19. Rosalina
19
Rosalina
A strid gives a deep bow. “My Prince!” she squeaks and darts out the door with Marigold in tow.
My heart sinks; I want to scream at them to stay, to not leave me alone with this… What is he? A monster? A beast? But my throat seizes, and it’s all I can do to scramble back against the headboard.
And the damn Tin Man does not care to put me out of my misery. He stands there in the doorway, his face completely hidden by that metal helmet.
Breath comes ragged from my throat, and I realize how vulnerable I am, pinned against the headboard as he holds me hostage with an unseeable stare. I’m still wearing the nightgown from last night, and honestly, the thorns shredded most of it. The thin pink fabric clings tightly to my chest and generous hips, the long sleeves billowing but tight at my wrists. My dark hair falls over my shoulders, mussed from my flight through the castle and my restless sleep. I must look like prey to him.
“What?” I finally spit because my pounding heart can’t take it anymore. “What do you want?”
The large metal plate of his armor rises and falls with a deep breath. He steps forward.
With each clang of his metal boots against the floor, more fear sputters through me. Danger, danger, danger, my logical mind screams. And yet…
There’s something in my chest scratching against my ribs, yowling for release. Something that wants me to move closer to him.
He’s going to kill me . Why am I okay with it?
In a second that feels like an hour, his shadow falls over me on the bed. I stare up at the unreadable mask, knowing fear marks my face.
“I’m Keldarion’s prisoner,” I manage. “You can’t hurt me. I’m his—Ah!”
The masked prince sits down on the end of the bed, the weight of his body and armor sending me bouncing on the mattress like a trampoline. Then he snags my ankle and yanks my leg up in the air.
“What the fuck are you doing?” I cry, desperately trying to hold my nightgown down to stop from giving him a show.
He doesn’t answer, instead twisting my leg up and down as he examines my calf. He gives a breathy sound, something between a sigh and a moan.
“Can you let me go?” I begin, but my cries are shut down when he grabs my hip with his gloved hand and turns me over in one rough movement. Suddenly, I’m lying on my stomach, my face flung into the pillow. His cold, metal hand still grips my ankle roughly.
“What the fuck?” I want my voice to sound outraged, but it comes out a breathy whisper.
He flipped me over like I’m a ragdoll. What is he doing to my leg? Fear bursts through my chest, but there’s something else too.
Suddenly, the hand that isn’t grasping my ankle pushes down between my shoulder blades, forcing my face harder into the pillow. “Stay still,” he commands, his voice cold and calm.
Immediately, I stop wiggling. The pressure of his hand on my back is firm. I’m one-part terrified the Iron Giant is about to murder me, and one-fucked-up-part feeling strangely heated as I lie frozen by his command.
The pressure releases on my back, and I hear the pull of fabric and ting of metal. Unable to quell my curiosity, I wiggle my shoulders around to see what he’s doing.
He’s pulled off his gloves, revealing large hands and tan skin. “So, there is flesh and blood in there,” I mumble. “I half thought you were an iron skeleton.”
He quirks his metal head at me but says nothing. His hands hover on my ankle and the back of my knee, on either side of the nasty gash down my calf.
“Don’t move your leg,” Ezryn says lowly.
The calm dominance of his voice makes me powerless to resist. I take a breath. His calloused fingers run over my pale skin, and I wince as they touch the wound.
Ezryn reaches into a small pouch attached to his hip and pulls out a handful of bright green leaves. Deftly, he slips them under his mask, revealing a peek of tan neck. Then he pulls them out. They look moist.
“Did you just chew on those?” I ask.
But as he seems to love to do, he ignores me and places the chewed-up leaves right on the wound. “Ew, those have your spit on them—”
But he covers the wound and leaves with his hands in a surprisingly tender motion, and a tingle flushes through my leg. The throbbing dissipates, replaced by a warm pulse. He pulls his hand away and brushes off the leaves.
I scramble up and he doesn’t stop me. Clutching my calf, my eyes bug out. The wound is completely healed, the only remnant a bright red scar.
“How did you do that?” I whisper.
Again, he ignores me, instead snatching my arms. I yelp, but his grasp is firm, and he doesn’t let me go.
He runs a rough thumb over a scratch along my right wrist. Instantly, the warmth spreads through my skin and the scratch disappears.
“These are smaller,” he mumbles. “Easier to do.”
“Are you some sort of wizard?” I marvel as he pushes up the sleeve of my nightgown and works his way up my right arm.
When he doesn’t respond, I duck my head down and glare up into the black eyelets. “Hey, how come you don’t answer me when I talk to you?”
For an answer, he yanks me closer, shoving the sleeve all the way to my shoulder. He grips my right bicep and covers a bloody gash where a thorn had snagged me. “Long ago, the Queen blessed the High Ruler of each realm with great magic. I inherited the magic from my mother. All fae have the possibility to be born with an affinity for magic, but the High Rulers receive a great blessing to protect their realm. Such as the blessing of Spring,” he murmurs, his voice so calm it’s almost unnerving. “Rejuvenation.”
I suppose that explains all the ice around Keldarion.
Ezryn pulls down my sleeve, covering my arm back up, and reaches for my left wrist. I whip it away. “No,” I say, suddenly self-conscious. “That arm is fine.”
His mask tilts almost incredulously, but he doesn’t push it.
There’s something strangely beautiful about his armor; the delicate markings of vines and leaves, the shimmer of the morning sun off the metal. I wonder what it would feel like beneath my fingertips.
But it doesn’t matter that he healed my wounds. His housemate tried to fucking eat me. And I can’t forget that yesterday he had his hands around my throat.
But maybe, just maybe, there was something to the tenderness in which he mended my skin. I have to try.
“Do humans often come to the Enchanted Vale?” I ask tentatively. When he doesn’t answer, I continue, “That’s why my father came here. He’s looking for my mother. He’s convinced faeries stole her.”
There’s a deep rumbling sigh. “It’s against our laws to bring humans from your world.”
“But could it have happened? Have other humans ever made it through?”
“It’s possible, but rare. There are a few humans who have wandered in and made a life in one of the four realms.”
“Mother wouldn’t have left us,” I say, more to myself than him. “My father said their love was brighter than every star in the sky.”
Ezryn looks out the window. “You’ve seen for yourself. There are many dangers here.”
Is he suggesting she wandered into the Vale and died? Killed by one of those goblins or something? Fear and anger war inside my chest. “Why are you trapping me here?” I ask. “I don’t have anything you want. My father didn’t mean to steal from Keldarion. Please, will you let me go?”
“You traded your place for his.” Prince Ezryn stands, and his shadow overtakes me again. “You are our prisoner, and you have disobeyed the rules by leaving your room last night. Do not attempt to escape again or you will be punished.”
He turns and walks to the doorway. Without turning his back, he says in a low rumble, “You shall meet with the princes in the dining hall.”
Rage ripples through me. “You keep me prisoner and nearly kill me last night, and you want me to meet with you? Not a chance. I don’t want to see any of your faces—”
“You will meet with us. It is not a request.” With a snap of his cape, he turns and storms toward the door. “Astrid,” he growls, and the white-haired girl creeps in, having clearly listened to everything, “make her somewhat presentable. If you can.”