Chapter 10 #2
Despite the prince’s touch, no images of being buried beneath the undead, their limp limbs and heavy forms tangled with her own, conjured in her mind. She could only think of the torment ripping through her body. The need to push through it. To keep going and kill Vraethik.
Time slipped away and her surroundings faded from her awareness. She didn’t know how long or how far they walked. A lightness filled her head, magnified by the sweeping, swirling snow all around her. The howl of wind like Azkanix’s cry as the Celestials tore him apart, horrible and paralyzing.
The next thing she knew, she was sitting against a stone wall, legs outstretched.
Ripples of pain shuddered through her, and her vision danced as tremors wracked her body.
Arms once again wound beneath her, scooping her up.
Her knee cracked as it bent and sent another shockwave of anguish cascading through her, amplifying the roiling nausea.
Hot stomach acid heaved out of her mouth.
The cold disappeared with the snap of tent flaps. The prince laid Cerise on her back, the absorber a pale blue, shaking light above her. Layers of furs, pelts, and blankets draped over her, yet her body would not cease trembling.
The pile on top of her shifted, feet slightly elevated, and cooler air brushed over her leg.
“What—what are you d-doing?” Cerise asked through chattering teeth, glimpsing at the prince. He’d moved the layers on her and pulled up her pant leg, revealing the swollen, scarred flesh beneath.
He lifted his hands, and through her shaky vision, viscous golden liquid glinted in one of them, reflecting the absorber’s light. In the other, plucked petals of Zyrdriel’s Mercy lay in his open palm.
Panic seized her, heart thundering against her chest. “D-don’t give me th-that shit.”
“Cerise,” the prince pleaded, “you’ve gone into shock. Please take it.”
“I’d r-rather d-die.”
“You might, if you don’t take it!” the prince shouted, fear quaking through his voice.
Cerise startled at the abrupt change in tone, clamping down her arguments.
He put down Idle Lily’s Honey and the flower petals, and ran both hands through his thick hair, pulling it away from his face.
With a deep breath, he lowered his voice and whispered, “You promised Eirwen you’d return to her. ”
Her sister’s sad, ivory face floated in her mind. She’d be all alone.
But she’d also promised herself she’d never touch Zyrdriel’s Mercy. Would never risk succumbing to the stupefying bliss it supplied.
Which promise was more important: the one to herself or to her sister?
“And I can’t fight Vraethik alone.”
Eirwen’s visage in Cerise’s mind blackened, imagining the curse corrupting her sister’s flesh and bones until they withered to nothing more than a husk.
The prince’s fingers touched Cerise’s nose, covering her mouth the same way he had done to himself.
“I promised I wouldn’t harm you. Neither will I let you hurt yourself.
” The prince held her gaze, as if waiting for her to swat him away.
But her body could only tremble. Debilitated, exhausted, agonized.
“That extends to not letting you become addicted to this, if you find yourself overwhelmed by cravings. Though if you’re worried about such a thing, you underestimate your strength. ”
Cerise swallowed the lump in her throat, blinking back the sting of tears she told herself were only from the pain. Her teeth chattered as her body wracked with shudders. Besides Eirwen, she was the strongest person she knew. She’d survived more than many could imagine. She could survive this, too.
She gave one stiff nod to the prince. He pulled his hand away from her face, an exhale of relief loosening his shoulders.
He swabbed a finger through the honey and spread it over a petal, then folded it. The delicate flower in his hand, he stretched it toward her and said, “Open.”
Sucking in a deep breath, she obeyed. The prince laid the petal on her tongue, fingers brushing over her lips. Squeezing her eyes shut, she closed her mouth and chewed. The sweet honey spilled onto her tongue as the floral essence dissipated.
“I’m going to massage your knee now, is that okay?”
She nodded, not trusting herself to speak without biting her tongue.
The prince poured the cool, sticky honey over her kneecap and spread it over the swollen mass on her leg.
His soft touch sent pleasant shivers up her body, a strange contrast to the fierce aches and uncontrollable trembling within.
He pressed his fingers into her leg, gentle at first, working the medicine into her pores.
She chewed the flower in her mouth and swallowed, the lingering taste of flowers and sugar on her tongue as Zyrdriel’s Mercy worked its way into her bloodstream.
The seizures slowed as warmth encompassed her body, relaxing her muscles and easing the sharp pain into a heavy ache, as if her bones were made of stone. Her head grew pleasantly light, not faint or dizzy as before, but airy like long lost spring breezes.
As she drifted, fatigued from the agony and eased by the drugs, the prince’s hands were the only thing tethering her to her physical form.
Even the howling wind and sharp snowflakes slapping against the flapping tent faded beneath his touch.
She felt like dough under his hands, his strong fingers kneading the twists in her muscles, dissolving the heavy pressure that weighed on her skeleton.
Soon, his fingers, the movement of his hands, was all she knew.
While Eirwen’s thin, chilly fingers could take the cold from her body, Oberon’s pressed heat into her. And unlike Eirwen’s massage, she didn’t have to keep her eyes open to keep the images of frigid, undead hands clawing her body from invading her mind.
She kept them open because she wanted to.
Cerise gazed at the prince through the euphoric haze of Zyrdriel’s Mercy. The way his thick, golden-brown hair and beard glowed in the absorber’s light. How one wave tucked perfectly behind one ear. The slight crease in his brow as he focused on his hands. Her wound.
His vibrant gaze shifted to her, and the weight of his hands lifted from her leg. “Do you need me to stop?”
“No,” she whispered. “Please don’t.”
A pleased grin flashed across his face before resuming the massage, fingers more certain than before.
They pressed harder into her flesh, and she groaned as he relieved a particularly uncomfortable spot.
An echoing rumble escaped the prince, igniting desire between her legs.
He continued to work the painful knot, dispersing the ache.
Airy pleasure from the pain relief and Zyrdriel’s Mercy embraced her.
Yet as both made her body relax, easing her heart rate, exhaustion weighed heavy on her eyelids.
Her eyes closed. Still, no visions of undead hands roaming her body flooded her mind or replaced the prince’s touch.
She only felt him and the firm press of his fingers on her leg.
In the dark behind her eyelids, she wondered what it would feel like to have those powerful hands travel up her legs, exploring and touching other parts of her skin. Relieving other aches.
The heat of desire, the bliss of the prince’s massage, and Zyrdriel’s Mercy melted Cerise into nothing more than slushy snow. She seemed to leave her body as fatigue overtook it, fading into a sudden, deep sleep.