Chapter Eleven #2
“I should have stayed in the damned stronghold,” I muttered. “Take your jacket off.”
“Why?”
“You need to be bandaged, and I’m the only one who can do it. And it’s going to take all my concentration to keep my lunch in my body, so stop arguing.”
He shifted on the seat, pulled his uninjured arm from the jacket, then tried to pull off the sleeve on the injured arm. After two tries, he looked back at me. “I know the timing for what I’m about to say is very poor”—he paused—“but I need you to help undress me.”
I just looked at him.
“I’m sorry.”
I took a deep breath, mostly to manage my frustration. Then I shifted to the seat opposite him, gripped the cuff, and yanked. It didn’t move. “Why is this so damned tight?”
“It’s the style. So we look strong and imposing.” He seemed more relaxed now, either because the pain had loosened his tongue or because he’d thrown off the burden of his lie.
“It’s ridiculous.”
“Much about royalty is.”
“Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t make light of your power—something people are literally willing to kill for.” I stood up, braced a foot against the bottom of the bench, and gripped his cuff. “Prepare yourself.”
I pulled, and he swore, and I ended up on my back on the opposite bench, coat in hand.
“Your Highness?” Yue called out as I tossed it aside.
“I’m fine,” he said. “Fox has a unique way of venting her frustration.”
“I had to take off his fancy jacket.” Now that it was gone, I could see the pale linen shirt he wore beneath it, and the blood that streaked across his upper arm. And I closed my eyes when the world began to spin and spots appeared at the edges of my vision.
“He’s bleeding and I’m going to bandage it,” I said, loud enough for her to hear over the pounding of hooves. “Don’t stop the carriage!”
“You’re brave, Fox.”
“I didn’t ask for commentary, Your Highness.”
When I felt ready again, I opened my eyes. I’d need to clean the wound. But first, I needed to check something. “Push up your sleeves.”
“Now you’re eager to undress me?”
I stared at him, and he relented, pushing up his sleeves. The forearm of his injured arm was streaked with blood from the gash on his biceps but bore no marks from the Aetheric. His other arm was clean as well. One less thing to worry about.
“The Aetheric didn’t mark me,” he said.
“Good. Luna won’t be blamed for scarring a damned prince.”
“Luna saved my life,” he said tightly, pushing down the sleeve of his uninjured arm. “And I would have told you I was unmarked if you’d asked.”
“Would you have told me the truth?”
“Yes,” he said. “But I’d have said it in Vhranian.”
All right, so I’d lied, too. But mine was a wee common lie. His was literally royal in magnitude.
I gripped the hemmed edge of his other sleeve and ripped it open, then tore off the strips above his shoulder, revealing firm, rigid muscle—and the gash across his upper arm.
“Hold these,” I said, and dropped the linen strips into his lap. Then I directed my gaze to the jar of sweetwine Savaadh had given him. I picked it up and pulled out the cork.
“Is this a time for drinking?” he asked.
“No,” I said, and took a drink anyway, and let the burn wash away some of my dizziness. “The Zephyrii really have a good hand with wine.”
When I moved back toward him, jar in hand, his brow lifted. “What are you going to do with that?”
“You were a soldier. You know what I’m going to do with it.”
A spark of temper lit in his eyes, and that actually banked my anger a bit. He cursed, then held out his hand. “At least let me have a drink first.”
I passed it over. He took a long drink, gave it back, then wiped his mouth. “Do it fast. And don’t use too much. Only the gods know when I’ll be able to get more.”
“Get ready,” I said, and when he gripped the edge of the bench, I poured a thin stream of wine across his arm to wash out the wound.
His eyes were closed, jaw tight, and he looked a little paler than he had. But he didn’t flinch. Maybe he wasn’t so far off from being a soldier.
“Well done, Your Highness,” I said. I resealed it and put it on the floor. “Do you have any more fancy handkerchiefs?”
“No. I gave my last one to you.” He lifted his gaze to me, his eyes brilliant and questioning. “Did you keep it?”
“Sold it in the market for three copper coins. Not much, but better than nothing.”
A lie. It was in my room beneath my mattress. At least until I tossed it into the kitchen fire tonight.
I used the last of the linen strips from his shirt to clean the wound, then looked down at my tunic.
Being a servant meant wearing hand-me-downs; my tunic had belonged to someone else, and that someone else had been wider and taller.
I’d folded up the overlong hem and sewn a line of stitches to keep it there.
Fortunately, I was a crap seamstress, so I stuck a finger between the wide and mostly uneven stitches and ripped so the extra fabric unfurled.
Then I found the side seam, ripped a finger’s length from that, and pulled away a long panel of fabric.
It was dustier than it had been a few hours ago, but it was mostly clean.
“Genius,” I murmured, then sat beside him on the bench. He didn’t offer to remove his shirt and I didn’t ask; it took every bit of willpower I had not to think about the wetness beneath my fingers—or the strength in the muscle beneath.
“You’ve ruined your tunic.”
“For my benefit,” I said. “If I cover the blood, I don’t have to look at it.”
He winced when I tucked in the ends of the fabric strip, but stayed still.
“That will do until you get to the palace. You should see the healer when you arrive.”
“Sanj,” he offered, wincing as he rolled his shoulder. “His name is Sanj.”
“Right, Sanj.”
“I will. Thank you, Fox.”
“You’re welcome, Your Highness.”
Neither of us had a thing to say about that.
He fell asleep, arms crossed and head tilted back against the carriage wall. It was clear he hadn’t meant to. Each time he began to nod off he’d shake himself awake, resettle himself. But sleep claimed him anyway.
He slept like a soldier. His face was a little softer in sleep, but his body never fully relaxed, as if he might need to grab up his sword against a looming enemy. He was just as beautiful, from the hard line of his jaw to the curve of his lips. A mouth that was much too kissable.
I placed the coat over him, then moved to sit as far away as I could manage (which, considering the circumstances, wasn’t very). But any distance would do, because instinct told me to sit beside him and push the lock of hair that fell over his eyes behind his ear.
He was a prince. I was a thief and servant.
He had wealth and power and, for all that, was literally fighting for his life.
One of his adversaries had just gained an army.
I had no family, no protections. Nothing good would come from entangling myself with a prince and his royal baggage.
Even if a tiny, secret part of me wished it might be otherwise.
There were no more bandits, only the glow of the sunset and torches when we arrived at the stronghold.
Yue directed the carriage through the gatehouse, then passed through the western market to the road that circled the palace, where we came to a stop.
It was just past curfew, and the stronghold was quiet, the streets mostly absent of people.
The prince pulled a small black pouch from his coat pocket and extended it. The fabric was shiny and stitched, of course, with silver tigers. “The Lady has been paid. This is for you and Wren.”
I nearly refused the coins—and the pretty fabric that held them. His offering money now made the trip feel like a transaction, which it was. But I didn’t want that memory of this remarkable day tainted by the Lys’Careths.
“I’d already planned to give it to you,” he said quietly, as if he understood my mind.
I was a servant. Pride would only get me so far, and it wouldn’t keep me or Wren alive. So I plucked the bag from his hand and tucked it away. And said nothing else.
“I’m sorry, Fox. Be angry, if you need to be. Be furious at me. But I’m glad you know. I’m glad you can see me for who I am.”
I looked back at him. “Which is what?”
“As I told you—a man who wants to be a different kind of prince.”
“A paragon of a man?” I asked, repeating how he’d described himself before the attack.
“Never that.”
Maybe that was supposed to be an apology. Maybe it was an offer. I couldn’t afford either.
“I hope you’re able to do it. I hope you’re able to save the people who need saving in the stronghold.”
“Why does that sound like a goodbye?”
Because I had to build a wall. For our safety, for our security, and to limit my options. “You know why. We talked about why. Because we’ve finished our task and you’ve paid us. And you shouldn’t be seen with people like us.”
“Like I said, I can be seen with whomever I want.”
“No, Your Highness. You can’t even be whoever you want.”
That had him going quiet.
“It’s better anyway if we stay away from each other.
” Even if some secret part of me wished it were otherwise.
“It’s safer. Besides, you need an Aetheric scholar or an Enshrined Monk.
Someone who studied the mysteries, or remembers when the god was still here.
Someone who can explain what’s happening and how you can stop it. ”
“You might overestimate a scholar’s willingness to jump into an assassination fight and tromp through mud to find clues. And you underestimate your value. But it’s your choice. I won’t force you to be friends with a gods-damned Lys’Careth.” There was a bite in his words now. He was angry, too.
Good. We could curse our fate together.
“Galen will escort you home,” he said after a moment.
“We don’t need an escort. And I’m pretty sure you already know where we live, because you sent Galen to figure that out.” I raised my brows in question.
After a moment, he nodded. “But it wasn’t Galen. It was Yue. You saw her?”
“No. Wren had a sense. She’s very good.”
“Except at Vhranian.” He watched me for a moment, clearly wanting to say more. But he held his tongue.
“You shouldn’t have to apologize for who you are any more than I do,” I said. “But fate is fate.” And fate didn’t care about feelings.
With that, I climbed out of the prince’s carriage. And for the first time, the gold in my palm felt like meager compensation.
So I grabbed the wine, too.
“He’s trusted you with a secret,” Galen said, having ignored our request to let us walk alone back to the Lady’s manor. Instead, he clomped behind us, his footsteps loud and extremely noticeable.
“We didn’t ask to receive a secret, or to be trusted with it.”
“He had a good reason for deceiving you.”
“Look,” I said, stopping to face him. “You don’t like me, and I don’t like you. But let’s get this straight: I’m not interested in him or the political games he’s playing. I did what I was asked to do.”
“It’s my job to protect him, even at the cost of my life—or yours.”
“Great,” I said. “Since there’s no reason our paths should cross again, it shouldn’t be a problem. He’ll need Sanj to take a look at his arm.”
Galen stopped and put a hand on my arm. “What’s wrong with his arm?”
“He was injured by one of the bandits’ swords. I cleaned it and bandaged it. He fell asleep. But a healer should look at it.”
“He fell asleep?” Galen asked.
“You dressed his wound?” Wren asked.
They asked the questions simultaneously, as if either of those things were impossibilities that required further questioning. I wasn’t in the mood for questions.
“Yes and yes. The point is, we didn’t ask for any of this.
I saved him in the market. He asked us for help yesterday and today.
We didn’t go searching for a prince. I’m sure he has plenty of women angling to join him in the palace anyway; there’s not enough coin in the realm to make me one of them.
” But there was always a price, wasn’t there? “So tell him to leave us alone.”
I turned and started walking again.
“That won’t be a problem,” Galen said, echoing my petulant tone as we reached the manor’s gate. “Going forward, stay out of trouble.”
“It’s your prince’s trouble,” Wren said. “She just keeps getting dragged into it.”