24

E lizabeth gazed up at the ceiling and did her best to calm her breath and racing heart. It wasn't working.

Stephen had finally left her alone, just as she wanted. He had also now seen her at her worst. A cringing, pathetic lump. Exactly as she didn't want. Not only had she been incapable of ejecting him from her bedchamber by force, but she had also appeared so feeble and worthless that even her repeated commands packed no more punch than a gnat.

Now that he'd seen the truth, he would no longer view her as strong. The image of her helpless and weak would be forever burned into his brain, just like the expression of pity on his face would be forever burned into hers.

Her eyes welled up with tears. She glared at the ceiling, refusing to blink until the disgraceful wetness went away. A warrior did not cry. A warrior showed no weakness. A warrior had no weakness.

Which meant Elizabeth…

She turned her head toward the window. The perpetual tea machine came into view instead. Another sign that Stephen found her helpless and weak. He hadn't asked if she'd wanted tea. He had decided what she needed and presumed with a single glance that she was incapable of performing even the most basic functions for herself.

It wasn't a romantic gift. It was a baby bottle.

Things would never again be the same as before. How could they be? The illusion of invincibility had been shattered.

God, she wished her family were here. She missed them with every aching cell of her body. The castle felt like a mausoleum, not a mission. She was so isolated and alone. Her family would know how to make her feel like a worthy human. They understood that fifteen percent could be as normal as sixty-five. To them, she was never too much or too little. They took in stride whatever percentage Elizabeth happened to be on any given day, and loved her back one hundred percent, regardless.

Her fingers dug into the blanket at her sides as her heart struggled to find its rhythm. The idea that Stephen might never admire her the same way again was too gut-wrenching to contemplate.

Elizabeth knew she wasn't broken or helpless or useless. There were times when she could take on an army, and times when she couldn't win a fight with a flea. But nobody in the world was constantly vanquishing something, twenty-four hours a day.

Others could think what they wanted, but they couldn't make her feel ashamed of her body. Elizabeth chose to take pride in all the things it could do. She was proud of her whole self. Not just when she was swashbuckling, but always. Including here and now.

She propped herself up on her elbows, gingerly. Her muscles were tight, but did not immediately contract in agonizing pain. She was almost at twenty percent. Maybe soon to be twenty-five, if this perpetual tea machine worked as claimed.

Three levers protruded from the right-hand side. She stared at them. Which one had Stephen said to press? She decided to begin with the first one and see what happened.

The machine whirred and clacked as pieces began to move. The wick beneath the teapot did not light. Rather than boil water, at the end of a series of movements, a trapdoor sprang open, and a wooden arm punched through.

In its grip was a single red rose.

A startled laugh escaped her throat. Gently, she plucked the stem free from the wooden clamp. As soon as she did so, the machine whirred again. A slender ceramic vase appeared. The pitcher suspended at the top of the device poured a dollop of water into the vase instead of the teapot. A tiny bell gave a little clang, as if signaling that this particular sequence was through.

Elizabeth brought the rose to her nose to inhale its sweet aroma. How very Stephen. She lowered the vase to the floor beside her bed and slid the stem into the ceramic column. There. She could look at her flower whenever she liked.

She gathered strength and pressed the second lever. Sparks lit the tinder, which lit a wick connected to an oil reservoir. The resulting flames were just tall enough to lick the bottom of the teapot.

It would take a few minutes for even a teacup-size portion of water to boil. She propped herself up with pillows to wait and to watch. The cup itself was already in place, from when Stephen had given his explanation of how the device worked.

He had been trying to help.

"No—be fair," she murmured. "He did help. Tea is always a good idea."

She was begrudgingly glad he'd done all this. Which forced her to consider the possibility that him offering help was not the same as calling her useless. It was unfair to ascribe to him any intention of making her feel incapable of taking care of herself, when it was clear that Stephen simply wished to feel useful, too.

While Elizabeth was being charitable, she was forced to admit that Miss Oak had also offered tea—and biscuits—without receiving this much of Elizabeth's wrath. But there had been some important differences.

For one, Elizabeth had been ready to leave her room when she'd accepted Miss Oak's offer of tea and biscuits. Here in her strange bed at Castle Harbrook, with her joints still flaring with pain, Elizabeth was far from prepared to mingle with others.

For two, Miss Oak was a relative stranger and could not be expected to know the first thing about Elizabeth. Their limited relationship was one of service provider and client.

Stephen had spent most of his waking moments with Elizabeth for weeks. Talking with her, kissing her, learning her. But the one thing he hadn't done when she'd needed his understanding the most was to stop and listen to her.

He hadn't just hurt her feelings. She cared about Stephen's opinion of her. Viscerally.

She did not want him to think her weak or lesser, or worst of all, a broken thing unable to be fixed.

Elizabeth didn't just want him to see her as worthy and strong. She wanted him to understand that she was the same Elizabeth she always was, no matter what percentage she was currently operating at. Which was why she had reacted to his poking and prodding by lashing out like a wild creature. By rejecting him before he could reject her.

They would both have to figure out where to go from here.