Chapter 22 - His Royal Broodiness
Wrenora
I pulled the blanket tighter around my neck, letting the scent of him smother me.
Instead of pushing the thoughts of him away, I wanted to live in the memory of the soft prince I’d met a little longer.
My thoughts drifted to his words in the ice shelter.
How his father had sent him away, then to war.
How he’d learned the true strength of his own magic.
The abuse he’d endured as an elfling. When he’d told me why he couldn’t touch anyone, I’d nearly burst into tears.
I hated that it made him seem so much more justified in all his actions.
“...icy demeanor to protect his heart.”
I’d wanted to take him into my arms and hold him until the walls around his heart completely melted.
A warm weight pressed on my legs, and I peeked over the edge of the blanket to find two half-opened green eyes.
“Fynn,” I whispered.
The cat crept up to my face, nuzzling into the crook of my neck.
“I missed you, too.”
Callan’s face as he leaned into Cassmira’s feathers flashed through my mind.
So much gentleness in his expression, something I’d never seen in him before.
I was so used to the stern prince—cold and sullen.
I hadn’t been entirely certain he was capable of such...
serenity. As I stroked over Fynn’s fur, I realized the cat likely brought him the same comfort.
“He needs you, you know.” Fynn only opened one of his eyes a tiny fraction before stretching his front paws up to my cheeks and yawning. “Yeah, you know.”
I let my eyes slip closed, wondering how much longer I’d be left alone before his Royal Broodiness insisted I attempt to imbue one of the stones on his worktable. Now that he’d paid for my freedom, had my shackles removed, and defended me against his father, I was sure he’d be impatient.
But I hadn’t imbued in years. Not since leaving for the war. I wasn’t sure I still possessed the power, and when I’d told Callan, he’d brushed it off. There was a lot riding on my ability to create a suppression gem for him. I couldn’t imagine never being able to touch someone without gloves.
I daydreamed for a while longer, Fynn purring into my ear.
It was a peaceful kind of sleep that I hadn’t had in so long.
No time I needed to be awake and working.
No terrifying kings trying to kill me. No grumpy princes glaring at me.
Even as I had the thought, however, I felt the pull of that all-too-familiar thread, and I glanced at the doorway.
He stood, leaning against the frame, his arms folded as he gazed over at me.
He had no gloves or mask, just a comfortable pair of blue pants and a loose, white shirt with a slice of gray skin peeking through the laces down the front.
His long white hair was pulled back in a sloppy bun at the nape of his neck, and if I didn’t know better, I’d say he didn’t look like a prince at all, but rather a beautiful frost elf.
“Good morning.”
“Morning, Highness.”
“Call me Callan,” he said as he stepped into his study, his eyes following an invisible path on the floor before finding me again. “The formalities will get tedious, depending on how long you stay with me.”
These last few words held more weight than they should have.
Stay with him? That’s what I was doing, wasn’t it?
I was free. My shackles had been removed.
There was nothing keeping me here but the promise I’d help him by trying to imbue a suppression gem.
I wrapped my fingers around my wrist, the skin still sensitive to the touch.
“Good morning, Callan.” It was the first time I’d said his name out loud, and as it slipped from my lips, the thread which had been tightening pulled taut before it melted away. It wasn’t gone, exactly, more like all around us, pulling through my flesh like a hand through soft powdery snow.
His eyes fell closed for a moment before they snapped open. The muscles in his neck tightened, his lips parting as he stared at me, unyielding and unbending.
“I...have other work I must attend to, but I...” His hands dropped to his sides. “I’ll see to it that your needs are met.” He turned, and without another word, he was gone.
Magdala appeared shortly after Callan fled. She rushed over to me, gathering me into her arms in a hug that seemed out of place. My hands hovered before I awkwardly pressed one of my palms to her back.
“When His Highness said you flew a frost phoenix back, I worried.” She pushed away from me and reached for my hands, pulling them up so she could see my wrists. “I can feel your magic so much more openly now.”
Maybe that’s what I’d felt when I said his name, my warm magic grating roughly against Callan’s frosty powers. But that’s not what it felt like. It felt like something snapping into place. A final link in a chain holding two sides of a bridge together.
“Are you okay?” She held me at arm’s length, concern written across her face. “You look...”
“I’m fine. Just tired, I guess.” I swallowed hard, trying to push my questions, my feelings, everything into the pit of my stomach where I could let them simmer until I had time to work through them.
“His Highness said the king was less than pleased.”
“I think that’s an understatement. He nearly killed me and Callan.”
Magdala blinked at me a few times, her brows furrowing. “So familiar with him now, you’ve dropped all formality?”
Heat prickled my cheeks. I should be more careful. Just because he’d told me I could be informal with him didn’t mean I could be informal about him. Magdala watched me carefully. Instead of answering her, however, I turned to the work bench.
“Do you know when he’ll be back? I’d like to get this done so I can go home.”
Home.
The word resonated in my chest. A few weeks ago, the thought of ever going home was a dream—a fantasy that would never be real.
I would always be a slave. I glanced down at the pale rings of flesh around my wrists, the last physical reminders of my servitude where the light hadn’t touched my skin in months.
“I’m not sure. He rushed past me as I was coming up here, grumbling about something.”
I nodded before I stepped closer to the table, my fingers slipping over a collection of loose notes he’d stacked on one end. I plucked up one of the amethysts that sat on top of the stack, palming the gem and testing the weight.
My eyes wandered over the notes, admiring his beautiful handwriting in old Ruinic. I hadn’t seen the language written out in years.
“Do elves write in Ruinic?”
Magdala stepped closer, looking down at the same note. “Sometimes. Most of us learn it when we’re elflings but never use it again. Royalty, however...they are their own breed.” She gave me a wink before she wandered back to the door of the study. “If you’re hungry, it’s nearly the midday meal.”
Midday? I crossed in front of the sofa, plucking Fynn up from where he was sitting, watching Magdala with his ears pinned back, tail swishing back and forth. I’d get some food then get imbuing done so I could leave.