7. Chapter Seven
Chapter Seven
We walk until nightfall. I expect Mayah to demand a break, yet surprisingly, she soldiers through. But when she trips for the third time in the dark, we stop for the night and I begin preparing camp.
I’ve barely set out the blanket when she flops onto it—she must be more tired than she’s letting on. I hand her a few strips of dried meat and a small pouch of nuts, and she tears into it aggressively. My lips twitch. The princess doesn’t seem concerned with appearing ladylike.
“Do you think we were followed?” she asks as I sit across from her and start on my own portion.
“Maybe.” We switched directions often enough, but footprints in the snow are nearly impossible to conceal. “We’ll cover more ground tomorrow.”
She nods absently, rubbing her palms together, blowing hot air over her fingertips. My gaze snags on her wrists. The bruises have darkened to an angry purple, thick bands stark against her pale skin.
I’m an asshole.
“Can you heal those?” I nod toward her wrists.
Mayah hesitates for only a moment before her hands glow white. She presses her fingers to one wrist, then the other, and the bruises disappear. Again, I’m left in complete awe of her miraculous ability.
She glances at me, eyes trailing over my swollen eye and battered nose.
“I’ll heal you,” she offers, her face guarded. “In exchange for a truce. As long as you promise not to break it within seconds.”
I clench my teeth. Of course she’d make another jab about the broken ceasefire. But I am in pain.
Slowly, I nod.
She shifts closer until she’s kneeling before me. A second of hesitation, as though she regrets her offer, and then glowing hands bracket my neck.
“Not trying to strangle me, are you?” I mutter. It’s a distraction from the way her small hands feel on my skin.
She ignores my comment. Her power floods through me. The pain in my face recedes slowly—first my swollen eye and then my other bruises. She even heals my nose from where she headbutted me.
Mayah sits back and bites her lip, and despite myself, my gaze drops to her mouth, lingering a second too long. She stiffens, then returns her palms to my neck, her power flowing through the rest of my body. I nearly loose a low moan as she soothes my muscles, healing away the injury in my thigh.
When she’s finished, Mayah draws back with a quiet gasp, swaying slightly. Her reserves must be dangerously low.
“That drained you.” When she doesn’t respond, I quietly add, “Thank you.”
Surprise blooms across her face, as though it’s shocking that I possess any manners at all. I try not to be offended.
“Eat another piece of jerky. Then, sleep. I’ll take first watch.”
She ignores my instructions about eating and flops down on the blanket, curling into a ball, and promptly falling asleep.
I sweep the perimeter of our camp for as long as I can, scanning for approaching energy signatures, before fatigue weighs down my limbs. Unlacing my boots, I settle down on the opposite side of the blanket, grateful for my thick, fur-lined cloak.
I’ve barely closed my eyes when I hear it—clack, clack, clack. Her teeth are still chattering. I crawl over to her, and Skies, she’s shivering in her sleep, her lips a startling shade of blue.
I should’ve realized it’s far too cold for us to sleep apart, but why didn’t she realize it? She’s the princess of fucking freezing cold Tundrayn, after all.
Maybe she did but was too afraid of me to say it.
“Mayah,” I whisper.
Nothing.
“Mayah,” I try again, louder this time. “You’re shivering. Come sleep beside me.”
That gets her attention. Her eyes snap open, already glinting with indignation.
“Absolutely … not.” Fuck, she can barely manage a coherent sentence.
“Don’t be difficult.”
“I’m not getting … anywhere … near … you.”
“Your teeth are literally chattering. Do you want to freeze to death? Or did they skip basic survival training at your precious palace?”
“I—I don’t…”
“Lightning strike me,” I swear under my breath. I don’t wait for permission. I gather her into my arms and drag her to my side of the blanket, cocooning her against me before covering us both with my heavy cloak.
Her frozen nose presses against my chest, its chill seeping through my thick shirt.
“You promised … not to … touch me,” she grumbles, words weighted with exhaustion.
“I take it back. I won’t touch you unless you’re about to die of your own idiocy.”
The fight drains out of her, and she burrows deeper into me. Skies, her breasts are pressed flush against my chest, the swells tantalizing me with their softness.
Fucking Skies, Zevayr, get a hold of yourself. Don’t make her feel more unsafe than she probably already does. It’s been far too long since I sought release, and now I’m struggling being near my brother’s fucking betrothed.
“Can’t have the princess of Tundrayn dying on my watch.” She’s Tormik’s daughter. Faramir’s future wife.
“You said I was the princess of nothing,” she whispers into my chest. At least her teeth have stopped chattering.
“I’ve been known to be wrong once or twice,” I reply, but she’s already fallen asleep.