12
The following morning, I arrived late for breakfast.
Meront and Darcen were gone. As was Voran.
I ate my oats on my way to the kitchens with my cup tucked in my arm. Water sloshed onto my sleeve. Priestess Yla arched a brow. Smiling meekly, I set my items by the mountain of dishes in the bubbling sinks, then scurried down the dim hall to the gardens.
Where I found Princess Celestine upon the grass beside Tyressa.
An odd feeling pinched at my chest. Guilt, maybe, as I worried that she might have heard about her brother kissing me.
But no one had seen us in the west wing. Meront wouldn’t have told her. Perhaps I should have. I didn’t know if she would mind, yet the slight smile she gave me when I settled beside her had me reconsidering.
“I thought it was time for some sunlight,” she said.
“Well, we’re happy to have you.” I smiled at Tyressa, and she beamed at us both.
It can wait, I thought. Just in case she didn’t take it well. I didn’t want to be the reason she retreated indoors or cried again.
But over the coming days, Celestine smiled more and more. All the while, her brother barely said a word to me.
Perhaps he’d lost interest. Perhaps that kiss had confused him just as much as it had me, and he’d been left wondering if he wanted to do it again.
His silence and how he looked away whenever I looked at him stung. But I couldn’t deny that his avoidance was also something of a relief. I didn’t know what I wanted. I didn’t know if I wanted to kiss him again or if I just wanted to in order to determine how I felt.
But with each meal, it became more apparent that another private conversation wasn’t happening, let alone a kiss.
And that Prince Voran might have left the Archives of Avyshla.
I hadn’t seen him since he’d marked me in the north wing. I didn’t dare ask anyone if he’d gone home. I didn’t need to.
On the third day of his absence, the wards began to murmur about it.
Alixa and Plim were giddy over their theory that King Raxon had arrived in the dead of night and demanded his enforcer find my father to assassinate him. But it was Paphin, discussing the prince with Tyressa in the vegetable garden, who spoke an ounce of truth.
“He turned into a giant wolf to murder those prisoners,” the young lord said. “Now he needs to eat someone, or he’ll die.”
When an Unseelie faerie drained their strength and didn’t replenish it by feeding, they were indeed weakened.
The Valadorn prince needed blood.
He would be quite fine without it. But it would take a considerable amount of time and rest for him to return to full strength on his own.
I didn’t bother correcting Paphin. I finished in the gardens, then trailed the younglings inside to wash up for lunch.
Darcen and Meront remained outside until the prayer hall had almost emptied. I didn’t care. When Celestine left for well duty, I took my half-eaten beef stew upstairs to my room. There, I waited for the hall outside to empty.
Then I waited some more before heading upstairs to the males’ rooms.
Prince Voran had saved me to use me.
An incredibly Unseelie thing to do—help someone just to have them return the favor when and how they wished. Though I certainly owed him a great deal of gratitude, I wasn’t Unseelie, and I couldn’t spend my days and nights fearing what he might want from me.
I would start repaying him now.
Unless the wolf prince was sneaking downstairs in the night, I doubted he’d eaten a thing in days. With my cup of water in hand, I clutched the bowl between my arm and stomach to knock lightly on his door.
No answer.
I should have expected as much. That he wouldn’t want to let anyone near when he was vulnerable.
I gnawed at my lower lip, wondering if I should speak so that he’d know it was me.
Then I wondered if it would make a difference.
We were definitely not friends, and although I had little skill with a weapon, he might not wish to risk letting even me near.
Maybe I should have simply enjoyed his absence. Maybe this was a bad—
The door opened. “Finally.”
Surprised, I almost dropped the bowl as I stepped back. “Finally?”
He said nothing.
Once again, he was shirtless. The ink-filled scars smattering his torso and arms stood in stark contrast to his creamy skin. He was no longer clean-shaven. Stubble dusted his jawline and throat. A shade darker than his steel hair, it was closer to charcoal in color, like his lashes.
Yet it failed to hide the flutter in his clenched jaw.
When I dared to meet his eyes, my heart skipped three beats. Watery pools of darkest blue, fractured by streaks of red, stared down at me.
I swallowed and dug deep for the courage to say, “I’ve noticed your absence during mealtime.” Lifting the bowl, I offered it to him. “I thought I’d bring you something to eat.”
His eyes narrowed on the half-eaten stew, then slowly rose to mine. His suspicion was understandable.
“I’ve had some. It’s not poisoned.” I dunked my finger into the bowl and sucked it clean. “See?”
Those eyes sat on my mouth. “Most poisons do not work quite so fast.”
His voice was different. More roughened. A little hoarse. Probably because of his weakened state.
“Then we’ll wait.”
His eyes came to mine and narrowed further, causing his brows to bunch. Then he peered down the hall and swept a hand through his hair. It fell in thick tendrils around his hewn cheeks. “In,” he grunted.
I tensed. “Oh, I should really be—”
“Someone climbs the stairs.” He stepped back.
It seemed his senses were wholly unaffected. Of course, knowing I couldn’t hear as well as him, he could be lying.
Not wanting to find out, I quickly walked into his room. The lock snicked, and I turned in a circle beside his drawers.
The drapes were closed, cotton bedding rumpled. His crisp amber scent was pungent, which made sense, being that this was his room. Except it didn’t just stain the small space. It pressed oppressively. More powerful than any of my favorite skin oils at home.
I didn’t hate the smell. Rather, I hated how much I liked it.
The spoon clanging in the forgotten bowl gave me much-needed purpose. I hurried to his nightstand to place the stew and water beside a strip of leather I’d seen binding his hair. A book of rhymes sat next to it.
A book usually read to younglings.
I didn’t comment on it. Instead, I said, “I only ate a little to make sure no one got suspicious. I also had a few sips of water. But I’m sure it doesn’t matter because…
” I trailed off before I said because we’ve kissed.
Wringing my hands, I turned to the silent prince.
“I don’t think it’s their best, but it’s still better than—”
“Cease chirping, broshklin.”
“Broshklin?” I asked. Then I scoffed. “I don’t chirp.”
“You do.” Voran strode to his bed. “Nerves and fear make words fall from your pretty lips like water over a cliff.”
Pretty lips.
I blinked then blinked again.
Then I proved him right. “That’s not true, and I’m not nervous.
I’m merely hoping this will help repay the debt you say I owe you.
” I closed my eyes. Drew in a deep breath.
“All right. Maybe I am a bit nervous, and I’m sure you’re very hungry, so I’ll just…
” I stepped to the side to keep my distance from him as I headed to the door.
“I’m not hungry,” he said, prompting me to turn back. “Not for food.”
I gaped.
He stared.
And as the silence stretched, what he wanted became undeniably clear. Blood.
My blood.
But I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t give that to him. Such a thing just wasn’t done. There were undoubtedly plenty of Seelie faeries who fed their blood to Unseelie, but those faeries were not royalty.
I was a princess. Not to mention his enemy.
You are now indebted to me.
Carefully, I selected my words. “I’m afraid I cannot help you with that. But I can…” I threw my hands about. “Well, maybe I can hunt something for you.”
A wriggle of his lips. “I would pay good coin to see you try.” Tense quiet visited before his features hardened. “Hunting does not always call for chasing, broshklin.”
I frowned. “What do you me—”
“Come here.”
Oh.
Oh.
It was then I understood his comment about hunting—and that I was a giant fool. Likely the biggest fool to ever grace these ancient archives.
If he’d wanted to drain the blood from critters, he would have done so days ago. He’d lain in wait—knowing he could force me to feed him if he got me alone. Knowing I couldn’t flee once we were in confined quarters. There hadn’t been anyone climbing the stairs to the males’ rooms.
I’d walked right into a trap with a bowl of rotting stew.
“I…” I took a useless step back to the door. “I cannot do that.”
“Cannot?” His head tilted. “Or will not?”
I remembered his hand around my throat. The panic from not being able to breathe properly. The pain from his dragging claws.
“Prince Voran,” I started.
“Prince Voran,” he repeated with a humorless chuckle. A loud exhale followed, and he ran a hand through his hair. “You have two options, Princess. Give me what I want, or don’t scream when I take what I need.”
“Neither of those sounds very—”
“Do you not honor your debts?”
Every part of me stilled. “I’ve never had one.”
Three long steps. Slow steps. Then he stood before me. “Do you know what happens to those who fail to honor them?” Looming over me now, he almost crooned, “Dishonor me, and wearing my mark will be the least of your concerns.”
I swallowed and stared at his throat.
However wrong this situation was, he was right. There was no escaping a debt. Certainly not with stew and water. “Fine.” Resigned, I stepped away and whispered, “Do you want me to, uh…” I gestured to the bed. “Sit?”
When I heard nothing but the gulls outside, I turned to find him watching me with impassive features.
I sighed. “Sitting it is.”
As I hesitantly lowered to the edge of his bed, I briefly pondered how a male of his size slept in one so small.
Then he came to join me, and my heart stopped.
The frame groaned from his immense weight. “You’re not breathing.”