Chapter 3 #2
My eyes widen with alarm, and my tone comes out more shrill than I meant it to. “What! How?”
Kas stops adding more pheasant to his plate and looks up at me, startled. “He’s fine. It wasn’t serious.”
“What happened? He wasn’t injured when I saw him earlier, and not for nothing, but I don’t know how he could be when I still haven’t managed to actually hit him with my sword.”
“He’s been drilling the new recruits in the evenings so he can train you during the day,” Kas explains. “I guess some of them are getting good, because Fox got hit pretty hard in the head.”
“So you healed him, right?” I demand, blinking rapidly.
To my surprise, Kas snorts a laugh. “No. Fox would never let me heal him with magic. He’d have to be dying, and even then he’d probably argue about it.”
I wrinkle my nose. “Why?”
“He just doesn’t like magic, he—”
But whatever else Kastian was going to say about Fox I never find out, because at that moment Odessa laughs at something Alix must have said, and Kastian gets distracted, completely losing his train of thought.
Back in my tower room that evening, I brew myself a quick reviving potion. It helps considerably to banish any lingering soreness in my arms, but has the unfortunate side effect of making me feel extremely awake well into the night.
For several hours I chat with Eugene—now happily back in his golden bird cage—while I make notes in my enormous recipe books about some new spells and potions I’ve been meaning to try.
Eventually, I climb into my bed with a book I’ve already read at least two dozen times and try to get lost in the story.
Unfortunately, my mind keeps wandering and I can’t seem to focus.
I put down my book, blowing out a frustrated huff of breath.
“I wonder why Fox would turn down Kastian’s healing ability,” I say to Eugene, as if picking up a conversation we’d already been having.
The squirrel is curled up in a ball, seemingly asleep, but he opens one dark eye and looks over at me warily.
“I could easily fix whatever it is,” I continue. “Fae heal quicker than most other species, but not instantly. A serious injury could still take several days to heal, and if Fox was injured enough not to come to dinner then it must be bad, right? Then again, no one seemed concerned…but still…”
The squirrel makes an annoyed chittering sound, which I interpret to mean: “Be quiet, I was sleeping.”
I ignore him, my mind still racing as I stand up from my bed and descend the ladder down from my loft into the main room of my tower.
The bottle of healing potion I made with the frost troll hairs the other day sits innocently on my workbench. I tested it already on myself after I managed to slash my hand open while cutting up some herbs, and it works perfectly.
“Maybe Fox just doesn’t want to be healed directly by magic,” I muse. “A potion isn’t really magic—not exactly—it’s more like medicine. I could at least offer, the worst he can say is no…”
Eugene makes an angry hissing sound and raises his head to glare at me.
“Alright, alright, I’m sorry,” I mutter, grabbing the dark crimson potion off the workbench and shoving it into my pocket. “Go back to sleep, I’m leaving anyway.”
My slippers whisper against the stone steps as I descend the many stairs through the manor house and slip out the front door.
Outside, crickets chorus in the darkness and the moon is high and round in the sky.
It’s not quite a full moon yet, but it will be in a day or two, and the moonlight is bright enough that I don’t need to conjure my own to see where I’m going.
A few things occur to me as I walk across the empty courtyard toward the newly built barracks.
Firstly, perhaps I should have dressed in actual clothing.
I’m wearing a pale blue nightgown and a pink silk robe, neither of which I would usually want to be seen in.
Secondly, I have no idea what time it is.
I’m still struggling to get used to sleeping during the nighttime hours, and I can’t remember when would be considered “too late” for a visit.
I reach the barracks and yank open the heavy door with a creek, only to find myself standing in a long, dimly lit hallway lined with dozens of doors. Damn. I don’t know which room is Fox’s.
I’m just about to give up, when low male laughter echoes from somewhere ahead. I let out a relieved breath. It’s not too late to be here, the soldiers are still awake.
I follow the laughter and muffled voices to an open door halfway down the right side of the corridor.
I pause at the threshold, taking in the dining hall beyond—long wooden tables standing shoulder to shoulder across the stone floor, while the last orange embers of a dying fire glow weakly in the cavernous brick hearth.
There are five men sitting at one of the far tables, large tankards in front of them, their faces flushed with ale. Their conversation dies when I appear in the doorway. One man nudges his friend, his lips curling into a knowing smirk.
The soldier closest to me turns all the way around on his bench, and stumbles to his feet. “Evening, m’lady,” he hiccups. “Care to join us?”
I shake my head. “No thank you. I was just looking for Fox—er, your commander.”
The soldiers laugh, nudging each other more pointedly. The man who asked me to join them whistles low under his breath, while the first man’s gaze travels from my disheveled hair down to my silk-covered toes, lingering too long on my breasts.
I tug the edges of my robe together and fold my arms tight across my chest, suddenly aware of the chill air against my collarbones. “Could you just tell me which room is his, please?”
The tallest of the men points vaguely toward the hallway. “Last door on the left.” he drawls, exchanging glances with his companions.
I force a smile of thanks and hurry back out into the corridor. That was…uncomfortable.
Pushing it from my mind, I hurry down the hall, counting doors until I reach the last one on the left. My knuckles hover against the rough-hewn wood before tapping lightly, the sound barely audible even to my own ears. There’s no answer.
Maybe he’s asleep, or else, not here? How late is it? I wish I’d asked those soldiers what time it is, but honestly they were probably too drunk to know.
I raise my fist to knock again, making sure to pound loudly enough that if Fox were inside, he would definitely hear me. Again, there’s no answer.
I bite my lip, reaching into my pocket to curl my fingers around the potion bottle.
Maybe his injury was severe enough that he decided to have Kastian heal it after all.
Perhaps we just missed each other, and he’s up at the manor house right now.
In that case, I suppose I could just leave the potion inside, just in case it could be helpful later.
Mind made up, I reach for the doorknob and quietly ease the door open.
The room is unlit, with only a stripe of moonlight from a small window falling across the end of a narrow bed. At first, I think it’s empty—until my eyes adjust and I make out the massive shape sprawled atop the rumpled blankets. I freeze, my pulse pounding in my ears.
Fox is lying shirtless on his stomach, his golden hair loose and messy.
Both his heavily muscled arms are flung out to the sides, as if he fell forward in exhaustion and just stayed like that.
There’s a blanket draped up to his waist and tangled around his legs.
He doesn’t seem to be wearing anything else under that blanket, and my gaze lingers for a moment before I yank my eyes away, blushing.
What the hell do I do now?
I want to ease the door closed and pretend this never happened, but those soldiers in the dining hall know I was here.
Will they remember that I asked about Fox’s room and mention it to him?
Then how would I explain myself? “See, what happened was, I thought you might be injured, so I crept into your room while you were sleeping, but then I realized that you sleep naked so I ran away. I didn’t look! …much. I promise! …kind of.”
No, I definitely can’t say that. But I can’t keep standing here in the doorway either, or he’s going to wake up and that will be so much worse.
I’ll have to leave the potion like I’d planned to. That’s probably the least awkward thing to do at this point, and if he asks about it, at least I had a legitimate reason to be here. Hell, maybe he’ll never ask about it. I’ve never been so grateful that Fox doesn’t talk much.
Leaving the door open a crack, I step into the dark room, tiptoeing across the stone floor.
I pull the healing potion out of my pocket and set it down as quietly as I can on the wooden nightstand, holding my breath.
Fox doesn’t move, and I relax the tiniest bit, keeping my eyes on him as I walk backward quietly toward the open door.
Without warning, a shout of drunken laughter rings through the hall. I jump, sucking in a loud breath, and Fox’s eyes snap open. He jumps out of bed, completely naked, eyes wild.
It happens so fast I don’t even have time to process that before he’s towering over me. His eyes are blurry with sleep, and I don’t think he really sees me, before his hand snaps out, fingers closing around my throat.
Terror shoots through me as he lifts me off my feet, legs dangling helplessly, and slams my entire body against the wall hard enough to rattle my teeth. I gasp, scrabbling at his calloused fingers, squeezing the breath from my lungs.
It’s almost like earlier in our training session, only now I realize how much Fox was holding himself back so as not to hurt me.
He’s definitely not holding back now.
He’s going to kill me.