Barius gritted his teeth as his injured leg buckled, and Nyla caught him under the arms before he could pitch forward into the table.
"Easy-easy," she murmured, her voice steady even as his weight leaned heavily into her. "Don't fight it; breathe through it."
"I am breathing," he ground out, jaw tight. "It just hurts like my bones were hammered back into place."
"That means you're doing it right," she said, shifting her stance so she could take more of his balance.
Morning light paled at the frosted window panes, but the room was warming and the smell of cooking bread was in the air.
Her shoulder pressed beneath his, her palm firm at his ribs. "It's the price of healing the bone with magic otherwise you'd be bedridden for weeks. It won't form right by sitting still."
He huffed a breath that was halfway between a laugh and a groan, sweat beading at his temples. "You say that like you've done this before."
"You think I haven't?" Nyla snorted softly, adjusting his elbow to keep it tucked close. "You're not the first stubborn man who thought walking again was a personal war."
He glared down at his leg as if it had personally betrayed him. His toes turned inward again.
Nyla nudged them with her foot. "There. Rotate from the hip. Good." Her hand slid lower down his arm, guiding without tugging. "Now shift your weight. Slowly."
He focused, pain flickering across his brow then he pushed.
His left foot moved forward an inch. Then another. The muscles in his thigh tremored violently, threatening to give.
Nyla moved with him, matching his pace, anchoring him just enough.
"That's it," she said quietly, almost under her breath. "Don't lock the knee. Lean into the step."
"It feels wrong," he said hoarsely.
"New things do," she replied. "Again."
He lifted his foot, too high this time and Nyla's hand shot out, fingers curling firmly around the back of his knee to stabilize him.
"Not that high," she chided. "You're walking, not climbing a siege ladder."
The touch startled him; he froze.
So did she.
For a heartbeat, they were too close, her face near his shoulder, his breath stirring her hair. His pulse thudded hot and fast beneath her palm. "You smell like flowers..." He stumbled slightly, weight straining against her shoulders.
"Focus Barius." She pressed a hand against him to hold him upright, voice steadier than she felt. "Try again."
He did.
The next step landed cleaner, heel first, rolling to the ball of his foot. His grip on her forearm tightened, but he stayed upright.
"There you go," she said. "Better."
He exhaled through clenched teeth, sweat trailing down his temple. "How far?"
"Just to the chair," she said. "Then back."
"That's across the entire room."
"That's three steps," she corrected. "Four if you're dramatic about it."
His mouth twitched. "And if I fall?"
"You'll learn to catch yourself," She said it simply, without thought. "...or try to."
And he looked at her then, fully, steadily, as if something in him recognized her even if his memory wouldn't.
Nyla cleared her throat and stepped back half a pace, keeping one hand lightly at his elbow. "Move while you can still stand," she said briskly. "The longer you hesitate, the worse the pain gets."
He nodded, swallowing hard, and braced himself again. This time, the step was surer. Then another. The trembling in his leg eased a fraction as the movement found rhythm.
When they reached the chair, he sagged onto it with a groan, chest rising and falling like he'd run a mile. His hand came up to rub the aching spot.
Nyla reached for his knee again, testing the swelling. "Good. That's good. The bone's holding. Nerves were damaged slightly at the break but they're looking good too...seems to me you'll make a full recovery in a few days."
Barius shut his eyes briefly, catching his breath. "Feels like everything else is falling apart."
"It isn't," she said gently. "You're doing well."
His eyes opened, green and sharp, even through exhaustion, and he murmured, almost grudgingly, "Because you're keeping me upright."
She reached for his ankle, rotating it slowly, checking his response.
"You keep yourself upright," she corrected. "I just stop you from doing anything stupid on the way there."
He watched her hands on his leg, steady, careful, and something in his expression softened.
"You've done more than that," he said quietly.
Nyla didn't answer. Her fingers stayed on his knee a moment longer than they needed to.
Then, "Again," she said, standing.
He groaned in protest. "Now?"
"Yes. Before your muscles realize they hate you."
He sighed, bracing himself on the chair, and pushed to his feet.
And she was there again, shoulder at his side, hand ready, breath close, guiding him through the next step, and the next, and the next until the two of them moved together like they'd done it a hundred times before.
By the fifth lap across the room on his own, Barius stopped listening to her entirely.
He stood in the middle of the cottage, shoulders rising and falling with controlled breaths, eyes fixed on the door like a caged wolf scenting open air.
Nyla wiped her hands on her apron, narrowing her eyes. "Don't think about it."
"I'm not thinking."
"That's exactly why I'm worried."
He shifted his weight from one foot to the other, testing, calculating, restless in a way that had nothing to do with the pain in his leg.
"I need air," he said. "Not the fire. Not these walls."
Nyla stepped in front of him. "You nearly fainted standing still."
"That was yesterday."
"And you're still fever-warm."
He didn't deny it. But his jaw tightened, that same stubborn crease she'd learned meant I'm going to do it anyway.
"I have to see," he murmured, a strange gentleness threading through his voice, "I can't sit still anymore. My body feels wrong when I don't move."
Her stomach dipped. She recognized that feeling, the instinctive pull toward something beyond the door. A soldier's instinct. A prince's. The man beneath the amnesia she couldn't touch.
"Walk to the window again," she tried. "Then you're done."
He shook his head, a small, resolute movement. "I need sky."
Nyla exhaled sharply. "And I need you not to collapse in front of the entire village before you're ready. It would be best not to provoke."
He paused at that, gaze softening. "Why?"
"Because," she said slowly, brushing a thumb over her brow, "Someone - someones - will come for you. I don't know when and I don't know who. But if the wrong person sees you before they arrive..." She swallowed. "Barius, you are not just a man who I found in the snow. Your name carries weight here. Fear. Stories."
He dropped his gaze to the floorboards, fingers flexing as though remembering the weight of a sword he didn't hold. "I understand."
"Do you?" She crossed her arms, fighting herself more than him.
His hair was falling into his eyes again, stubborn and dark and he pushed it back with one impatient sweep.
Nyla tried not to let her eyes betray her but...Maris wasn't wrong. He was handsome; stupidly and almost unfairly handsome. Not the soft, pretty kind, and nothing like Valtor's warm, familiar charm. This was different. Rougher. Sharper.
Now that he was awake and actually standing, it hit her harder. Broad shoulders, solid build, that quiet strength that made the whole room feel smaller.
Before Nyla could let her eyes betray her further, behind them, Alva poked her head around the curtain, face smudged with dirt, apron full of something suspiciously plant-like.
"Let's go to the meadow," she declared.
"No," Nyla said instantly.
"Yes," Barius said at the exact same time.
They stared at each other.
Alva, sensing opportunity, tip-toed fully into the room. "The sun's out. And it's not even windy. And he needs fresh air."
Nyla exhaled sharply. "Alva-"
"And," the girl continued, loading more wildflowers into her apron, "I want to make chains. You can sketch. He can...uh..." She gestured vaguely at Barius. "Sit without breaking anything."
Barius's mouth twitched. "I am capable of sitting."
"Are you?" Nyla muttered under her breath.
He heard it. And for the first time that morning, he smiled, just a faint curve, soft and almost shy. It did terrible things to her self-control.
Nyla pressed a hand to her forehead. "We can't just waltz into the meadow as if no one will see him. Maris is already keeping our secret. If anyone else notices you-"
"They won't," Barius said quietly.
"You don't know that."
"I know I can walk the path without falling."
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. It's not only your well-being but my reputation here. People have extremely mixed feelings about helping you."
He stepped closer, slow and deliberate not looming, but anchoring himself in front of her as if grounding the conversation physically.
"I don't like feeling trapped, Nyla..." For a moment Nyla saw a flash of the prince stirring underneath, and an unsettling feeling overcame her. But his voice was low and steady. "But I'll stay if you tell me to."
Nyla blinked.
He meant it.
He would stay.
If she asked.
Alva immediately groaned. "Don't ask him to stay. Maris will surely vouch for us."
Nyla shot her a look. Sometimes she was too wisened for her own good.
Barius waited.
Nyla's pulse thudded traitorously. He looked steadier today, yes. But the thought of anyone in the village laying eyes on him before the guards arrived made something cold twist in her stomach.
But then he swallowed, a small, hesitant motion, and said: "I just want to breathe real air."
And Nyla's resolve cracked.
She sighed, defeated. "Fine."
Alva cheered. Barius's shoulders eased.
"But," Nyla added sharply, pointing at him, "we take the back trail. No one uses it. And you do not walk ahead of me. And if your leg twinges even once-"
Barius gave a slow nod. "I'll stop."
"And sit."
"Yes."
"And rest."
"Yes," he said again, amused now.
"And you will not attempt heroics if any are to arise."
"Do I look capable of heroics at the moment?"
"Yes," she snapped, far too quickly.
He went still, the faintest flicker of warmth crossing his expression.
Nyla grabbed her shawl and sketchbook to hide the heat rising up her neck. She tucked an outdoor blanket into her basket, along with a small box of refined charcoal pieces. "Let's go before I change my mind."
Barius followed her toward the back door, steadying himself with one hand on the wall. Alva skipped ahead, humming triumphantly.
Nyla opened the door to the cool spring air.
Barius stepped out first, breathing in deeply, eyes closing as if the world outside tasted better.
"Better?" Nyla asked softly.
He opened his eyes and looked at her.
"Better," he said.
She swallowed.
"Right," she muttered, flustered. "To the meadow."
Alva darted ahead, already gathering early blooms.
Barius walked between them, slower, steady, posture straightening with every step.
And Nyla, trailing behind, watched the way the morning light cut across him, how everything in him seemed to settle once the sky touched his face.
This had been the right choice.
Even if it terrified her.
They reached the meadow by the back trail, the one bordered by still-bare birch saplings and frost-nipped ferns. Spring had only just woken: pale grass, the first shy flowers, sunlight that didn't quite warm the skin.
Nyla spread her blanket beneath the old oak on the rise, the earth still cool beneath it and lowered herself down, balancing her sketchbook on her knees, charcoal ready.
Ahead of her, the meadow dipped into a soft golden bowl of waving grass.
Barius walked a little farther out with Alva, slow and uneven but determined. He leaned on his crutch when he had to, but the air, gods. He breathed deeply, shoulders easing as if each inhale loosened chains she couldn't see.
"Don't go too far..." Nyla called, "There are wild faeries in the grasses."
Nyla couldn't hear their voices from where she sat, but she didn't need to.
Alva plopped herself in front of him, apron bursting with early daisies she'd hunted down like treasure. Even from a distance, Nyla could see Barius hesitate, then fold himself down into the grass when Alva pointed to the ground and ordered he sit.
A grin curved at Nylas lips and she opened her leather sketchbook. A couple of forgotten pressed flowers slipped out into her lap, brittle but still vibrant. The sun was bright and warming, and the first sounds of insects were returning. She watched them from beneath the oak's shade, Alva rising from her spot to bring Nyla a handful of herbs and flowers she spotted.
Henrietta, the towns botanist, cultivated the meadow magically, so even during the coldest winters there were blooms and warmth. Nyla had always been mesmerised and Alva loved to go there to play.
"Thank you," Nyla said appreciatively, picking out a few worthy stems, then quietly, "How's our patient faring?"
Alva twisted her mouth and glanced back at him, as if unsure, "He's not as scary as I thought...he's actually quite nice...he seems to like you too..."
"Tsk, you've been listening to Maris too much," Nyla said but her smile gave her away, "You will let me know the second he does or says anything strange to you, won't you? It's very important."
Alva smiled, but not a worry crossed her features, "Of course, Nyla." And then skipped back over to him where he sat in the grass, still has a statue.
She tried to focus on the lines of her page, at the way the petals formed in arches, how the stems of Liverwart curved upwards...but every few strokes her gaze drifted. Barius sat in the grass with Alva, legs folded, shoulders relaxed. The sunlight softened him, smoothing the harsh edges of his face. He listened to Alva with that steady, quiet patience of his, trying to follow her chatter.
Nyla looked back at her sketch, tried to keep her hand moving.
Her eyes still kept sliding back to him.
Forcing her eyes down, she pressed the charcoal into the parchment, sketching a quick but rough design of the meadow scene, Barius' back to her and Alva sitting quietly next to him. It only took a few minutes, but when she looked up again, Barius was covered in flowers.
Alva had stuffed daisies behind both his ears, looped stems over his shoulders, and arranged blossoms of pink and yellow in his dark hair with unshakeable authority.
A laugh left Nyla's mouth and Barius' head tilted back towards her for a brief moment, flowers falling from his hair. His head whipped back when Alva told him off for moving and then sat absolutely still, towering, battered, solemn as the ten-year-old decorated him like a festival idol.
She couldn't hear their words, only the shape of their movements and the graceful edges of a genuine smile - Alva tugging him forward by the wrist when he sat too straight.
Barius giving in, adjusting awkwardly.
She held up a daisy chain that collapsed in her hands.
Even from afar, Nyla saw the disappointment in her slump.
Then she watched Barius reach down, search for something then pick up a small branch.
Her hand stilled over her sketchbook.
He ran his fingers along the slender branch, slow, gentle and even from where she sat, Nyla felt the shift in the air.
The twig softened, bent, curled into a perfect circle as though remembering summer warmth or recognizing his touch. It was so natural, so quietly certain, that Nyla didn't gasp, she simply froze, breath suspended wondering if she saw correctly.
He tucked the flowers through the new shape and placed the crown gently on Alva's head.
Alva lit up like the sun had chosen her.
Then, Barius lifted his hands. Not dramatically. Just...responding to her joy.
And the meadow responded to him.
A warm breeze rolled through the grass, too warm for early spring, too certain. Petals from the wildflowers loosened into the air, rising like scattered stars. Pink, white, pale yellow, their colors spun and drifted around the pair in a slow, spiraling dance. Pixies flew out of the grasses startled, leaving behind a faint shimmer of sparkly powder, tiny high pitched wails of displeasure as they were tossed about in the wind, and flew off begrudgingly.
From the distance, Nyla watched it all with widening eyes.
The wind caught Barius's hair, carrying petals around him like he'd stepped into a story older than the valley itself.
Alva reached up in sheer delight, spinning beneath the floating blooms. "Nyla - look!"
Nyla smiled to show she was watching but didn't move.
Couldn't.
The meadow around her was alive, an inhale and exhale of earthly life.
The wind softened and the flowers drifted back to earth, for a heartbeat, before he turned back to Alva, he looked behind him toward Nyla again.
Softly.
Almost searching for her reaction.
Almost reaching for her without taking a step.
Alva chased flutterbugs along the far side of the clearing, her laughter drifting like seeds on the wind.
Barius eyes drifted toward the treeline again.
Something about the way he moved made her rise.
He stood at the edge of the meadow, shoulders tense, gaze fixed on a narrow gap between the pines. His hand hovered just over a branch, like muscle memory was pulling him toward it.
Nyla approached quietly. "Barius?"
He didn't look at her right away. His brow pinched, a faint confusion settling over his face.
"I remembered something..." he murmured, voice low.
"What is it?"
His eyes narrowed, as if he could almost see it, "There's a man, he's telling me something. I...I can't reach it."
Nyla slowed beside him. "Don't push it."
"It's right there," he insisted softly, taking a small step toward the trees. "I can almost see-"
He didn't finish.
Pain hit sharp and sudden.
He flinched hard, hand flying to his temple, eyes squeezing shut as he bent forward with a shaky breath.
"Barius," Nyla said quickly, steadying his arm.
He hissed through his teeth, trying not to wince. "It was...so close."
"The barriers are there to protect your mind. It's no use prodding at them." She slipped an arm around him, grounding him with her warmth. "Come on. Let's get you home."
Barius didn't argue.
As they walked back across the meadow, he glanced once over his shoulder, brow faintly furrowed.
Not longing.
Not fear.
Just that stubborn, restless ache of almost remembering.
Nyla squeezed his arm gently. "Next time, let it come on its own."
He nodded, jaw tight, but his steps fell into hers easily.
And together, they made the slow walk home.