Chapter 27
Progress is slow. Each night we meet to practice the same exercise, but we’ve consistently defaulted to using most of our time to talk when the prince gets frustrated.
He has spoken about his relationship with his brother, which in recent years had been made of transitory sightings of one another.
They rarely had a conversation longer than a few short words.
He has also talked disdainfully of the many foreign princesses brought to him for prospective legal marriages throughout his youth, each given the promise she could remain in her home country, taking Ramiel as their subservient king.
His father must’ve wanted him gone, even then. The king’s wish for his second son’s failure might make sense, if not for the fact that he’s now the only heir, which doesn’t add up. Does the king have a card he isn’t playing? Why wouldn’t he just kill Ramiel and be done with it?
I frown as I stuff a chunk of sausage into my cheek. Oils explode across my mouth, hot and colorful and spindly. Tingles run along my arms, as if the salty flavors and sweet aromatics of anise have transgressed the walls of my mouth, seeking to fill my entire body with robust flavor.
It should be a crime to keep such delicious food from the servants.
This can’t possibly be the same meat I saw in the royal kitchens before it became infested with maggots.
Ramiel sits across from me, fumbling with a knife and fork. He stabs blindly at his metal plate a few times before successfully skewering a sausage. He bites off the end and chews.
My focus drifts to the fairy at his side, whom I haven’t spoken with since our last meeting.
He doesn’t meet my glare. His eyes are flat and directed at the prince’s hands.
A sort of hostile protectiveness hovers around him.
If Ramiel were to accidentally stab his hand or drop his knife, Ronan will be ready to assist.
Though I should appreciate his care for my mate, I can’t help the jealousy sparking at the attention he shamelessly directs toward the prince. Does he think I won’t react quickly enough?
As I move my hand slightly toward Ramiel, the mark on my arm warms. I wonder if he can feel it too.
I’ve already grown used to quelling the heat from our bond by simply brushing my arm against his, so the action has become something of a habit.
But before I make contact, Ronan blurts, “Your Highness, Ether just blew you a kiss.”
Mid-bite, the prince chokes on his food and coughs with a hand to his chest to clear the blockage. His voice goes up in pitch as he says, “She what ?”
I’m just as flabbergasted. Ronan’s offhand remark sends every hair on my arm standing, my face thrumming with embarrassment.
“What a childish thing to say,” I hiss.
The grin pulling into the fairy’s cheeks tries my patience. I grit my teeth.
Ramiel’s cheeks grow a concerning shade of red, and I wonder if the innocent concept of blowing a kiss is too much for him. Guilt forms a knot in my stomach even thinking about the method I’d used to save his life. Would he puke, as Ronan did, if he ever found out?
I shake my head. There’s no reason for me to tell him, not unless I have an unearthed desire to progress the growing tensions between us. Keeping the instinctual urges from our bond at bay is difficult enough as is.
My arm finally touches his, and he jolts slightly before he relaxes and reaches over to rest his right hand over mine.
This is such an intimate form of touch, and yet, it’s the most appropriate way I can think of for us to share energy and alleviate the hunger between us.
It’s working. For now.
“Get a room, you two,” Ronan grumbles, standing from the table, but neither Ramiel nor I remove our hands from each other.
Remembering Ramiel can’t see our faces, I waggle my tongue at Ronan.
This earns me a sneer. “Your plates,” he spits, flicking his fingers inward.
“I’d rather wash dishes than sit through whatever this is. ”
Ramiel chuckles, but something about its timbre is saddening. He must have something on his mind. It’s unusual for Ronan’s antics to bother him.
I hand the fairy my saucer, stacking Ramiel’s on top. Before the plates have time to settle, Ronan promptly leaves the mess hall.
My elbows rest against the tabletop. Ramiel faces me, but I know he sees nothing.
I’ve been avoiding making direct eye contact with him—the scar the mages gave him has ruined his beauty, carving over the left side of his face.
When he smiles, the curdled skin stretches, and there’s no sign of his dimple. It’s been erased.
He can still open both eyes, but the green of his irises is dull and milky, like a cloud is passing over them. Yet, when he stares in my direction, I swear he sees something because he can track me even when I’m not speaking.
I rest my cheeks in my hands and peek at him. “I’m guessing Ronan already told you. Are you up for a change of pace today? Shall we go to the training grounds?”
He sighs. “I’ll be honest. I don’t think I’ll be able to do anything without having my sight.
At first, I thought it might be possible, since it involves feeling and not seeing, but I can’t wield a sword well, and my magic is not something you’re used to either.
” He sounds like he’s already accepted failure.
A familiar pang of guilt rushes over me.
He’s right. He can’t wield a sword, not if he doesn’t have the skills for fighting in the first place.
I thought we’d benefit from jumping straight into harnessing magic.
I knew it would be difficult, even with the torrent of magical energy humming low inside of him, begging to be fully awakened.
Nothing like I’ve ever felt before—not elf or human, but something else entirely.
Still, I can’t help but feel this fact alone won’t be enough to convince him he has what it takes.
“Let’s assume you’re right,” I say before my response is too delayed.
My finger taps against my forehead, and I bite my lip.
“Let’s assume you’ve made no progress in the last week.
It could be that your eluviam needs a consistent magic supply for a while.
” With a deep breath, I know I’m making the right decision.
“Let’s go to Aldorin. The ley lines connect the magic beneath the ancient trees, and it’s how my people replenish their eluviams, since they don’t often use magic powerful enough to drain them. ”
“The forest?”
I know it’s taboo. He’s already visited once, though he didn’t tell me how it went. Had he been received well? His expression isn’t giving anything away if not.
“Yes.” I stand from the table, then reach for his arm to help him up.
Ronan reappears and promptly steals him from me, wrapping the prince’s arm around his shoulders.
The fairy sneers, his lips curling and nose scrunching. His eyes narrow with a glint of mockery, as if to say, I have your prince. What are you going to do about it?
I roll my tongue over my teeth, feeling for my incisors. They’re no longer flat, no longer concealed by the elixir I’d consumed. But they’re still a bit too stubby to serve as a warning. So I grind them together and seethe in silence.
“Will we go to Nwatalith? Your village?” Ramiel is still focused on our conversation, apparently unbothered by the exchange between his servant and me. Or maybe unaware is the right word.
I try to care equally as little, turning my head away from the two.
“No,” I say, shaking my head. I immediately cringe at the motion.
He can’t see any physical gestures, and I have to constantly remind myself of this.
“We will go to Hearthstrom, an abandoned village where our people often seek peace during seasons of mourning. I learned meditation there, trained there. We all did.” I glance at Ronan, and for once, he doesn’t avert eye contact.
In fact, he nods at me. And it isn’t disparaging either.
I frown.
“I understand,” Ramiel says with a sigh.
He turns his head, removes his arm from Ronan, and faces me with arms outstretched in search of something.
I step forward and lift myself a little higher to meet his hands.
I don’t dare to look at Ronan, whose stare I imagine has returned to being piggish and vile.
The prince’s hands rest on my shoulders, and his lips turn up.
He’s not as hideous this close. Jade eyes stare into nothing, and then they’re angled at my chest. I suck in a breath. Could he see something the rest of us can’t?
“Be honest with me,” he says, voice stiff and rough.
I try not to smirk at the humor in his words, doing my best to remain stoic.
His Adam’s apple bobs once in his caramel-colored throat.
“Do you think this will all be worth it? Do you think I have what it takes...to be king? Is it even possible in my condition?”
The question catches me by surprise, but that doesn’t change my instantaneous response.
“No,” I say, reaching for his hands. I cup them under mine, though my thin fingers hardly cover his. “I know you can do this.”
His smile returns, but this time it’s far away.
“We must leave at once, then. Ronan, come with us. I can use all the help I can get.” Ramiel’s voice rings with a sureness even though he sees neither of our doubtful expressions.
Ronan smirks at me, sending another unspoken message, which I translate to, Looks like you aren’t enough. How does that make you feel?
I make a fist.
Asshole!
The fairy sighs pleasantly at my outrage, then smiles in the prince’s direction. “Yes, let’s go. I’ll gather horses for us. And Ether, I take it you’ll walk, yes?”
I snicker without any fear of Ramiel reprimanding me for making the sound. Ronan needs to understand he hasn’t bested me. “Actually , ” I say, slipping my arm around Ramiel’s. He inhales sharply at the warmth spreading between us, the bond settling. “I think I’ll take a horse this time.”