Chapter 20 - The Bitter Truth
Wrenora
It was the ache of the cold in my feet that woke me. The prince must have noticed, because he leaned his head next to my ear.
“Only a few more leagues, then we’ll stop for a bit.” I tightened as his low voice soaked into my soul, sending a shiver through me.
I hated how my body reacted to him. He was the prince of elves—the man responsible for my enslavement—and I hated it even more that I had to remind myself of that.
I wiggled my toes in the thin silk slippers, trying to warm them up. The cloak had done a fairly good job of protecting me from the frigid air rushing past, but I was not dressed for the weather beneath it.
My stomach flipped as Cassmira pitched hard toward the left. Then we were gliding, spiraling down to where I could see the domed top of the small ice shelter Callan made during our journey to Dyga.
I’d expected the landing to be rough, but it was shockingly smooth, with Cassmira taking a few short hops before coming to a stop.
The prince didn’t hesitate to slip from the phoenix’s back, turning to help me down.
Instead of taking my hand, he tucked an arm under my legs and lifted me from the saddle.
He didn’t set me down, choosing instead to carry me through the knee-deep snow to the door that melted away at his presence.
“I’ll be a moment,” he said with a gentle voice as he set me inside. He turned back to Cassmira, pulling at the buckle to remove her saddle.
I didn’t wait for him, stepping farther in, walking over to the platform I’d used before. The wisplights ignited as I drew closer, startling me. I was mesmerized as the light danced over the ice, glittering across the facets of frozen crystals.
“Cassmira seems antsy.”
I jumped, not expecting Callan to be right behind me.
I pressed a hand to my chest, squeezing my eyes closed.
His armor had melted away, his eyes locking on mine with an intensity I hadn’t expected.
After a moment of staring, he turned away, sitting on the platform where he’d slept on the other side of the shelter.
“We’ll rest. You can warm up, then we can start again.”
I nodded, sitting down on my spot across from him.
Our eyes met again, the thread which had tightened until it was almost uncomfortable.
And there he sat, his eyes never leaving mine.
He wasn’t wearing his mask, and my eyes watered, struggling to hold his and wandering over the shape of his beautiful face.
I was confused more than anything. The way he’d spoken to his father about my magic had left me with a gaping hole where my confidence should be.
All he needed me for was my magic. But the way he stared said otherwise.
He shifted slightly, running his hand down his arm where blood had soaked through his sleeve.
“We should address that,” I said.
He didn’t look away, not even to glance down at his arm.
“I can clean it up for—”
“I’ll be fine.” His voice was far too calm for the words he spoke.
“I can wear gloves if you—”
“I’ll tend to it myself.”
“I’m perfectly capa—”
“No.”
I squeezed my eyes closed, trying not to be angry at his stubbornness. Why did he keep himself so tightly closed off?
He leaned his head back, gazing up at the ceiling. “You can’t help me, because you can’t touch me.” The anguish in his voice caught me off guard.
“I offered to wear gloves.”
What was I missing? What did it matter if I touched him? He was hurt. Surely his aversion to human contact could be overlooked long enough for me to dress a wound.
“Because I’m a filthy human?” I asked between clenched teeth.
He looked at me with wide eyes. “Is that why you think I can’t touch you?”
“What other reason would there be?” I tried not to let the hurt and annoyance color my voice at his repeated aversions. “I’m a thrall. You’ve made your distaste perfectly clear.”
“Wrenora.” He shook his head as he leaned forward. “I can’t touch you.”
“You’ve said as much already.”
“If I touch you, you’ll freeze into solid ice.”
The air seemed to thin. Everything around me slowed, the ribbon pulling tighter. I leaned forward, not sure I heard him correctly.
“Excuse me?”
“The smallest touch of my skin to yours...”
It was like he yanked a curtain back to reveal an entirely different world.
Everything clicked into place. The time he’d reached to grab me when he didn’t have gloves on, only to stop inches from my arm.
The way his hands shook after he’d almost caught me but stopped.
That he insisted on having his armor on before carrying me.
Gloves all the time. The mask. Long sleeves, high collars.
He was always covered. It wasn’t that he didn’t want people to see his scars or to keep himself from touching something he deemed filthy. He kept himself from touching everyone.
“I...” The image of him I’d built over these last weeks shattered into a million shards of ice and melted into the floor beneath me.
I thought he was disgusted by me. So revolted by my humanity that he couldn’t bring himself to be near me.
But all the times he’d stepped back from Magdala came rushing to the front of my memory.
He hadn’t embraced his own mother, though I could see they’d wanted to.
He kept his distance from everyone. Everyone but the cat who was covered with fur and Cassmira covered in feathers.
“But that means...” I stumbled over my words. “All those times...”
“There are no accidents that go unpunished.”
I swallowed the shame of not knowing and absolute anguish washed over me. To go your life without physical touch? To never know the warmth of another’s skin? Holding a hand. A kiss. The heat of another’s body.
“All your life?”
He shook his head. “The last eight years.” He leaned his head back again. “The full strength of my magic manifested when I...” He squeezed his eyes closed as his voice broke. “I froze my betrothed when we were...intimate.”
My heart cracked in half. He’d killed his fiancée. No warning; just froze her to death with magic he hadn’t known he had—that he had no control over. My mind was numb with the thought. He’d killed his fiancée.
“That’s why you want a suppression gem,” I said, more to myself than to him.
So many things fit together, and I hated myself for not having seen it sooner. I’d thought he’d wanted it to control others around him—more power over humans or elves. But no. He needed it to control himself.
“I’ve tried to imbue my own, but they’ve never been strong enough. Each time the gems have shattered.” His throat bobbed. “I tried shackles—I tried mounting suppression gems in shackles—nothing works. The best I’ve managed was a single point of contact, but even then, it’s unstable.”
My eyes welled with tears, his face blurring as I stared. I didn’t know what to say, so I said nothing.
“I tried for three years, learning everything I could after my father sent me away. My magic is powerful, but it’s the wrong kind for imbuing.
As you well know, you need heat to do it properly.
” He sighed, running his fingers through his hair.
“So, I paid prestigious imbuing masters to create them, but they always failed.” He hung his head.
His voice had taken on a monotone quality.
“And then the war...my father sent me to do his dirty work.” When he looked at me this time, his eyes were glassy with unshed tears.
“I didn’t want to go. I didn’t understand how powerful my magic truly was.
The death...the absolute carnage of it.” He swallowed hard before taking a deep shuddering breath.
“I’d been trained every day of my life to wield a sword, but when it came time for me to actually kill...
I needed to be the son he’d always wanted me to be. I had to be ruthless...heartless.”
“I stitched most of my injuries myself, worried I’d freeze anyone who helped me, even with gloves on.
It’s too dangerous. Only mage healers could heal without touch, and I refused to use them unless I had to.
There were too many others who needed their healing magic more than I did.
” He leveled his gaze at me again, watching me carefully as he spoke.
“A piece of me wished some human would put me out of my misery, yet...I became a monster so I could stay alive.”
He swallowed his words, looking at me with an anguish I wasn’t prepared for.
“My only hope now is you.” His voice was thick with some nameless agony.
The way he looked at me soaked into the fabric of my being.
These were the words of a man who hadn’t touched a living soul for eight years.
A man who desired and yearned and ached.
He licked his lips, drawing my eyes to them.
Something terrified me as much as it thrilled me at the way he stared and stared, setting butterflies loose in my chest.
We were both quiet for a long moment, a strange spell settling in the space between us as so many things fell into place.
The fact I’d mistaken his coldness for hatred and disgust seemed so childish now.
How had I not seen the truth? But I knew the answer.
He’d hidden himself behind his armor of ice and bitterness.
“I seriously thought you hated me,” I whispered.
And then, as if the world couldn’t help but surprise me more, he fucking smiled, bright and beautiful.
I forgot the fight with the king and being shot in my arm on the way to Dyga.
I almost forgot why we were in this frigid ice shelter in the first place.
I’d already thought he was gorgeous, but when he smiled?
A genuine smile? Nothing could compare to the way his face lit up. The way his lavender eyes came alive.
“I do not, and have never, hated you, Wrenora.” His smile slowly faded, leaving a permanent imprint on my heart. “Though I’ve wished on numerous occasions that I could. This would be so much easier if I did.”