Chapter 9 Dying Wish
Wren sighed in relief when the fire finally began to take form.
It had taken her a few tries to get it going, but it would bring warmth to the room soon enough.
In the meantime, the candles Castien had lit would have to do.
Wren turned and found the pompous prince splayed across the tufted couch.
He was watching her, his eyes slitted as if he were fighting the urge to close them.
His black curls were messy, hanging down his forehead like spilled ink.
The length of his lean form was stretched out, his jacket splayed open and shirt scrunched up at the waist. Wren’s breath caught in her throat as she focused on the line of Castien’s muscular abdomen exposed in the candlelight.
“I wish I could read your mind.” Castien’s voice was barely louder than the fire crackling in the hearth.
“I don’t think you’d like what you found,” Wren replied quietly.
Castien’s mouth hitched up on one side.
“Sometimes I delude myself into believing I know what you’re thinking. Then you go and do something so wildly unpredictable that I know I must be a fool.”
A smile threatened to stretch across Wren’s lips, but she held it back.
“How could I be unpredictable to the great strategist Prince Castien Valengard?” Wren mused as she crossed the room.
Castien stared up at her. It occurred to Wren that he was completely at her mercy.
Perhaps he could gather the strength to fend her off, but if she desired, she could take the dagger he gave her and plunge it through his heart.
Such a thing shouldn’t be comforting, yet there was a strange warmth building in her chest at the notion.
She was always the weakest one in the room.
Never had she been on this side of a power imbalance.
She bent down and brushed his curls back to place her hand on his forehead again.
He shuddered, his dark eyelashes kissing his cheekbones as his eyes fell shut.
A flicker of something warm and velvety curled through her, and this time she was certain it was not her emotions, but his.
She froze, not moving her hand. Castien trusted her.
It was the only explanation for his behavior and this strange feeling he let slip through.
The realization made her knees weak and her heart pound in disbelief.
“This very moment is something I would have never predicted.” Castien’s words were a low hum that caused Wren’s toes to curl in her satin slippers.
“That is something we can agree on,” Wren replied as she withdrew her hand.
To keep from trembling, she set to work on pulling a chair closer to Castien.
The loud scrape of the wood feet against the floor made her face twist up.
Their anonymity was likely squashed by the light emanating from the room, but if it weren’t, Wren’s noisiness had made them easily discoverable.
She positioned the chair at an angle so she could see both Castien and the door, then—remembering his coat in her bag—Wren pulled it out and draped it over him.
“What is your verdict?” Castien asked as she sat near him. His head rolled toward her, a ghost of a smile toying with his lips. “Am I going to make it through the night?”
Wren let out an exasperated sigh.
“Yes, of course you are. You’re likely Tidesick, but that is all. Though I do think it would do you good to have some tea. Is there a way to call for your butler down here?”
“Shame,” Castien mumbled as his eyes fell shut again. “I don’t think I’ll be afforded such a peaceful death in the future.”
Wren ignored the fissures forming in her heart and forced a scoff.
“For a man of logic, you speak of death like a poet.”
“I’ve found there is no place for logic in death or love. Only art will do.”
She thought of the poetry book her brother had left behind. The poem he had saved just for her.
“And do you fancy yourself an artist this evening?” Wren asked.
Castien’s dark gaze was on her once more. She wished he would keep his eyes closed. He always saw too much. Even in this state, she was afraid of what he might discern in her expression. He might find her unpredictable, but she felt transparent as air itself when he looked at her.
“If I were, I’d have a great many things to draw after tonight.”
Wren looked down at her hands in her lap. Was he speaking of her? She couldn’t let herself believe that. Perhaps he meant the room, which did look quite picturesque with candles dripping wax and casting puddles of warm light all around them.
“You confuse me,” Wren confessed into the quiet.
Castien’s reply was wry. “At least we feel the same about one another.” But then, softer, he said, “Ask me your questions, dearest. I’ll do my best to answer them.”
Wren swallowed, her throat dry at his repeated endearments toward her. She slowly looked up again, staring at him through her lashes. He had closed his eyes once more, his chest rising and falling in such a way one might mistake him for being asleep.
“Are you sure you possess the strength for discussion?” Wren asked.
“I would think you’d take advantage of my current state.” Castien’s voice carried a hint of amusement.
“I am more worried you’ll say something incorrect,” Wren lied.
Castien chuckled, but the sound gave way to a cough. He curled onto his side. Worry pricked at Wren’s heart like a sharp sewing needle through a dress.
“Castien, you shouldn’t stay down here like this. Can I call for your butler? I know there must be a way to.”
The stubborn prince shook his head.
“No, I’ll be fine after a moment’s rest. Then we can return above. Just a few more minutes here.”
Frustration built within her.
“Save your lies for when you’re answering my questions about last night. Tell me how to call for your butler, or else I will leave and go find him myself,” Wren threatened.
Castien’s eyes shot open, a fire in them that startled Wren.
“Do not leave this room without me. If you got lost or someone was down here—” He cut off, clenching his jaw. “There is a bell in my study, but you cannot go there on your own.”
“We cannot stay here all night, Castien. How am I to sneak back into my chambers once day breaks? You need help if we are to maintain innocence in the eyes of the academy.”
Castien coughed again. Wren reached out and placed a hand on his upper arm. She felt that same warm feeling from him as before, this time tinged with concern.
“Let me regain a bit of my strength through rest, then we can walk together to call for Heathford. But please, Wren, do not leave,” he begged, his dark eyes swimming with some emotion Wren had never seen nor felt directed toward her.
Wren gave a reluctant nod.
“Just for a little while, then we must go, or you will need to direct me.”
Castien grasped the hand she had laid on him and squeezed it. Wren’s stomach swooped.
“Thank you. I will be all right soon.”
She did not believe his words, though she wanted to.
Wren could not see how a short rest would benefit him, as sick as he’d become.
His hand fell away from hers, and she watched the tension leave his body bit by bit.
She removed her hand and looked about the room.
The shelves of books she had riffled through the evening before drew her curiosity.
Perhaps she could read to Castien while he rested.
She could mark the time with pages, so that they did not spend too long down here.
Wren stood. Castien’s hand shot out and grasped her wrist.
“Wren.” He said her name like it was his dying wish.
She felt his panic like a hot coal to her skin.
“I am going to get a book,” she murmured reassuringly. “I will be right back, and I’ll read to you so you know I haven’t left.”
He slowly peeled his fingers away, nodding his consent.
Wren picked up one of the candelabras and walked to the shelves.
The flames twitched in her shaky grip. A drop of wax dripped onto her wrist. She could not ascertain why Castien was behaving this way.
What should it matter to him if she got lost in the tunnels again or came across the killer?
It would help him keep his secrets. She glanced over her shoulder at his resting form.
Perhaps he was worried about being left alone this weak.
Wren focused her attention on the shelves.
There were a great many books, most of which she had not heard of before.
She chose a tome at random, pulling down the emerald-green book.
The Princess and Her Spy. Her nose crinkled.
What a foolish title. Castien stirred on the couch, letting out a low groan.
She hurried back to him, not wanting him to think she had left.
Depositing the candelabra on the table, she sat down and curled her legs beneath her.
The warmth of the fire combined with the soft velvet cushion would make for a cozy spot to relax under different circumstances.
Her gaze fell to Castien. His hair had fallen into his face again.
He looked younger than usual, more boyish.
It was endearing, and Wren allowed herself to smile since he could not see her.
Maybe even in these circumstances there was comfort to be found.
She flipped to the first page of the silly novel and began.