The Princess
Theron’s eyes were all black again. I backed away from him, my heart stuttering in my chest.
Not again. Not now.
His cheek was still moist from his tears. I thought of his broken expression, the tormented look in his eyes. He was so burdened by his sins. By his self-loathing.
And now, Calista had hold of him once more.
Fresh rage burned within me at the thought of my horrid stepmother and what she was doing to Theron. She was torturing him. Taking away his free will.
Caging him.
“You can’t have him, you bitch,” I growled, gritting my teeth as I drew closer to Theron. He groaned in pain, sagging backward and blinking rapidly.
He was fighting. Pride swelled in my heart.
Taking advantage of his inner struggle, I drew another one of his knives. I angled it above his wrist, then hesitated. I cast a quick glance around the darkened alley.
No one was around. It was still nighttime, and with the curfew, very few civilians were wandering about.
I brought the blade closer, then hissed in a sharp breath. Damn. I really didn’t want to hurt him.
A growl escaped him, and he lunged for me. I yelped, slicing into his wrist. Crimson blood spurted, dripping onto the ground.
I gasped, letting the knife fall as I staggered backward. I hadn’t meant to cut him so abruptly. I had acted on instinct.
Theron hissed sharply, pressing a hand to his wrist to stem the flow. He grunted, then let out a choking sound. His head rolled back as he fell against the brick wall behind him. White crept into his eyes once more. He blinked, and they were all black again.
I reached for him, pressing his shaking hand between mine. “You can do this, Theron. Come back to me.” My eyes darted to the steady flow of blood gushing from his wrist. Shivering bones, he was losing so much. I needed to bind the wound quickly.
But his eyes… Calista still hadn’t released him.
Shit. What if this didn’t work? What if I inadvertently killed him?
A low, keening moan poured from his lips, followed by a strangled sob. He lifted his uninjured arm to his head, clutching at his temple in agony. “Eira,” he choked out. “Eira.”
“I’m here,” I whispered, my eyes burning with tears. I took his face in my hands and pulled him closer. “Look at me, Theron. Look at me.”
His eyelids fluttered, then slid open. Relief soared within me at the sight of his normal onyx eyes, though slightly bloodshot.
“That’s it,” I murmured, holding his gaze. “Stay with me, hunter.”
His face was looking paler, and he began to sway.
“I have to bind your wound,” I said quickly. “Are you still with me?”
Slowly, he nodded. He didn’t look fully lucid yet, but I couldn’t tell if that was because of Calista’s influence or the blood loss.
I would have to risk it.
I hastily ripped a strip of fabric from the bottom of my tunic and began wrapping his wrist tightly.
The first layer of fabric was completely soaked through with blood, so I wrapped it a second time, and then a third for good measure.
My ragged tunic now barely hung below my belly, and the sleeves were a bit high.
If I moved or stretched too far, I would reveal my abdomen and possibly my shoulders, too.
It would be quite scandalous to a bystander. But it would have to do.
I turned Theron’s hand around, stroking my finger down the length of the bandage to ensure it was still dry. When I looked up, I found him staring at me, his breathing ragged and his eyes slightly dazed. His face was still pale.
“Better?” I peered hesitantly into his eyes, waiting for them to turn all black again.
He licked his lips and nodded again.
“Are you sure?” I asked, my voice firm.
“My head is clear, if that’s what you’re asking. I can’t hear her voice anymore.” His voice was rough and strained.
I exhaled, letting my frame sag. “Good.” At least that was settled. For now.
If Calista kept calling him, I wasn’t sure how much I could hurt him. I was really hoping she didn’t have much of his blood left in stock.
The odds were slim, considering he’d been in her employment for over a decade.
A loud metallic clanging sound rang out from the forge in front of us, making us both jump.
We both glanced nervously toward the commotion.
So far, no one had emerged from the smithy yet, but it was still the quiet hours of early morning.
Most people were asleep, save for the blacksmiths who liked to get an early start.
We were running out of time. The sky was turning pink with the early signs of dawn. Soon, the streets would be swarming with civilians and soldiers.
“Can you move?” I asked Theron.
“Yes,” he said gruffly. “We’ve lingered here too long.”
I rolled my eyes. He said that as if we’d gotten lazy and taken a nap instead of having to fight off the influence of a power-hungry Demon Fae queen.
“Ready?” he asked.
I nodded, and the two of us crept forward.
Theron was crouched low to the ground, so I followed suit.
Before long, my legs were throbbing from maintaining a squatting position.
I bit down on my lip, determined not to complain.
If Theron could manage it, despite the strain of battling Calista’s blood magic, then I sure as hell could do it.
We edged around the building, Theron pausing occasionally when he noticed movement. When we neared the front, he peered around the corner, then swore under his breath.
My eyes widened in alarm, my pulse quickening. “What is it?” I mouthed.
“Soldiers,” he whispered. “Stationed around the smithy.”
My heart lodged itself in my throat as I gave him a panicked look. What were we supposed to do? We couldn’t get to Stella’s house without passing the forge.
Theron jerked his head toward the other side of the building, and I nodded.
We turned back the way we came, coming toward the back door of the smithy.
Just before we reached it, the door swung open.
I scrambled backward, nearly falling on top of Theron.
He dragged me out of the way just before a blacksmith strode out of the building, wiping his face with a rag.
“We need to go into the forge,” Theron whispered. His voice was right at my ear, and I realized his hands were wrapped around me, pressing my back to his chest.
I swallowed hard, my face suddenly hot as I scooted away from him. “How will that help? There are still soldiers stationed outside.”
“It’s not unusual for blacksmiths to wear cloth masks to protect their faces,” he said. “You can use your invisibility, and I’ll dress myself as a blacksmith. If I walk out of a smithy, my face covered and ash staining my clothes, the soldiers will think I’m just an ordinary blacksmith.”
I arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you sure about that?”
“My livelihood depends on my blending in,” Theron said, giving me a flat look. “Yes, I’m sure.”
“And what if Vikros is there?”
“Then you’ll cover your face, too, and blend in along with me. Just follow my lead.”
I resisted the urge to snort at that, refraining from pointing out that following his lead might be difficult if my deranged stepmother happened to summon him again.
We crept closer to the back door. The sounds of a hammer striking metal rang out, blaring against my ears. The air swarmed with heat, making me feel sleepy.
Theron carefully eased the door open and peered inside, holding up a hand to indicate I wait. My heart raged inside my chest as I waited for someone to notice him and cry out in alarm.
But nothing happened.
After a moment, Theron slid inside. I summoned my magic, draping my invisibility around myself, before I followed him.
As soon as I entered the smithy, an inferno surrounded me, making the air stifling.
I struggled to breathe around the ash and scorching heat.
A massive kiln was built into the center of the smithy, and several men in aprons surrounded it.
Some hammered away at their metal, while others plunged tongs into the hot coals.
A few people turned to glance at us as we entered.
I stiffened, but Theron said smoothly, “Morning. Is Miller around?” His arm came around his back, and, without looking, he snatched a bundle of black fabric from the shelf behind him and tossed it to me.
Even though I was invisible, I was already tying it around my face.
I choked on a gag when the smell of sweat filled my nostrils.
But it helped block out the heat, so that was something.
I inched closer to Theron, who was wearing his glamour from earlier, now donning his Harlan persona.
“He went to get more scrap metal,” muttered a blacksmith as he wiped sweat from his brow. His eyes narrowed, and he pointed his hammer at Theron. “Haven’t seen you round here before, lad.” His tone was laced with suspicion.
“I come and go,” Theron said, grabbing a rake from the wall as he approached the kiln. “Clean up here and there. Tell Miller that Harlan says hello.”
“Aye, Harlan!” called a voice from across the forge. A burly fellow with curly red hair was grinning from underneath his cloth mask. “It’s been an age. Where you comin’ from?”
“Athawood Peaks,” Theron supplied. “Good to see you again, Bran.” He grunted as he started scraping out loose bits of scrap metal and coals from the kiln.
His movements were steady and precise, as if he knew exactly what he was doing.
When the area was clear, he pulled the bellows off the wall and stoked the flames.
I was gaping at him, unable to process this.
He actually looked like a blacksmith right now.
If I had stumbled into this forge, even knowing what Theron looked like, I wouldn’t have been able to notice it was him.
Between his glamour, the face covering, and his confident movements, he truly did blend in.
I’ll be damned, I thought, knowing he would brag about this later. I had clearly underestimated him. My eyes snagged on the ash coating his fingers, and I barely caught a glimpse of him wiping the soot on his face in between his movements.
Smart. I inched toward the forge and did the same, rubbing ash over my face and clothes to make me as unrecognizable as possible.
Bran, the red-haired blacksmith, huffed a low chuckle. “Those mountains, boy… You’re lucky the storms didn’t blow you away.”
“They almost did,” Theron said with a laugh.
Shivering bones, he was laughing. The sound was so foreign to my ears.
I shifted so I was closer to Theron, the heat of the kiln making me sweat. “We need to move,” I whispered.
His brows drew together for a brief second before his face smoothed over.
“Those soldiers still out there?” he asked.
Bran grunted. “Won’t leave us alone, those bastards.”
Theron was shaking his head. “Bloody shame. I’ll bet work has slowed.”
“Damn right,” said the first blacksmith.
Theron rubbed the back of his neck and sighed. “Better find Miller, then. I might be able to help.”
Bran jerked his head toward the door. “He hasn’t been gone long. You should catch up with him quick.”
Theron patted the man on the shoulder in thanks.
“Come back and tell us some stories from those haunted mountains, will ye?” Bran let out a hearty guffaw.
To my shock, Theron joined in, the sound jovial and so full of life that he seemed like a completely different person. I never thought a grouchy man like him could utter such a noise.
“The things I’ve seen…” Theron jabbed a finger at Bran. “It’d make you shit yourself, old man.”
Bran howled with laughter, and the other blacksmith joined in, too. Even I cracked a smile, unable to help myself. Theron was moving toward the door, and I hastened to follow, worried the door would close on my face.
I didn’t notice the hammer on the floor until I tripped over it and crashed into a table of swords. They clanged together loudly, the weapons sliding over one another.
Theron was several steps away from the table. Both blacksmiths froze, their eyes shifting to where I stood. I knew they couldn’t see me, but my face still drained of color.
Shit, shit, shit.