She didn't know what that meant, and she didn't rightly care. Armed with the knowledge that she would not have to honor her obligation on this night, she stood and offered him a slight bow.
"Very well. In that case, I would like to rest now."
Isael stood as well, his much taller form casting a shadow over her.
"As you wish. Maewyn is in the adjoining room. If you have need of anything, you need only call out to her."
She thanked him and started toward her bed, acutely aware of the fact that he was still making no effort to leave. By the time she'd traversed the room to reach her bed, she'd almost convinced herself that he'd slipped from her room without making a sound.
Hesitating at her bedside, she swallowed hard and then turned back toward the sitting area. He was still there, though his form was shadowed. He might have been mistaken for a statue for all he moved, only his blue eyes appearing to dance as they caught firelight.
"My lord?" Her voice was scarcely a whisper, but she knew he would hear her.
"Good night, Cera."
She watched as he turned to leave, taking in the familiar sight of his retreating form. As the door clicked shut behind him, some of the color seemed to drain from the room. The fire no longer appeared quite so bright and the air grew stale.
Cera all but collapsed onto the bed, her hand going to her heart. She'd felt relieved when he'd declined sharing her bed, but now her stomach roiled with unease.
Had she been rejected yet again?
No, that couldn't have been it. During their discussion, he'd made it clear that he planned for them to at least attempt to have children. She might have been overthinking it. Perhaps he was simply being generous and giving her a night to rest and recover from her journey.
But what of the blood? She hated that she hadn't questioned the blood. It must have been some sort of ritual.
Blood magic?
Her skin crawled at the thought. She'd never heard of anything good coming from blood magic.
What if that is how elves mate?
She laughed at the thought, it was so absurd. Men and animals mated in the same manner, why should elves be any different?
"Elves have magic," she said aloud, mostly to hear her own voice echo in the empty room.
She had never read about elves using blood magic to reproduce, but then again, there wasn't any literature on the breeding habits of elves. She let the notion roll around in her mind for a moment, before discarding it. Few southern elves possessed magic, but they managed to bear plenty of children.
Cera crawled under the many layers of sheets and blankets that covered her bed. The fabric was cool against her legs and impossibly soft. Her pillows were also much too comfortable. She felt as though she might sink down into oblivion.
At the apex of her comfort, something...shifted.
The sinking feeling left, replaced by a sensation of being weighted. And then, she was not merely weighted, but being pressed down until her chest began to constrict.
With effort, she managed to open her eyes. She looked around as best she could while her body was locked in place. There was no one on top of her and the room was quiet and still.
She attempted to open her mouth. Her jaw would not budge, nor would her lips so much as pucker. With dawning horror, she realized that she was no longer in control of her breathing. She inhaled and exhaled through her nose, the slow and steady breaths out of sync with her galloping heart.
Even her mind began to betray her. Initially, a flurry of thoughts had raced through her head. Once she realized she was not being physically attacked, she considered that it could be magic pinning her down. Perhaps it was an assassination attempt?
Before she could settle on a theory, her attention was drawn to the fabric of her bedsheet. Except, she could no longer see the sheet as it was. It had ceased to be a single object, and instead she saw the thousands of threads it was comprised of, each of them unique and individual. Twisting vines had been embroidered at the fringe, and the emerald threads shimmered and danced, weaving in and out of one another within the pattern.
She remained transfixed by the threads until pain lanced her head and her vision spotted over. She thought she could taste blood, but even that was dubious as her tongue no longer seemed to be one single thing. It became a collection of receptors, each of them perceiving a different taste.
She lost the ability to track time. Her remaining senses were too overwhelmed to be relied upon. She thought she heard voices, but the sounds faded in and out of her consciousness. Pain was all she knew, until something jerked her forward, as if pulling her from a nightmare. Her eyes flew open, and she could see once again. She was staring into the timeless, blue eyes of the high lord.
He issued a command to her. Even as reality unwound around her, his word was as clear as anything she'd ever heard.
"Sleep."