Chapter Three Kit #3
“My mother has gone to get ice,” I say.
“Excellent idea. But I know something that can help now.”
I am curious despite myself. “Very well.”
“The trick is to put pressure on it before the swelling gets bad.” He sets the glass of water on a nearby chair.
To my surprise, he reaches up to the cravat under his chin and has the knot undone with a twist of his hands.
“My friend showed me how to do this so I would be more comfortable riding with the sprain.”
He holds out his hand to me. I blink, too startled to speak. I’m struck that he doesn’t just grab me.
Hesitantly, I extend my arm. I don’t quite touch his palm.
Prince Idris wraps the cloth in a series of crisscrosses round my wrist, up over my palm and thumb, then back round again.
The stark, perfect whiteness of the silk contrasts dramatically with the brown skin of his hands.
I try not to notice that the cloth still radiates his warmth.
My stomach swoops with an emotion I don’t recognize.
We are close enough that I can smell salt and sweat on him.
The ballroom, full of boisterous sound and swirling color, fades to a distant scene.
We are our own clearing in the forest—the prince, me, and my fragile bones.
When he finishes, the makeshift brace holds me tight and steady.
“How’s that?” he asks, poised over the final knot. “Still feel your fingers?”
“I—yes.” My face burns. We are back in public. Our fleeting moment might have been something I only imagined.
“Excellent.” He finishes the knot and moves back. “Give it a test.”
I lift my arm and turn it carefully. I can’t move my wrist very much, but it feels more settled. The pain dims.
“There’s another benefit too,” he adds, his ever-ready smile flashing again. “Everyone will notice the brace and be extra careful while you wear it. When I was in mine, people would barely shake my hand for fear I’d just fall apart!”
“That could be because you’re a prince,” I point out, letting my arm drop.
“Maybe. We are liable to break.” He smiles, a little tighter than before.
He doesn’t point out that I’m a princess, and I remember my own status too late. A princess probably would not consent to wearing a man’s cravat as a brace. But then, a prince probably shouldn’t offer such an intimate piece of clothing to a woman.
I realize suddenly that he hasn’t addressed me like a princess. No bows or formality. Perhaps in his distracted state this evening, he has failed to remember who I am.
It is almost nice, though. Nice that he has spent his kindness on a stranger who could be anybody. Not worthwhile because of her title or her stepsister.
“Well, do you think you’ll dance more tonight?” He glances toward the guests. The pale uncertainty of him earlier, when he went to sit with the old men, has faded. He seems just like any boy on the cusp of manhood. Apparently, his state of undress gives him no concern.
A small thrill of pleasure warms me. He’s going to ask, I think.
But I run my fingers over his makeshift brace and still feel the tender throb in the joint.
I shouldn’t test my luck. And if I went out with the honored guest of the evening, I would be the center of everyone’s attention.
I don’t want to be watched, just now. I don’t want Byrne to notice me.
“I think I shouldn’t,” I admit.
A pinch of awkwardness twinges between us. I could invite him to sit with me, and maybe we could make ourselves a clearing again. Something new flutters in my chest at the thought.
But instead of asking him, I blurt, “It would be a shame for you to sit out on your birthday. Please don’t let me keep you. I’ll go and busy myself with … the gossip.” I want to wince at my inelegance, but the prince doesn’t seem to notice it.
“Ha!” He points at my wrist. “You will dominate the conversation now.”
“With my injury?” I ask, a flare of panic rising up my throat. Will there be rumors? If anyone suspects Byrne, he will be angry with me—or my mother.
“A prince’s cravat,” Idris corrects, lifting his eyebrows and giving me an exaggerated wink. “Think of all the stories you could spin!”
The fear melts away, and my skin burns. I can’t help a surprised laugh. “Wouldn’t that be risking both our reputations?”
He snorts. “I can’t speak for you, but personally I’d trade my reputation for a great story any day.” His gaze catches on something—someone—and I follow his look. Catharine has a new partner now, and she’s spinning through the end of a reel with all the grace of a sunbeam across water.
I glance back at Prince Idris. He’s at attention, focused and alert.
“Go on, then,” I urge, striving to sound light. “Maybe she’ll have the next with you.”
He shoots me a smile that makes my rib cage feel too small for my heart. Pointing at my wrist, he says, “Keep that elevated tonight, and you’ll be good as new in a few days.”
Then he’s off to my stepsister like an arrow from a bow. As I watch him join her, I wonder if King Byrne is right. Would anyone choose me over Catharine?