Chapter 6 A Touch of Magic #2
It would have been nice if her mind had at least had the decency to make her not have to pretend to be her best friend. It was strange to hear him call her that.
Hands, gentle and guiding, lifted her face from the cocoon she had made for herself.
Metallic bit against her tongue. Shock ran through her as she realized the hands were bleeding.
All thoughts of fever dreams were lost as she raised her torso up and found herself kneeling across from the crown prince, who was bleeding from multiple wounds.
“You’re hurt,” she said, too calm.
His furrowed brows released, and that annoying dimple made its appearance as he ran his eyes over her, searching. His hand ghosted over her arm, where she knew she had been cut, and over her elbow that dripped crimson.
“I’m so sorry. I didn’t know,” he said, raising his eyes to hers.
Either he was a very convincing actor, or he genuinely regretted trapping her in a room of mirrors. Likely could have gone either way, but there was no denying that he had been the pressure that had protected her body when they had broken.
“You were the banging,” she said.
Why was there no emotion in her voice? Her heart was beating a thousand times a minute, and her mind was reeling, but the words that fell from her lips were empty. Devoid of urgency and life.
“I’ve been trying to get in since the moment the doors shut. I didn’t know that would happen, I swear. It’s never happened before, please believe me.”
She did, but when she opened her mouth to speak, that didn’t come out.
“You’re hurt.”
His brows furrowed, making him wince in pain. Probably from the cut along his brow. How he wasn’t in more obvious pain was a mystery to her. His fine clothes were torn across his arms and shoulders.
“I’ll be fine. It’s nothing more than I deserve,” he said, standing and holding out his hand to her. “Come on, let me get you cleaned up.”
She should have told him that she was absolutely never going anywhere with him ever again, but those were not the words she spoke.
“I want to go home.”
Home. To Brielle. She wanted Brielle.
Her legs shook as she stood, the heels a little too high and her spirit a little too broken. Prince Ira bit his lip and ran a cut-up hand through his hair. Clearly unsure what to do with her. That was fine. At least in this, she had the solution.
“I would like to go home,” she said politely.
“You’re in shock. I can’t let you go like this,” he said.
Shock? Maybe. It felt true, anyway. It had been the strangest of nights, after all.
“Lady Treveon- could you?” Luci tried.
Her mouth felt numb, and her tongue was too large for her mouth.
Prince Ira seemed to understand well enough as he nodded and carefully led her through the glass that crunched painfully beneath their footsteps.
Tall heels weren’t made for such endeavors, and Luci’s legs, which were not her own, gave way, and her knees buckled.
For all intents and purposes, she should have hit the waiting glass with the full force of her body, but instead, she was lifted into the air.
Oh. Prince Ira was carrying her. That was fine. Normal, probably.
“I don’t feel well,” she said, more to herself than him.
“Find Lady Treveon and discreetly bring her to the back with the Blythe carriage.” Prince Ira said.
Not feeling well was more of an understatement. In fact, the world was slipping from her and swirling inside her stomach.
“I’m so sorry, Brielle,” he said.
“Not me,” she hummed, words slurred.
Oh, light above, something terrible curled in her gut as he carefully set her down. A mistake. A terrible mistake. Luci heaved forward, warm liquid pouring from her mouth and all over the Crown Prince of Meridea. Maybe she was in shock, but she still had enough wherewithal to be properly horrified.
“Oh my light,” she breathed.
It didn’t even seem fair that her stomach should feel better after such a scene. She stared up at Meridea’s future, who was now covered in a mixture of blood and vomit, and she was sure this had better have been a fever dream or else she was likely on her way to the dungeons.
“To be fair, I deserved that,” he said, his eyes crinkling with humor.
It was like he was trying to hide his disgust, but Luci had smelled some terrible things in her life, and he currently smelled worse than all of them.
“Oh my goodness!” a familiar voice chirped. “Oh. my. Goodness.”
Horror dripped over Lady Treveon. Luci could only imagine how they appeared.
A thousand different stories fill in the blanks of their absence.
A small laugh escaped her as she realized the truth of it would never have occurred to the Lady of Blythe Manor in a thousand years.
Magic rooms and visions from higher powers.
More laughter broke from her.
“It’s against my better judgment to send her away as she is in a state of shock, but she is adamant she wishes to go home.” Prince Ira said.
He was very handsome for a scheming feen. More laughter. Was that hers?
“What-?” Lady Margaret began.
“I trust I can rely on your discretion?” he said, “Her cuts are shallow, but have someone see to them as soon as you get to Blythe.”
Silence stretched between them, and Luci could have sworn there was a clock ticking.
“Your Highness, please forgive me, but she is my charge, and I must ask what occurred here tonight. Please forgive my rudeness.”
“You are a good woman, Lady Treveon. I showed Brielle the room of mirrors, but something happened, and they shattered. She is in a state of shock.”
“Magic-” Lady Treveon gasped.
“I do not know, only that I made a mistake and would like to set it right,” he said.
Maybe the rest was said in silence, Luci couldn’t have said one way or another, though. Instead, she was carefully ushered into a carriage that smelt faintly of strawberries. Gentle hands carefully laid her down till she rested her head on plush silks and chiffon, a soothing caress down her cheek.
“There, there.” Lady Margaret said.
A press of lips to her hand.
“Forgive me,” he said.
Maybe she did. It was hard to say as darkness rushed over her.