Disclaimer: don't own the book series

A/N: originally posted on my tumblr: indigo -night- wisp . tumblr . com (take out the spaces)

to sleep perchance

He wakes her up in the middle of the night with his cries. Wakes her, but not himself, so she must lie here and listen to choked gasps and whimpers without being able to comfort.

Her heart hurts. She used to think she no longer had one, had burned it out and smothered it in ice long ago, but she must have one, she must. Surely, something that does not exist cannot hurt so badly.

He tosses and whines. "Please," he whispers, hoarse.

What is he begging for in his dream, she wonders. For mercy? For his life? For the pain to stop? Who is he begging?

(It's her, she knows. It's always her.)

When she can't stand it any longer, she gets up and goes to the outer chamber. The guards are all out in the hallway, save for one, who she doesn't know personally but vaguely recognizes as one of Costis and Teleus' joint taskforce for the queen and king. He doesn't say anything, even though Attolis can be heard sobbing in the other room.

Attolia is grateful, both for his silence and also for the way he pretends to completely ignore her presence. They both know why the king is crying, though Attolia suspects the guard doesn't know the real reason that she left her bed. Guilt, he probably guesses, or perhaps worse, simple irritation. But not the truth. Not this clench in her chest at every "please," or the way her skin feels too tight when his tears land on her neck.

She wishes it were only irritation.

He isn't crying anymore. She hopes this means the dream is over, but sometimes the crying stops and the screaming starts and her nonexistent heart shatters over and over again.

He's awake. Mumbling, breath hitching loudly, still sobbing a little bit. She can hear him from a room over, finely tuned to the sounds he makes when he can't be bothered to be silent. She has bitten her lip so hard she can taste blood.

He will go back to sleep now, settle down amidst pillows and blankets until his breath stops shuddering and his eyes stop spilling over and then she will go back in and pretend to sleep next to him until daybreak.

"Irene?" Eugenides says.

He is standing in the doorway, rubbing his eyes with his left hand and bracing himself against the lintel with his right forearm. She goes to him.

"My king," she begins, not reaching, ever mindful of her hands.

He cuts her off by stumbling forward into her arms. She must catch him or let him fall, and the latter has never been an acceptable option.

"You left," Eugenides accuses, pressing his forehead into her shoulder. Irene brings one hand up to tentatively pat at his tousled hair.

"I woke up," Eugenides continues, "and I looked for you, but you were gone."

"I am sorry," she says. Sorry for leaving, sorry for causing his nightmares.

He nuzzles her, sleep-heavy and too vulnerable. They are not alone. The guard is only pretending not to be there.

She turns her head and presses her lips to his temple, fiercely.

"I did not think you would want me near," she confesses quietly. Eugenides looks confused.

"Why not?" he asks.

She searches his face incredulously. Eugenides of the day is always alert and rarely bewildered by human motivation and expression. Eugenides of the night is another matter entirely, genuinely bemused by her admission.

She has hurt him, has broken him, has caused the tear tracks streaking his face and the redness of his eyes, but…

"Why not?" he asks.

"What were you dreaming?" she asks him instead of answering.

His face closes, his eyes darken. She pushes him away gently and does not touch him.

"That is why," she says.

Eugenides shakes his head. "But I wanted you," he insists petulantly. "I wanted you because the dream is not real and I wanted what is."

The dream is real, she does not say. I did this to you. It really happened.

But she does not say it, because Eugenides is yawning and tipping forward again. She catches him again and sighs in exasperation. He knows what he's doing, she realizes, and considers dropping him. But no, how can she, when her king is standing so close and her Eugenides is sighing on her collarbone.

"Come back to bed," Eugenides says, "and keep me safe from the bad dreams."

If she ever meets the Attolia of his dreams, she thinks, she will stab her in the throat.

"Alright," she answers, and takes his hand.

The guard is still pretending not to be there, and Irene follows Gen back to their room, back to their bed, and finally, back to sleep.