Frost Bound (Entangled with Trickery #1)

Neve

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Neve

The palace was full of whispers, and he didn’t like it one bit.

As he moved through the hallways of his courtiers, Bacti peeled away from the wall and fell in beside him, ignoring the look Flyka sent him.

“Back so soon, my lord?” he asked.

Neve grunted, glancing at the vallos . He was almost as tall as Neve, with light lilac-colored skin. Bacti was pretty , and annoying most days, but he was useful. His ties to the northern clans were important . “It was a land squabble. Easily handled.”

“Good.” Bacti laced his hands behind his back. “Both you and our reilleve have succeeded today.”

Our reilleve . For some reason, Neve did not like the way he said it.

“What are you getting at?” Flyka asked, irritated.

“Only that she’s proved herself your equal.” Bacti bowed and walked away.

Neve glanced over his shoulder at the vallos , and then to Flyka. “What the qov is he talking about?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t like it,” Flyka muttered.

He flat-out ignored the courtiers trying to get his attention. Neve picked up his speed, feeling that something was wrong. He practically bounded up the stairs to the royal wing, and growled when ten warriors milled about outside his chamber.

They bowed immediately, and Olwen stepped out of the crowd and touched Neve’s shoulder. A slithering sort of fear curled in his gut and wound its way up into his chest.

“What’s happened?” he snapped, feeling like he was about to come out of his skin. “An assassination attempt on the reilleve ?” They’d already avoided two in the last three weeks.

Olwen sighed. “Dahlia is fine.”

“But?”

His best friend winced, the scar on his face pinching. “She’s been wounded.”

Neve took one step forward, and Olwen’s hand slipped to his chest, holding him in place. “What?”

“She’s rough and concussed. It’s a head wound, so it’s bled a lot.”

He pushed past his friend, through the group of warriors, and into their chambers. He stopped in his tracks, his stomach bottoming out. Dahlia sat at the foot of the bed, her legs dangling over the edge. Her left eye was completely swollen shut, and blood dripped from her right temple, down her cheek, chin, and neck. There was so much crimson. Loshika was stitching the wound, muttering softly when his wife’s ladies-in-waiting murmured about fainting.

He wanted to break something.

Flyka stepped to his side and hissed. “Godsteeth, she took a beating.”

Dahlia popped open her good eye and locked on to Flyka. “I thought I heard you,” she slurred.

Neve moved to the side of the bed, staring down at the healer, who was tying a last stitch. “How bad is it?” he asked gruffly.

“Laceration to the head, black eye, possible fractured cheekbone, split lip, and a concussion.” Loshika cut the thread and dropped the scissors and needle into an empty wooden bowl on the bed.

He scowled, and stepped between his wife’s knees when the healer moved out of the way. Gently, he slipped his finger under her chin and tilted her face to the side to glare at her swollen eye that was a garish black, blue, and red. Humans were ugly when beaten.

“What happened?” he demanded.

She flinched. “Not so loud. My head feels like it’s going to crack open.”

He glanced over his shoulder at her ladies-in-waiting. “Were any of you there when this happened?”

All four shook their heads no.

Loshika pressed in on his left side and began cleaning the blood off her neck.

“And you?”

The healer didn’t spare him a glance. “No, my lord.”

He growled. “Can anyone tell me what the qov happened to my wife?”

Dahlia blinked her one open eye at him, her pupil blown wide. He frowned. She didn’t smell of fear or desire. Why was her eye like that?

“Her pupil,” he murmured.

“A side effect of the concussion, I believe,” Loshika said softly.

“You believe?”

“I’ve been studying about saloes since she asked me to travel with her. It’s not my specialty, my lord.”

Fair, but frustrating.

Dahlia’s head lolled back for a moment. “The light hurts.”

“Dampen the lanterns,” he commanded to his cousins.

They rushed to the lanterns, turning them down. His valles sighed, a half-smile on her swollen face.

“I want to sleep,” she whispered, wavering slightly.

“No sleep,” Loshika said sternly. “I don’t know what will happen if she sleeps. If she’s anything like our people, it can be dangerous.” She finished cleaning up the blood. “I’ll stay here for the night to care for her.”

“I’m going to…”

Dahlia turned green a moment before she leaned forward and vomited all over his chest and down his trousers. Neve stared over the top of her head, trying not to breathe. His niliave continued to heave, emptying the contents of her stomach. He cupped the back of her neck and ran his thumb back and forth, not moving as she clutched his hips.

“It hurts,” his wife moaned.

“Did you give her something for the pain?” he asked the healer.

“As much as I dare.” Genuine worry and fear crossed the healer’s face. “She’s not well.”

Dahlia began to shudder and lifted her head, wiping her mouth with the back of her arm. Tears dipped down her cheeks. “I just want a shower. I need the darkness. I want to be warm.”

“I’m going to kill whoever did this,” he promised, hating how vulnerable his valles was.

“Ha! Can’t do that. You love her too much,” Dahlia slurred.

Neve leaned down to stare at her one good eye. “Who do I love too much?”

“I can do it, my lord.” Loshika set her rag down and made like she was going to push Neve out of the way.

He shook his head and carefully scooped up the valles . She moaned and clung to his soiled shirt. His questions would have to wait. Neve stepped over the puddle of vomit and strode to the shower room, kicking the door shut with his boot. He used his elbow to turn on the water. He waited a minute for the water to heat up and then carefully stepped into the spray.

The valles sagged against his chest. “My ears are ringing.”

“A side effect of the concussion, I presume.” He sat on one of the steps, the water soaking his clothes and dripping down his face. Neve stared down at the top of her head and just held her. She shivered and cuddled closer. He didn’t know how long they sat there, but time stretched on, rain falling around them.

She stirred, face creasing. “I feel sick.”

He managed to help her sit up on his knee, before she leaned over his arm and heaved once again. He pulled her loose braid over her shoulder and snarled. It was four inches shorter, the ends all jagged. Neve swallowed hard and ran his claws over the end of her hair and rubbed her back gently.

Someone had mangled her hair. While Dahlia was an oddity, her hair had always been exotic and stunning. One of the things he found beautiful about her bizarre form.

“It’s fine,” she rasped, as if she could feel his anger.

Neve glared over her head at the wall. It was not fine.

“I did it myself.”

His eyes widened as she sat up and leaned her good cheek against his shoulder. “What do you mean, jaivelle ?”

“She grabbed my braid and dragged me toward the waterfall. I had to cut it.”

A chill ran down his spine. Bile burned the back of his throat. He was going to be sick. Neve closed his eyes and breathed through his mouth. They were going to toss her over the ledge. It was a heinous death only meant for the worst of traitors.

Remorse and loathing weighed heavily on his shoulders. “ Lo bietelle . So sorry.” While he hadn’t wanted her in his life, he hadn’t wished for her to be attacked and almost pitched into the waterfall and drowned.

“It’s not your fault. Your sister and I figured it out.”

He stiffened, her words echoing in his ears. “What did you just say?”

Dahlia sighed. “She’s okay. Don’t worry.”

Neve began to shake. His own flesh and blood had done this.

His niliave leaned back in his arms, her head resting in the crook of his right elbow. She reached up, trailing her fingers along his clenched jawline until she could cup his cheek. Her one good eye focused on him.

“I’m not sorry I damaged her knee.”

He blinked at her, and then burst out laughing. It was the last thing he’d expected her to say. She winced as his laughter jiggled her body. He tried to push it down, and leaned away from her. Neve tipped his head back, her fingers sliding from his cheek. Immediately, he missed her touch.

A lump rose in his throat at the realization.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

He glanced away from the valles , closing his eyes and focusing on the water dripping down his face. Neve could not allow these feelings to grow. Dahlia was just a pawn to secure his kingdom. Nothing more.

Steeling himself, he shoved the feelings away. While he knew she was at the waterfall, he didn’t know how she got there. Had his sister coerced Dahlia there? Or was she sneaking around the palace in his absence? Either option disturbed him. He couldn’t trust anyone.

“We need to get you out of these filthy clothes,” he said woodenly. “You stink.”

“True.”

Despite her modesty, his little saloes didn’t complain when he sliced the clothes from her body instead of trying to wrangle the wet material from her skin. He eyed the makeshift sheath and blade strapped between her breasts. He reached for the knife, but Dahlia closed her fingers around it.

“It’s mine .”

He scanned her swollen face and nodded. She could have it if it made her feel safe. Not that it would be able to do much damage. He’d have to get her a proper blade…

Neve gently laid her on the wide stone stair that served as a bench before unwinding the rest of her braid. She leaned her cheek on her arms, the expanse of her back on display. He worked soap into a rag and began cleaning her hands. Silver blood and dirt had caked beneath her torn fingernails. He passed over the emerald ring she always wore and he frowned.

Had a lover given her the trinket? Had she left behind someone who was the world to her? Was that why she wore it day in and out?

Unease and a thread of jealousy wormed its way around in his gut.

Why did he care if she wore a ring from another man?

Because you want her for yourself.

Neve banished the thought and set the rag down. He laved soap into her hair and let the water rinse it away. Purple bruises dotted her creamy skin, and he ground his back molars. All he wanted was to press kisses to each and every one.

Get yourself together.

“Stay there,” he muttered.

She huffed. “Not moving.”

He quickly stripped his own filthy clothing from his body and threw it out of the shower with a wet slap. He scrubbed the lingering scent of vomit from his body, his gaze latched on to Dahlia’s back, particularly the dimples right above her buttocks.

Why did she stir him? Why did he want to lave every hollow and divot with his tongue?

Neve glanced away, feeling disgusted with himself.

She’s hurt, you lout.

He stormed out of the shower, dripping water everywhere, and yanked a towel from the shelf in the toilet room. He wrapped it around his waist, grabbed another towel for the valles , and then stomped over to the water controls, turning the shower off.

Reaching the saloes , he gently helped her stand, swaddled her in the fluffy towel, and carried her out of the room. Flyka, Olwen, and Loshika all sat near the fire across the room. The healer hopped up as he prowled to Dahlia’s side of the bed. Loshika pulled back the covers and Neve gently laid her down, pulling the covers up to her chin.

She blinked up at him and he moved to step away when she caught his hand. He stared down at his niliave .

“Don’t leave me.”

Her simple plea struck him right in the chest.

His mouth went dry, and he could feel all eyes on him. “I won’t,” he muttered.

Neve couldn’t have left her even if he tried.