his ministrations, buying time before answering truthfully. "Because I've never felt responsible for anyone but myself. It's... new."

Her golden eyes studied him with a flash of her usual perspicacity. "Dangerous."

"Extremely," he agreed, a rare genuine smile softening his features. "Almost as dangerous as you are."

"I'm not dangerous right now," she protested weakly.

"You're at your most dangerous when you make me care," he replied, voice dropping to barely above a whisper. "When you make me forget who I am."

The confession hung between them, more intimate than their physical proximity. For a moment, the calculation that defined them both receded, leaving only raw truth.

Then Serenity shivered, breaking the spell. "Water's getting cold."

"Time to get you out, then." He reached for a large towel, draping it over his shoulder before sliding his arms beneath her again.

He lifted her from the water with the same careful strength, immediately wrapping the towel around her trembling form.Her skin felt cooler—not normal, but no longer burning with fever.

"Better?" he asked, supporting her weight easily.

She nodded against his chest. "Little better."

"Good." He held her close, allowing himself this moment of protectiveness. "Let's get you dried off and back to bed."

Serenity's eyes drifted closed again, her usual walls of independence temporarily lowered by illness. "Thank you," she murmured, the words so quiet he almost missed them.

Darius tightened his hold slightly, a surge of unfamiliar emotion rising in his chest. "Don't get used to it," he said, but there was no edge to his words.

And as he carried her back toward the bedroom, he confronted the uncomfortable truth that in this bizarre, unplanned moment of vulnerability, something fundamental had shifted between them—something neither his money nor his power could control.

Darius carried Serenity to his walk-in closet, setting her carefully on the tufted leather bench inside. Her head lolled against his shoulder, golden-red eyes unfocused beneath heavy lids.

"Stay upright for me," he commanded softly, keeping one hand on her shoulder while reaching for his pajama drawer with the other.

She made a small sound of acknowledgment, struggling to comply. The towel slipped, and he adjusted it around her with practiced efficiency that surprised even him.

He selected black silk pajamas—ridiculously expensive, custom-tailored, and the softest things he owned. The Prime Alpha in him demanded she have the best, even if she was too delirious to appreciate it.

"Arms up," he instructed, voice gentler than anyone in the Castellano empire would believe possible.

Serenity complied sluggishly, her usual fierce independence nowhere to be found. The shirt enveloped her small frame, hanging to mid-thigh, sleeves dangling well past her fingertips.

"Too big," she mumbled, eyes still closed.

"They'll do." He rolled the sleeves up methodically. "Can you stand?"

She tried, wobbling dangerously. Without hesitation, he steadied her, helping her into the pants and tying the drawstring tight enough to keep them on her slender hips.

"Back to bed now," he said, lifting her again when it became clear her legs wouldn't support her.

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