22
Flare
My eyes flew open and landed on a bulky form. The unconscious prince faced me, though we’d been turned away from one another last night. Resting on his side, the Royal’s substantial body loomed like a shield, those bloated muscles contorting with his intakes.
As the blanket rustled over my waist, I noticed the material covered only me, whereas the prince slept exposed with only his clothing to shield him from the elements. Had I twisted in my sleep and stolen his half of the blanket? And why did I care? He didn’t deserve my concern, no matter what we’d done to each other.
No matter how intense it had felt. No matter how violently I came. No matter how I’d shaken down to the marrow.
He could have used this lapse to his advantage. I glanced at where we’d discarded our weapons, checking to make sure he hadn’t pulled a fast one while I slept off the climax.
Reassured the dagger and knife were in their rightful spots, I swung my attention back to the lump beside me. Up close, he had the longest eyelashes I’d ever seen, the black threads complimenting the dark blue shade lining them. The man breathed quietly while sleeping, as if he never stopped concentrating or problem solving.
Tilting my head, I stared. And stared. And stiffened when his eyelids flapped open. Irises made of crystals ensnared me, riveted by my features before sharpening with realization.
The lightning rain. His pupils swallowing me whole. Bleeding and dripping and seething into one another’s faces. My pussy writhing on his cock. Our hips crashing together.
I hate you so much.
My mouth falling open. His mouth compressing. Our bodies coming hard.
The flashback worked like a stick of dynamite. Fully awake, we jolted backward.
Within seconds, we put as much distance between us as possible, shooting from the blanket and feigning preoccupation with our supplies. They had survived the siege, whereas the prince and I had been lashed by the droplets. At least, our wounds had dried, and neither of us said a thing about the storm.
While smacking sand from my clothes, I caught the prince assessing my wounds, that explicit stare pinching my nerves. “What?”
My pulse kicked up as those cold pupils met my gaze. But if my ass, breasts, or cunt triggered him as they had last night, there was no telling.
Instead, he narrowed his eyes. “The saltwater helped. Your recuperation looks promising, but if those cuts fester or turn red, show me.”
That instruction had sounded considerate. In my wavering silence, the prince must have recognized the impression he’d given and clarified, “I cannot have you decaying when I need you able-bodied.”
Such a prick. Even so, my attention traveled to the dried scab on his calf. It might be healing, or I might have made it worse, since I had no experience with that sort of damage.
Jellyfish stings, coral gashes, and weaving blisters. Yes.
Razor sharp droplets of rain. No.
As I pointed, his mockery cut me off. “Your skills are adequate. I’ll live beyond that. There’s no need to care.”
If that was how he wanted to be, then fuck him. Rather than concerning myself, I fantasized about setting fire to his scalp and serving his carcass to the nearest resident carnivore. That would solve most of my problems.
As unwilling allies, we traveled into the rainforest. The rope around my midriff anchored the dagger and canteen, and the cuts on my body had dried into scabs. The prince walked fine despite his injured calf, his leather belt securing the scalpel knife, its sheath suspended low over his rotating waist.
Threads of sunlight haloed the trees. Howls and whistles overlapped from every corner. The fauna afforded us peeks, from hummingbirds with longer wings to centipedes that stretched for miles.
Reptiles held court, their features resembling basilisks. Thick hides as black as soot, stomachs that glowed like molten rocks whenever they breathed, and tails that stretched like ropes.
“Adaptation,” the prince murmured, one hand resting on his sheath.
“Diversity,” I replied with a grin, the word making him frown in thought.
Endless wonders materialized through the mist, as intoxicating as the fragrance of blossoming plumerias. Along the way, we scanned the path with two sets of eyes, his of a scientist, mine of an explorer, and—
My free hand shot toward the prince, warning him to stop. But he’d already halted, also reaching out to stall me.
Because of this, our fingers brushed. The sensation crackled up my limbs like embers. In unison, we glanced down to where our digits made contact.
Not okay. Yet neither of us pulled back. Instead, his eyes trailed along an invisible object, and mine followed, latching onto the silver wire strung across the path. Our feet had paused an inch from the trap, which had to be the work of a hungry dweller. Tripping the wire would have alerted the creature of our presence.
The prince drew his fingers from mine and murmured, “I will go first.”
If I didn’t know him better, I would have mistaken the gesture for gallantry. Brushing off the illusion, I opened my mouth to protest.
Yet he was too fast. Methodically, the prince stepped over the wire, then twisted my way. Offering a curt nod, he extended his arm as if to steady me lest I should trip.
I gave my companion an uncertain look, then pursed my lips in sudden amusement at his austere features. I’d never beheld someone that eternally serious. Here we stood, surrounded by lush splendor, yet he acted as though we’d landed in purgatory.
Inspired, I jogged backward and hopped over the line. Alarm cramped his expression. He jolted forward as though to catch me, only to halt as I landed.
“Huh,” I gloated. “So your face isn’t nailed that way after all.”
The prince’s arm dropped. “Do not get used to it.”
“Of course not. Seasons forbid, you crack a smile.”
“Do you plan on risking your neck in every circumstance and with every obstruction we come across? Tell me now, so I know whether to leash you.”
“I think we both know how well restraints work on me.”
“They worked in the quad.” His eyes raked down my curves. “As for this environment, perhaps I haven’t found the right ones yet.”
Why did that sound like a prediction rather than a bluff?
I stiffened, but he sauntered away before I could whip up a good retort. Ignoring the sparks across my flesh where his gaze had slid, I charged after him, miffed that he’d taken the lead.
The wilderness played a tune, birds whistling a symphony akin to pipes and flutes. My insides fluttered with delight, yearning to bond with this dream realm. How I craved its spirit and longed to become one of its forest tenants.
Wait. Did I smell mangoes?
Cocking my head, I detoured from our route. Behind me, the prince’s hiss cut through the raptors’ melody. “Get the fuck back here,” he snarled.
Not that I listened. Whipping shrubs aside, I discovered a massive trunk attached to the deadliest looking fern tree in history, its bark riddled with thorns so large they resembled spikes, much like the ones on which King Rhys displayed the severed heads of convicts.
I peered overhead to where plump orbs dangled like ornaments from the branches. As the irritated prince reached my side, I clapped my hands, bounced on my feet, and pointed. The pickings could be mangoes, apart from the beaded texture rising from the yellowy red skin, the rind so dazzling that we saw the fruits from three stories below.
I tied the hem of my chemise between my legs. I wasn’t a climber by nature, but—
“Do not think about it,” the prince warned.
Naturally. I didn’t think about it.
“Hey!” he gritted, launching forward as I scaled the first branch.
His arm swiped out to seize my ankle but missed as I scrambled up the trunk. Gripping the base of a thorn, the prince spoke through his teeth, “We don’t know if they’re edible.”
“That’s why we taste them.”
“The thorns—”
“What’s one more cut?”
Yep. He’d heard all of that, even though I hadn’t been looking at him. And fine. I had more important things to dwell on.
Truly, I wasn’t daft. After recently regretting what I’d stuffed into my mouth, I knew the risk. But if one of us didn’t take the gamble, we’d starve. Sand drifters had to make this leap of faith every day.
The Royal swore under his breath, the echo louder than usual in this acoustic place. I stifled my mirth, too famished and happy to tolerate his negativity. It wasn’t high so much as sharp, so I hunched and twisted around the thorns. A pointed tip scoured my toes. Gasping in pain but also chuckling, I hauled myself up and flopped one leg over a branch, marveling at the treasure before my attention diverted to a network of ropes threaded among the boughs. Cobwebs laced the cords, the lines frayed as though they might break into dust particles from the slightest touch.
Old ropes. It could be a large net to catch the fruit. Except these ropes didn’t exhibit the same type of woven pattern. Instead, they stretched parallel to one another and then disappeared into the canopy.
The prince spotted the cords too. “A conveyor,” he said from below.
Trepidation snatched my chest. This appeared to be some manner of pulley.
But attached to what? And created by whom?
Baffled, I shook my head. This rainforest was supposed to be deserted. And despite the familiar arrangement, the cords’ brittle material was shaggy and timeworn unlike anything I’d seen before.
Relief eased my muscles. This forest was ripe with mysteries and newfangled wonders, meaning it had to be a type of natural cord, which grew on these trees, which some animal had sewn into the boughs.
While the prince contemplated, I focused on the reason I’d quested here. Yet my enthusiasm withered. The orbs had been plundered, their insides devoured by what must have been insects, save for one treat. Resigned but grateful, I plucked my only catch, then wagged it at the prince.
He rewarded me with a scowl. Then his scowl collapsed, his gaze flashing with recognition. With the sort of calm that signified restrained panic, he ordered, “Get. Down.”
The Royal strode forward, about to vault up here and grab me. And that’s when I heard the long hiss.
I paused, listening to the slip and slide of an animal in motion, the sounds of a predator winding itself in my direction. Slowly, my gaze scanned the trees. The noise came from everywhere, quivering across the branches and driving shivers across my flesh.
The rainforest cared about me. But that didn’t mean its residents felt the same.
So when a reptilian tail lashed into view and whipped toward my skull, I ducked with a yelp. As I sank into a crouch atop the branch, the tail whisked my way again, slamming into a trunk when I scuttled out of harm’s way and onto an adjacent offshoot. The wide branches anchored me as I lurched upright, wobbling and springing to another bough as the tail came back at me, aiming for my stomach but missing.
A livid noise cut from the prince’s mouth. Despite his size and lack of climbing skills, he’d made it halfway up the trunk by then, with the scalpel hilt locked between his teeth.
The lithe dweller moved in a flash, its face darting from the creepers. Instead of smooth scales, barbs prickled from its body and encircled its face. Yet I recognized the type.
A boa.
It lunged, its armored body flaying like a lasso. I pitched sideways, and the boa reared, rising as tall as me. With each thwap of its tail, that far-reaching hiss slithered through the wild. The serpent lashed, and I blocked the strike with my forearm, twisting and ramming my opposite elbow into the predator.
Pissed off, the creature opened its mouth to brandish a pair of fangs. I knew a fauna display when I saw one. This was the beauty’s territory, which made me the intruder.
Out of options, I cranked my arm backward as I had a dozen times with Pyre, then catapulted my fist and punched the boa in the face.
The creature lost its balance and swung over the side. Half of its body dangled there, the other half hooking onto the branch.
She wouldn’t stay that way forever. Not even close.
It was fun going up, but not fun going down. The prince stalled, his visage torn between annoyed, stressed, and flabbergasted as I shimmied down the trunk.
As I caught up to him, he swore. “On my back.”
I should protest. My small body could fit into narrow places, but his limbs would cover distance faster. Also, this was no time for pride. As the serpent righted itself and located us, its eyes glittered with intent.
Strapping myself around the prince like a knapsack, I held fast while he hunkered to the ground. By the forest’s grace, we avoided getting impaled.
The second we hit the woodland floor, I launched off the prince. We bolted, sprinting down the aisle. My head twisted backward as our chaser shot forward, winding around boughs and snapping its fangs. In Summer, cobras were the fast and venomous ones. Boas were supposed to be neither.
Yet this one launched like a harpoon. And if it couldn’t infuse us with venom, it surely had the power to crush bones.
Shit. I’d lost the maybe-mango.
We flew through the bushes. Twigs cracked under my heels and broke skin. My short limbs struggled to keep up with the prince’s tall ones, so that he clamped my fingers in his and hauled me with him.
This wouldn’t work. The boa gained on us, flying in our direction through the trees.
I ripped my hand from the prince’s. Remembering the wire trap from earlier, I veered off course and charged down another path, praying this would work. Chances were, the boa fancied hot blood anyway.
As if to prove me right, the serpent torpedoed my way. Ignoring the prince’s roar, I double-backed and swerved past the serpent as it rocketed to the understory. Furious, it whipped around and followed. Barreling the way I’d come, I propelled down the lane, searching and spotting the silver wire.
My feet barreled past the thread, snapping it in half. I tripped over a fallen log and smacked face-first into the dirt, then flipped around as tarantulas fell like gadgets from more silver strings. Orange and black dotted the insects’ fuzz, and drool leaked from their oversized fangs, likely capable of sucking blood by the tankard.
The vampiric insects intercepted the boa. They spit more intricate strands, the webs netting my predator.
Registering what they’d caught, the tarantulas changed their minds and shot back into their nests, uninterested in reptile meat. Meanwhile, the creature thrashed, getting more tangled.
Compassion tugged on me. If I freed the poor animal, it would either tear me to shreds or squeeze the air from my lungs.
I hesitated, then crawled toward the fuming reptile. It flailed about in panic, then paused, watching as I sawed at the web with my dagger, which did nothing.
Switching to my hands, I went to work untying the threads. They were strong and more intricate than most sailing knots. My fingers traced the lacework, located every complex kink, and unraveled them one by one.
At last, the web collapsed. The boa sprang forth with a hiss. I clambered backward, one hand on my weapon and the other planted on the dirt. Hunching over, I lowered my head in solidarity and maintained eye contact.
Stupefied, the boa hovered and regarded me with skeptical eyes, its vertical pupils scanning my deferential pose. My heart clattered. This might have been a stupid thing to do, but I couldn’t bring myself to let a creature suffer. And I yearned to share The Phantom Wild with its dwellers, not steal it from them.
After another moment, the serpent narrowed its gaze. Then it spiraled in the opposite direction and vanished.
I slumped. Then I yelped as a pair of hands locked under my arms and yanked me off the ground. The villain prince flopped me over his shoulder like a flounder and quit the scene, his arm flexing around my ass like a steel band.
I kicked. I scratched. I pounded my fists.
The fiend shook me like a rattle. “Cease.”
Reaching around, I tore open his sheath, snatched his knife, and pressed the tip against his waist. I could have used my own dagger, but stealing his felt more satisfying.
Weapon in hand, I paused a centimeter from ripping through his shirt, the action a silent war cry. Yet the man strode ahead with confidence, dismissing the jab to his side, his steps so graceful that the knife hardly moved in tandem.
I nudged him with the weapon and—
“No,” he forbade.
“Yes,” I snarled. Then I jabbed, nipped the material, and gasped as the flat of his hand smacked my ass, hard and stinging like hell. The sharp clap echoed through the woods, the impact jolting me.
My dagger missed its target, but my hand didn’t. Outraged, I extended my arm and slapped his ass back.
For an instant, the prince stiffened. “I warn you, Little Beast,” he seethed. “Behave.”
Winter should know better than to order Summer around. As he kept going, I twisted and latched my teeth onto his shoulder. A hiss sliced from his mouth, his fingers snaring the roots of my hair and yanking my face from his skin. He held me like that, with my head slanted at a precarious angle, the verge of pulling a muscle if I didn’t comply.
Damn him. He wasn’t worth a third attempt.
After a few more steps, the prince released me, dark waves flouncing around my head. With my body dangling like a sack, I felt his muscles shift, from the plates of his shoulder blades to the carved span of his chest. The untucked shirt rode around his hips, and the wrinkled navy pants clung to his legs, the fitted cloth stretching over those taut buttocks. The ovals showed no sign that I’d made a dent, flexing instead with every step.
My pussy had been riding that strong physique to the brink last night. Vexed, I turned away before the memory got me nauseous. I couldn’t afford the consequences of puking all over his clothes.
The enemy stopped. He swung me upright and let go, dumping me to the ground. As I stumbled to keep my balance, he took the opportunity to swipe his blade from my fingers, shoving it back into its encasement and then backing me toward the hedges while staring down the length of his aristocratic nose.
“Try it,” he dared. “Disobey me again.”
“Your rank is worthless here, Your Highness ,” I sneered. “And throwing your weight around doesn’t work on me. I might be kicked to the ground, but I always get back up, and I’ve survived more scars than you could ever give.”
At the mention of my scars, something livid flashed in his pupils. “You will not endanger yourself again. Understand?”
I frowned, stumped that he wasn’t referring to my trick with his knife. No, he was referring to me gambling my safety at every turn.
Taking my silence for rebellion, the prince stalked nearer until his torso grazed my breasts. “I can restrain you for longer,” he murmured. “Go ahead. Give me an excuse.”
Heat simmered between us, thick and humid. With a grudge, I watched the muscles of his throat work, pumping air in and out of his lungs.
How far could I push him? What would he do to retaliate?
I stormed ahead, clearing my head of his proximity. The prince fell into step beside me as the soil transformed into a dewy carpet of grass.
Blossoms hung upside down from vines, their yellow petals drooping. That feline roar I’d once heard rumbled from a notable distance.
As I checked myself for fang wounds, he said, “The reptile did not get to you.”
I blinked at his profile, which had barely looked me over. Nonetheless, this reassured me enough to dwell on other matters. “I lost the fruit.”
“You could have lost a body part,” he lectured.
“If I’d lost a body part, you would have sewn it back on.” After a beat of silence, I glimpsed the prince’s mouth tipping sideways. Fisting my hands on my hips, I marveled, “Is that a smirk?”
His lips collapsed. “Nonsense. You don’t amuse me.”
“Does anything?” But when he refused to reply, I sighed balefully, “The pome smelled like a mango.”
“Varieties of mangoes are acidic.”
“Acid is good for the soul.”
“Not so good after a poisoning like yours.” The prince halted in a rare slash of light and swung toward me. “Open your mouth.”
I tensed. “I’m fine. My tongue and throat are still there.”
“We can do this the easy way or the Winter way. Which do you prefer?”
“Which one involves my fist and your face?”
“You’ve been rubbing your mouth ceaselessly.”
Attentiveness claimed his features. Like a reflex, I thought of his determined expression when he flushed the poison from my body, then remembered him examining my wounds last night and this morning.
My tastebuds responded, conjuring the deceptive flavor of those najava berries. Stubbornness wouldn’t keep me alive. Refusing his help was just silly.
I parted my lips. My compliance allowed his fingers to ghost over my mouth, the contact gentler than I’d expected.
Then again, he’d been gentle in the tower before choking me. Yet the shivers across my body insisted this was different, and I wanted to scream because his touch shouldn’t be tender. Like last night, his fingers shouldn’t warm my flesh.
“Wider,” he instructed, his voice uncharacteristically gruff. “Slowly.”
With his thumb pushing on my lower lip and the rest of his hand braced under my chin, he tilted my head to the light. His eyes narrowed, sketching my lips and then sliding past them to seek out my tongue, where the poison had leaked.
“More,” he murmured. “Let me see.”
My thighs clenched, but the command found its way under the chemise anyway, his words flicking against my clit like a crooked finger. Getting ahold of myself, I unfurled the flat of my tongue. The prince’s pupils fattened and sharpened at the same time. Any more of this, and that look would penetrate deeper.
But then a crease formed between his dark brows. “You lost your voice at a young age.”
The question hit me like a splash of cold water. “It happened after Summer caged me. I was twelve.”
Something that bordered on anger kindled in his irises. “Did your throat feel branded from the inside? Did you have a fever afterward?”
“Both. I’d been screaming until I couldn’t anymore, until I killed my voice.”
The anger intensified, icing his words whether or not he noticed. “Your marking caused that, not you. This kingdom uses an ink infused with ash particles of Summer tinder. When the guards painted your neck, residue seeped into your vocal cords,” he explained. “It can happen. From what I see, there’s tissue damage because you must have vomited some of the liquid.”
I had. Pyre had smacked me over the head for that.
Loss clogged my throat. So I hadn’t erased my voice. It had been Summer’s doing.
In the span of an hour, the prince had volunteered to step over that wire first, to make sure it was safe, then he’d launched after me when the boa appeared, bore my weight while descending the thorned tree, and reassured me about the tattoo. He could have continued running while the viper targeted me. Instead, the prince had stormed in my direction.
The words fell from my mouth. “Thank you.”
The prince gave a start, as though gratitude was foreign to him. Uncertain, he offered a brisk nod. “You’re still recuperating from the poison. Your mouth will be uncomfortable today. It will pass.”
An eternity went by. His breath stroked my cheeks, his body enveloping me in the scents of needle forests and blustering winds. Sweat licked down my spine and between my breasts. The slightest movement would brush my nipples across his chest, which rose and fell heavily beneath his shirt.
The moment snuck up on us like the tripwire we’d stepped over earlier. Something hidden under the surface, then suddenly there, straining tightly. If not careful, it would trap us.
Mist sprayed the trees. A breeze shook the gleaming leaves and produced a thumping noise.
The sound broke our trance. It reminded me of ropes hitting a slab, the same thought gripping the prince as well, our gazes locking in recollection. We swerved toward the canopy.
“The conveyance,” he muttered.
I jerked my chin at the expanse of trees. “They would come through here.”
That much, I knew for certain while remembering their direction. I had assumed the cords were natural to the rainforest, but what if that wasn’t true?
We hastened toward the commotion and scanned the foliage. My fingers seized his sleeve, and I pointed to a sliver between the leaves, where a garland materialized, the current causing it to smack the branches.
I thought back to the castle blackout in Autumn, when I’d helped Briar and Poet follow the ribbon streamers installed in the ceiling. The stronghold’s hallways had been as dark as a crypt, yet I’d been able to see my way through after years of living in a cage.
The prince and I trailed the cords. As lapping water struck our ears, we sped up. Hiking through a cluster of bromeliads, we climbed a small knoll.
At the crest, my breath caught. The hill led to a wide lake, along with a crumbling rocky bridge that was no longer passable, with a chunk of the platform missing. Intricate statues of fauna balancing atop one another towered on either side of the bridge. Beyond the water stood a structure covered in dripping shags of foliage, with countless levels rising into the trees, verandas and colonnades lining every story.
“The fuck?” the prince uttered next to me. “What is this?”
But he knew as well as I did. Although this ancient palace didn’t exist in the written or spoken legend, anyone with eyes and a knowledge of the continent’s hidden enclaves could guess.
Wonder filled my voice. “Ruins.”