47. Chapter 47
D amn that royal pain in the ass. Ren hated the way her body betrayed her. She tossed and turned even nights after the kiss.
Every time she shut her eyes, she felt Kaelin’s lips against hers again. It set her blood simmering, made her cheeks burn until she wanted to bury her face in the pillow and never emerge.
But two days later, the sun still crawled through her window and life didn’t give a damn about her sleepless night. Training waited. If Ulfric had them doing something brutal enough, maybe she could beat the princess out of her head.
“I take it the afternoon tea went well,” Mirella purred from across the room.
Ren groaned into her pillow. She debated telling Mirella, or anyone, for that matter, what had actually happened. But the words in her head didn’t make sense. Kaelin was a fae princess , heir to a kingdom older than Ren’s bloodline.
Why would Kaelin look twice at someone like me?
And yet, the memory of the way Kaelin’s gaze lingered haunted Ren.
But even as warmth curled low in her chest, doubt slashed through it.
Maybe Kaelin was interested now. Maybe the novelty of a human who wouldn’t bend or bow had caught her attention.
But one day, she’d get bored; the thrill would fade.
Ren would just be a passing amusement, a short-lived affair in a fae princess’s long, glittering life.
The thought hollowed Ren out. Ren could almost see the moment Kaelin’s eyes would look right past her, as though she’d never mattered at all.
Ren squeezed her eyes shut, unease rising at the thought.
She could face blades and monsters alike, but not the slow unraveling of being cherished until the wonder faded.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ren mumbled into the pillow.
“It was impactful enough to keep you up all night for the past 2 nights.”
Reluctantly, Ren dragged herself upright, swinging her legs over the side of the bed.
Her bones ached like she’d been in a fight already.
“The pastries were too damn good,” she muttered, yanking on her clothes over her head.
Her arm got caught in the sleeve, and she paused when she nearly burst the seam. Damn it to high hells. “And—”
“I can sense the lie coming, darling,” Mirella sing-songed. “You may as well tell me the truth.”
Ren fumbled with her belt, her hair falling into her face. Mirella didn’t have eyes, yet Ren felt her stare . Ren began braiding her hair too tightly and winced when the strands tugged at her scalp.
“At this rate, you’ll tear half your hair out,” Mirella chided.
“She kissed me!” Ren blurted. Her voice ricocheted off the walls. She finally turned to Mirella, eyes wide, as if she’d just confessed to a heinous crime.
Mirella went utterly still.
“She—the princess—kissed me ,” Ren repeated, the words tasting foreign even as she spoke them.
“One minute, she’s got a blade to my throat.
The next… she’s showing me something close to respect.
And then it’s like she can’t stand breathing the same air.
And two days ago—” her voice spiked, breath catching “—she couldn’t keep her hands off of me. ”
“Sounds like someone’s fighting a losing battle with their feelings.”
“This is stupid. Nothing would ever work out between us. And I don’t think I could be someone’s mistress.”
“Oh, but the mistress can have all the fun without the crown’s shackles. ”
Ren’s face went hot again, heat crawling up her neck. “That means something to me. More than that. I’ve never even…you know.”
There was a beat of silence.
“You’re a virgin ?” Mirella asked, her voice equal parts surprise and curiosity.
“Yes,” Ren hissed, glancing at the door as if the walls themselves might go whispering. “I’ve had offers, stolen kisses, a hand on my thigh at a tavern or two, but never anything permanent. I moved too much. And now—” She swallowed hard. “She’d never seriously want someone like me.”
“And why’s that?” Mirella’s voice softened, the teasing gone.
Ren didn’t answer right away. She looked down at her calloused knuckles. Kaelin’s hands were soft, adorned with rings and delicate. Ren could still feel those same fingers ghosting against her throat when they’d kissed, gentle but firm.
“I don’t deserve it.”
There it was. The thought she never said aloud.
It landed in the space between them, a stone dropped in deep water, ripples spreading through her chest until they reached the oldest wound she carried. She saw it all again – the night Eve betrayed them all.
She remembered the rough, cold hands pushing her down as the sack was thrown over her head, the world spinning as they hauled her away. She’d screamed until her throat burned raw, called out until her voice was nothing but a rasp.
In one last desperate breath, she screamed Eve’s name.
But only silence answered.
They carried her for what felt like forever, her body jostled and bruised inside the bag, until they finally flung her. She landed on damp grass, the earth cold and slick with mud. It took everything in her to claw free, tearing through the coarse fabric until air struck her face again.
And above her, stars glittered over a world that had already forgotten her.
If not even Eve could stay… who would?
Nobody.
“Oh, darling,” Mirella murmured, “you’ve been walking through storms so long you’ve forgotten the sun belongs to you, too.”
Ren looked up at Mirella, her vision blurring with tears .
“You’re not scraps to be chosen or discarded. Anyone lucky enough to stand close should count their blessings, not your worth.”
Ren sniffed, brushing the tears away with the back of her hand. “It’s far too early in the day for this,” she joked, half to Mirella, half to herself.
“Come on, darling. Dry your tears – you’ve got egos to bruise, and the fae’s egos are very delicate.”
Ren walked the alley near the stables with her hands tucked into her coat, fingertips still chilled from the wind that came down off the northern hills. After training, she decided to go for an evening stroll.
From within the stalls, Ren heard hooves shuffling. She rounded the corner and nearly collided with a tall, wiry figure.
Talen.
“Ren! And here I was thinking my evening would be dull.”
Talen leaned against a post with a half-emptied wine bottle dangling from his fingers.
Beside him stood Kaelin, her hair braided back to bare the sharp line of her jaw.
She wore riding leathers and pants, something Ren wasn’t used to seeing her adorned in.
Ren couldn’t help but let her eyes look over Kaelin, lingering where the leather pants hugged her thighs.
Then, violet eyes slid up to clash with hers.
Ren’s feet should have carried her past, but she stopped at the next stall where Kaelin’s mare waited. Black as a shadow, the horse turned her pale eyes on Ren and snorted.
As if she wasn’t impressed.
“Come rescue me. My dear sister is lecturing me about the merits of day drinking before a two-day ride,” Talen called.
“I only said you snore like a dying boar when you drink,” Kaelin said coolly.
Talen pushed off the post and lifted the bottle.
“We’re heading north tomorrow to our ancestral winter keep.
Our family visited each year before our parents abandoned the tradition.
” He flashed her a grin, all fae mischief.
“We keep the celebration alive regardless. One last send-off to winter. Only a few still make the pilgrimage. Fires, cards, frostbite. You should come.”
Ren asked, “You’re inviting me to catch frostbite?”
“I’m inviting you to watch me win at cards,” Talen corrected, amiably blunt. “Are you by any chance feeling lucky?”
“No. Thanks for the invite, but I’ll be staying. Safe travels,” Ren answered automatically. The word jumped out before she caught it. By the veil, this was the last thing she needed right now.
Kaelin brushed a fingertip over her horse’s muzzle. “The north is warmer when you’ve got the right company.”
“And we have wine,” Talen said, waggling the bottle.
“I have training here. I – ”
“I can give you a purpose to be there,” a voice cut in.
Zakhar moved like an ink spill, one moment part of the shadow beside the tack room, the next standing at Ren’s shoulder. He beheld a grin that was pleased and almost eager, as if their journey had just saved him the trouble of a dozen wasted steps.
Ren’s spine went wire-taut. “Do you make a habit of listening from corners?”
“I make a habit of knowing when people are about to make decisions that save me time,” he retorted, unbothered.
“Near the keep, there’s a vale where the wind gets trapped.
A particular herb blooms there once a year.
It responds to the last full moon in the winter lunar cycle and stays potent for seven days, then wilts. ”
Talen lifted a hand. “And what would ‘it’ be, exactly?”
“Fasil,” Zakhar said, as if they were fools for not knowing. “You’ll recognize it by the silvered leaves and pale veins. It’s the stabilizer the Verdant Elixir requires. I would collect it myself, but court obligations as you know,” he gave a shrug.
Kaelin’s eyes had found Ren again, watching from beneath her lashes with that flat, assessing calm that made Ren want to pace the length of the stable. “We’ll be close enough to the vale,” Kaelin said.
Zakhar’s gaze flicked to Ren. “You asked to learn what ingredients move an elixir from folklore to function. Consider this an education and a favor I will not forget.”
“I didn’t ask you for an education,” Ren insisted.
Zakhar’s mouth tilted. “You rarely ask for anything. It’s tedious. ”
A gelding banged a hoof against the stall boards as if punctuating the insult.
Ren wouldn’t give Zakhar the satisfaction of bristling.
She hadn’t put a name to the itch in her hands that she’d had since she’d first seen the Verdant Elixir simmer in the palace alchemarium.
But the itch was there all the same – the urge to see if she might be able to do something about this illness.
Ren exhaled and looked up to meet Kaelin’s mare. She watched Ren with an unnerving intelligence.
Five days. And a chance to be useful.
“Okay,” Ren said at last. “I’ll go. For the herb.”
Talen whooped, then cleared his throat when Kaelin shot him a look. “For the herb,” he echoed, nodding.
Zakhar inclined his head. “I’ll send you a sketch of the plant and a charm to keep it from losing potency on the ride back. See that you don’t wake it wrong; it wilts if handled harshly.”
“Plants don’t wake,” Ren said, then paused. “Do they?”
“Everything wakes, if you touch it the right way,” Zakhar said, and reached into the folds of his cloak. He produced a small, weathered box stitched with faintly glowing runes.
“I’m trusting you with this,” he handed it over to Ren.
The box felt incredibly light. “It’ll hold the fasil safely enough, but be warned.
I enchanted it long ago, when I was first learning the craft.
Let’s just say its personality is striking.
” A faint smirk ghosted across his face.
“No matter how hard you press, it won’t give its name.
And it absolutely won’t shut up. It’s rather sentimental, though it’ll never admit as much. ”
With that, Zakhar drifted backward, the shadows swallowing him once more.
Talen tipped the bottle toward Ren. “To bad choices that turn out to be good ones.”
Ren ignored the bottle he extended, but some of the tightness in her chest eased. “What constitutes a bad choice in your opinion?”
“Agreeing to ride north with a handsome, intelligent fae prince who cheats at cards and a princess who won’t admit she snores,” Talen said.
Kaelin’s brows arched, her chin lifting. “I do not snore.”
“Keep telling yourself that. The rest of us will keep counting sheep,” Talen started toward the stable door, humming off-key. “Dawn, then. Pack warm. ”
For a heartbeat, neither spoke. There was something different about seeing Kaelin wrapped in riding leathers instead of the finery of court—something raw, unguarded, that made Ren’s core go molten with desire.
She had to force her gaze to stay on Kaelin’s face, not on the way the leathers clung to her form, accentuating her full breasts.
Breasts that had brushed against hers as they had kissed on that fateful day in the greenhouse.
Gods to hell , Ren cursed, shaking her head in an attempt to clear her thoughts. Kaelin’s violet eyes were still staring at her, her lips curving as if daring her closer.
She was impossible to look away from.
Kaelin arched a brow, the faintest grin ghosting across her lips. “You think staying away will keep me in line? You’ve clearly never tested my limits.”
“Who says I’m avoiding you?”
Kaelin’s gaze swept over Ren. “I can read emotion as easily as the weather,” she said coolly.
“Fear sharpens the eyes, tightens the throat, pulls the shoulders inward. Tries to make itself small. Lust, on the other hand…” Her lips curved.
“Lust dilates the pupils, catches the breath, makes a person lean closer without realizing it.” She angled her head, her gaze skimming over Ren with scrutiny.
“So, when you lied in the greenhouse and said you didn’t want me, which feeling do you think gave you away? ”
Ren’s jaw tightened. “Believe what you want. I wasn’t feeling anything.”
Kaelin’s gaze dipped to Ren’s chest, noting the rapid rise and fall, then traced slowly up the line of her throat to her jaw. “Your body gives you away long before your mouth does.” Her gaze darkened. “You’re building a wall between us. I can see every brick.”
Ren threw up a hand. “We are not having this conversation.” She shook her head, scoffing. “Chasing whatever we did would be a spectacularly bad idea. Aren’t I supposed to be the impulsive one?”
Kaelin said nothing for a long moment. When she finally spoke, her voice was barely more than a breath.
“I’ve seen people use others for power, for coin, for prestige.
I know what it looks like when someone wants a person for all the wrong reasons.
” Her eyes found Ren’s again. “ But I’ve never seen someone turn away the chance to have something good, and I cannot fathom why you’d deny yourself that. ”
Ren let out a sharp huff. “My life isn’t up for your analysis. What I do or don’t want is my business.” She folded her arms. “We agreed to be civil. So let’s be civil.”
Kaelin smoothed a hand along the mare’s cheek as if considering how honest to be. “Come north,” she murmured simply. “It’s different there. More pure.”
“Dawn,” Ren agreed.
“Dawn,” Kaelin repeated.
Ren stood alone with the smell of hay and horse and the knowledge she’d just said yes to a trip that would tangle everything tighter. She let her palm rest against the stall door of Kaelin’s mare before leaving for the courtyard.
Looking up, the moon looked too full, too bright. A warning of some change yet to come.
Like a coin pressed flat between impatient fingers, ready to be spent.