Time in the hunting lodge didn't move in hours. It moved in rounds.
Round Three happened against the stone hearth. Round Four involved the sturdy oak bench. Round Five was a blur of tangled limbs and exhausted, desperate friction on the fur rug that Elian was pretty sure would never be clean again.
The sun rose. The sun set. The fire burned down to embers, was restoked by a naked Prince, and burned down again.
Elian lay sprawled on his stomach across the bed, his face buried in a pillow that smelled like Cassian. He felt less like a human being and more like a well-used squeeze toy.
"Food," Cassian's voice rumbled from somewhere above him.
A piece of dried venison was dangled in front of Elian's nose.
Elian groaned, cracking one eye open. "If I chew, I might pass out. My jaw is tired. Everything is tired."
"Eat," Cassian ordered, nudging Elian's cheek with the meat. "You need the protein. We are burning calories at an alarming rate."
