Chapter 36
LATER THAT NIGHT, after a good rest and a long bath, I sit by the window braiding my hair and looking up at the moon. It just looks the same as usual, silvery gray, marked with darker blotches. No sign of the magic of Moonburn.
I’ve recorded my visions in the notebook.
And the patrol Asti was meant to ride the chestnut horse on returned with a supply of skullflowers for me.
Asti even dug up a few to see if I could transplant them into the glasshouse.
The rest are drying near the fireplace. I’ve made a plan for my experiments with them, starting with a tiny amount made into tea.
The dose makes the poison, after all.
When a knock sounds at the door, I expect it to be Min. She and Asti came to check on me earlier and I got the impression she would be back—she had that look of concern that said she would.
But instead, Drystan strides in, much to the cat’s delight as he springs from his spot next to me on the windowsill and rushes to the king.
Tension ratchets Drystan’s jaw tight, his cheeks hollow, carving deep shadows beneath his cheekbones.
Oblivious, the cat threads between his legs, rubbing up against him.
“You’re getting fur all over my trousers again,” Drystan grumbles, but he ducks and scratches the cat behind the ears. When he straightens, he takes in the room, jaw working side to side.
“And you’re getting king all over my room.
” I give him a sardonic grin and tie off my braid.
The sting of his unwittingly cruel words is still fresh and I don’t know how to address it when there are no apologies among the unseelie and he’s all regal and imperious.
“Was there something you wanted from me or did you just come to admonish my cat for the crime of… being a cat?”
He places his hand over his chest, fingers drumming. “I have something for you.” Nostrils flared, he lifts his chin and pulls a jar from his inside pocket and only then does he finally look at me.
I’m braced for it. Thankfully. Because he looks fucking furious.
He isn’t glowering and his voice is even. No. This is a far more subtle rage. It simmers in his gaze and twitches in his jaw. It’s written in the hard lines of his face, the way every muscle is pulled tight. It’s in the clipped way he clicks the jar on the dressing table, rattling its contents.
Red tablets. My medicine. He’s had more made.
All my curt irritation evaporates on a shaky exhalation. There’s enough to last me at least a couple of months. “Thank you,” I breathe. “Thank you.” I don’t know how else to convey quite how much it means to me—a literal lifesaver.
The king, looking particularly kingly with his stiff, straight back and squared shoulders, straightens the jars and bottles on the dressing table, lips pressed together in a straight line as he retrieves the old jar with just two tablets left.
Once that’s done, he stalks to the fireplace and twitches the cushions on the settee straight.
Then he rights the tumbling stack of books I’ve borrowed from his library.
I open my mouth to ask if something’s wrong when he finally speaks. “Your tablets… do they cause you any problems?”
“Problems? No. I mean, they taste kind of horrible, but…” I shrug. A bad taste is a small price to pay for continuing to live. “Why? Is something wrong?”
He lifts one shoulder with a thoughtful hum, gaze on the jar. “I was just wondering. I’ve never taken medicine, so I was curious what it was like.”
I pad over, barefoot. He seems more distracted than angry now, but he has this twitchy energy like there’s something he’s struggling to contain. It was my decision to come back to my room, but I miss the closeness that had developed between us in his suite without me even realizing.
His gaze twitches to the window where I was sitting. “It’s still an hour and a half until sunrise. You’ve got time for a bath before you return to the labyrinth. Astrid mentioned you ran to the stables. I’m sure your joints don’t appreciate that.” He gives a stiff smile.
“I’m glad you added the bit about my run. I thought you were just hinting that I smell bad.” I lift my damp braid. “Bathing challenge already completed.”
“Ah. I see. Good. Well, I’ll let you continue your preparations.” Nodding, he backs away, only turning when he reaches the door.
I stare long after it’s shut, trying to work out why I’m flooded with disappointment. What was I expecting, exactly?
Things… happened at Moonburn, before the argument turned from delicious to hurtful. I’m foolish if I thought he might apologize. And I’m not sure it’s reasonable to expect—he can’t know the specific, barbed meaning his words would have for me.
With all his care and attention, I’d started to wonder if he felt something for me. Physical, at least.
The distasteful little human isn’t quite so distasteful after all.
Maybe I’m even starting to feel something for him, despite all that he is.
Or it’s just that this life is a change from everything I’ve known and I’ve been feeling better since I arrived.
I’ve been whipped up and pulled along by the adventure and novelty, the danger and beauty of this place, the mystery of what exactly has helped me put on weight.
I’ve even searched the kitchens for answers—nothing, no rare ingredients or magical Underworld herbs.
And yet, my symptoms have eased… along with my feelings for Drystan.
No. I don’t care for him. It’s hard to disconnect all this from the man responsible for bringing me here. That’s all.
And he doesn’t feel anything for me.
There’s a darker, far more plausible reason for his behavior. After all, isn’t darker more in keeping with the unseelie? Now he’s given me a fresh supply of medicine, he doesn’t need to be nice—or cooperative, as he put it—and he doesn’t need to seduce me.
He has my gratitude. He controls the supply of medicine that keeps me alive.
He holds all the power he’ll ever need.