Chapter 9
Chapter Nine
Sylvi
Sunlight streamed through the immense windows of Jack’s chamber, the warm rays brushing over my face, soft like the tips of an owl’s flight feather.
I blinked sluggishly, my body slow to respond as I dragged myself from the clutches of sleep.
My mouth felt dry, my limbs still weak, but at least I was no longer burning up.
Foggy memories drifted through my mind: Jack lying beside me, his body close, the cool balm of his magic spreading through my fevered skin, his hand on my bare waist…
Blessed Skadi. The coolness of his touch had saved me. But it went deeper than that, beyond his magic. His presence alone, knowing he’d stayed by my side, that he’d watched over me, making sure I wouldn’t succumb to the fever, had made my heart swell with more than just gratitude.
I pressed a hand to my chest, the memory of his hand on my skin an overwhelming heaviness, like a thrumming, aching sensation that threatened to steal my oxygen.
Gods. I needed to get myself together.
But how could I when he was fast asleep beside me, looking like a slumbering god? Wincing slightly, I eased myself upright against the pillows, careful not to wake him.
Shirtless, he lay sprawled on the bed, one arm folded beneath his head, the other loosely resting on his side.
The morning light spilled over him like molten gold, illuminating every carved plane of muscle, accentuating the lines of his collarbone, the breadth of his chest, and the lean, contoured rolling hills of his abdomen.
I swallowed thickly, my body growing still, my breathing too shallow as I continued to shamefully gawk at him.
The sheets had slipped indecently low around his waist, revealing the elegant cut of his pelvis and the faint trail of feathery silver hair that disappeared beneath the band of his linen trousers—trousers that, if not obscured by the folds of the sheets, would’ve left very little to the imagination.
Heat surged through me, a honeyed fire that pooled low in my belly like warmed eldbrann, igniting sparks in places that had no business stirring while I was recovering from a stab wound.
Goddess, help me. Every inch of him not only radiated virility, but also something far more dangerous…
the terrifying tenderness he’d shown me, the sweetness with which he’d cared for me.
That was what made my heart tumble like a leaf drifting in the wind.
These feelings springing up inside me were a distraction I didn’t need, not when everything was about to crumble around me. This serene morning was the calm before the storm. Soon, the palace would be teeming with courtiers, and the queen would be demanding answers for last night.
I needed to be ready to respond. Needed to be ready to face the mob.
Yet, meanwhile, I was…
I looked down at myself… I was wearing Jack’s oversized shirt, while lying in his bed, ogling him like he wasn’t a betrothed prince—like he wasn’t my childhood best friend.
I needed to look away. Needed to remember my place in his world. But my eyes refused to listen, lingering far too long on the way his breathing deepened, on the rise and fall of his muscled chest, a chest that beckoned me to lay on top of it and listen to his calming heartbeat.
And then there were his lips, luscious and slightly parted. My mind swam with vivid, forbidden thoughts, and my fingers itched to brush the strands of hair falling into his eyes, to trace the perfect line of his jaw, to carve paths all along the peaks and valleys of his body.
Maybe I hadn’t fully shaken the effects of the tonic. That was the only logical explanation for the madness wreaking havoc on my mind.
A pang of guilt struck me. He’d stayed beside me all night, giving me his magic, offering me comfort. And now I was staring at him like a wolf in heat. I lifted the back of my hand to my forehead, praying for a lingering fever so I didn’t have to face the truth.
But the heat rising along the column of my neck and saturating my cheeks wasn’t a fever… It was… I was…
Jack stirred, and my heart nearly punched through my ribcage, pounding like Eira galloping through an open meadow. His lashes fluttered and his eyes cracked open. Blinking slowly, his heavy-lidded gaze latched onto me, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. “Hi.”
I forced myself to breathe. “Hello.”
He sat up, stretching with a low groan that made every muscle in his body ripple. I had to drag my eyes away from the way his trousers hung way too low on his hips. “How do you feel?” he asked, his voice deep and rough, eyes sweeping over me, checking for signs of distress.
“Better,” I said, though the word came out a bit too quickly. I was trying, and failing, not to stare at his chiseled pelvis.
A muscle ticked in his jaw, and he brushed a strand of hair from my eyes, gently pressing his cool knuckles to my cheek, his brows coming together at the touch of my skin. “I don’t know, Syl. You feel warm. You might be spiking another fever. I’ll get the healer.”
I grabbed his wrist. “Wait. I’m not feverish. I’m just...”
His brows knit even closer together. “What’s the matter, Syl? You don’t seem quite alright.”
My lips parted, though I wasn’t sure what words were going to spill from my tongue, but before I could say anything, a knock at the door shattered the moment.
I let go of his hand, and he exhaled, clearly annoyed we’d been interrupted.
He swung his legs over the side of the bed, rising to his feet in a smooth, graceful motion that sent another wave of heat through me.
I picked at my nails as I watched the way his back flexed, the deep, pinkish scars crisscrossing over his shoulder blades a reminder of the vicious attack he suffered at the age of ten when a feral leopard escaped the beast enclosure.
Healers hadn’t been sure he’d survive, as his magic hadn’t fully manifested yet and his healing abilities had been slow to activate, but he pulled through nonetheless, though the scars had remained.
Watching how much he adored those cats now, one would never guess he was almost mauled to death by one of them. It was a shame how his mother abused those poor creatures.
When he opened the door, the palace’s chief healer clutched her medicinal satchel tighter against her body, an eyebrow hiked in surprise.
She smoothed a hand over her shoulder-length, plaited, snow-white hair, as if seeing him shirtless had somehow undone her braid.
She probably hadn’t anticipated he’d open the door so minimally dressed.
Clearing her throat, she smiled politely, cheeks lightly colored. “Good morning, Your Highness.”
“Mistress.” He raked a hand through his silver hair as he stepped aside to let her through.
The healer’s brown eyes flicked to me, avoiding the sight of Jack’s bare chest with admirable effort. “You seem to be doing better, Captain.”
“Your remedies are like magic, Maelis,” I said with a weak smile.
Jack stood at the foot of the bed, eagerly waiting for the healer to examine me.
A breath trickled from my lips as I thought back to the moment right before she knocked on the door.
Jack had been annoyed, but I couldn’t be more grateful for the interruption.
I needed to get my ass out of this bed and back to work.
I needed to focus on my duties, and being alone with him in his room—the both of us barely dressed—wasn’t helping.
Hopefully, once I was no longer woozy from blood loss and no longer on the heavy tonic, these thoughts plaguing my mind would cease.
Though with another short glance toward Jack, I wasn’t so certain.
Blasted Solstice. Could he put on a shirt?
“I think I broke my fever overnight,” I said, adding a jovial bounce to my voice. “I no longer feel like I’m going to combust.”
“You have the prince to thank for that,” she replied, casting him a brief look, her eyes crinkling at the corners. Then she gestured for me to lift my shirt. “Let’s take a look.”
I did as she asked, wincing slightly as I exposed the bandages. Maelis untied them, peeling away the linen, then she stilled.
I didn’t have to look at Jack to know he’d gone deathly rigid as well.
“What is it?” I asked, glancing down.
The healer’s lips pressed into a thin line as she examined the wound. “Interesting,” she murmured, ignoring my question.
Jack stepped around the bed to take a closer look. “Is it still festering?”
The healer traced her fingers lightly over my stomach, over the stitched wound that should have still been red and raw. Instead, the skin had already begun knitting together, the edges around the stitches light pink. “Quite the opposite. It’s healing beautifully.”
“That’s a good thing, right?” I asked, unable to read her demeanor.
“Well, normally, yes. But common fae don’t heal this fast. Its…”
“Impossible,” I finished for her, brushing my fingers over the wound. I shivered. Though mostly healed, the new flesh was still too sensitive.
“Impossible indeed,” the healer repeated, reaching into her satchel for a jar containing a poultice.
Applying the paste over the healing skin and re-wrapping the bandage, an air of satisfaction escaped her lungs.
“It was likely the prince’s magic that sped up your healing.
He offered you a great deal of his power to lower the vicious fever you were fighting last night. ”
Jack blinked in surprise. “My magic can’t do that.”
“Royal fae magic can be unpredictable in its strength,” Maelis replied. “The scope of your power could be endless.”
Jack stood straighter, arms crossing over his chest, eyes assessing the healer down the slope of his nose. “The magic in our veins heals our bodies, but healing others is a distinctly different ability. Seldom few inherit the trait.”
Maelis rose to her full height, though she barely reached his shoulders. “You’re still so young, Your Highness. You’ve yet to even scratch the surface of your magical abilities.”