A day later, Liam's heat arrived with enough force that the entire private wing quietly reorganized itself around him.
Not because anything had gone wrong.
That was precisely what made the situation so strange.
Liam was eating when food appeared in front of him, drinking whenever someone reminded him, and resting without first attempting to negotiate his way out of it. He still read, still complained when a technical text used terminology he considered imprecise, and still tried to keep track of several engineering projects from the sofa, but the sharp resistance that usually accompanied any suggestion involving his own care had softened almost completely.
"This is disturbing," Severin said from beside the fireplace.
Liam looked up from the heavy book resting across his knees.
"What is?"
Severin gestured vaguely toward him.
Liam followed the movement as though expecting to discover something objectively concerning about his appearance.
