Chapter 18
Nate
Everything hurts.
I’m cold. Shaky. My head’s pounding, and with barely any padding left on my bones, each stomp made by the kelpie sends a pang of discomfort through my joints.
But it doesn’t matter. I’m out of the tower.
Out of the dungeon, and while I hate Tristan for leaving me with Gloombane and then taking ownership of my shadow without my permission, his presence means safety.
As long as he’s by my side, I won’t be hurt any further.
His body keeps me warm, and despite the hurried uneven stride of our mount, I’m exhausted enough to fall in and out of sleep, face tucked into Tristan’s arm.
The scent he carries—that intoxicating harmony of leather, smoky herbs, and salt— means I’m under his protection, and for now at least, I can just exist without fear. Dream without nightmares.
“Sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling me out of slumber. “We’ve arrived at the tavern. Here, we can rest. I’ll help you down.”
I used to light up when he called me that word, but a lot of time passed, and now it feels insincere. Still, arguing with him would require me to speak, and my throat hurts from the earlier screaming.
I crack my eyes open. The moon’s sinking behind the cliff where we made love on the night before our parting.
Must be getting late. “So hungry,” I whisper as Tristan slides off Stone’s back.
I stiffen when he pulls me along, but the kelpie stays still, allowing him to settle on the pavement and carefully scoop me into his arms.
“Of course. We’ll get you food. You need to regain your strength.”
Tristan doesn’t deserve my compassion, but I can’t help it, I still feel sorry for his broken arm when he uses it to help me settle into his embrace.
We’re back at Unicorn’s Rest, a place that filled me with amazement less than two months ago.
Now I’m seeing the colors of the stained glass through a dark fog.
I don’t have even a hint of excitement for unknown foods or fantastical magic.
Anything I might encounter feels like a threat, since that’s all I learned to expect at the tower.
Tristan gently pulls the hood over my head. “Is this all right? I don’t want people staring or asking questions.”
I curl into him, because I am only safe as long as he holds me. “I just… want to be inside. Somewhere warm,” I stutter, struggling to keep my teeth from clattering too loudly.
I want peace.
For no one to stare at me.
A safe, enclosed space.
And to wash blood off my body.
“Of course.”
I think he kissed the side of my head through the thick fabric of the hood, and I don’t know how to feel about that.
I’m so exhausted thinking about any kind of affection is far off my radar.
The weeks of terror are crashing into my body.
Once I’m in a warm bed, I will probably sleep for days.
Hopefully back in the human realm, far away from this nightmare.
Tristan carries most of my weight with one arm, yet he’s so solid I don’t worry about him dropping me. The light inside seeps in through the slit at the front of my hood, and even that’s too much after the weeks in darkness. I want to hide away and for no one to see me. Even my reflection.
“Prince Tristan! Welcome again,” a cheerful female voice says as pleasant scents of food reach me. Am I really hungry?. Maybe after the strange fish gut slop I’ve been fed, my body is desperate for something tasty and nourishing?
Tristan doesn’t wait for her to continue. “I need your best room, one with a bath tub, and warm, gentle soup. No meat in it, please.”
I shouldn’t care that he remembered my preference, but it still warms me a little to be seen as a person who is allowed to want things.
“Um, yes, of course, but we are pretty booked up—”
“I don’t care,” Tristan says impatiently. “It’s an emergency. Pay them off, and I’ll handle it.”
“We can’t just—”
“Look at my arm, Lutie.” There’s some movement and I’m guessing he’s showing her his injury. “Fetch the medic as well.”
She gasps. “Oh, Tristan… Yes, apologies, come upstairs please.”
Tristan? How well does she know him exactly?
Jealousy sears through the haze of fatigue, because for as long as I’m here, he should be giving me all his attention.
After all, he promised to protect me. But I don’t get to dwell on it, because he’s carrying me up the same stairs I remember.
The steps have such a pretty pattern created out of wood in different shades.
And then, Tristan’s footsteps are muted by a carpet, and I groan when he sets me down onto a mattress covered with a woolen blanket.
Soft.
It’s so soft I barely remember anything feeling this luxurious.
I have to fight tears again when I remember Gloombane telling me that my shadow isn’t even worth the filthy rags he made me sleep on.
Tristan speaks to the woman in a hushed voice, but then the door shuts behind her.
He kneels by the bed and pushes back the hood a little so I can see him. The light here is a muted green that doesn’t soothe my senses, because it reminds me of the dungeon and the room adjacent to it. But at least it doesn’t assault my eyes with brightness.
“She will be discreet,” he assures me, staring into my eyes as if he’s trying to read the depths of my mind. “A medic will come and assess you very soon.”
Tristan did bandage my arm and gave me some soothing potion when we first got to his kelpie, but there’s so much wrong with me, I don’t know where to start.
My body feels so broken even simple movement is draining and seems beyond my reach.
I’m so cold.
Tristan blinks, clearly noticing the tremors shaking my body and hurriedly fetches another blanket, which he drapes on top of me.
He’s so handsome. So strong. I might hate him for everything he’s done to put me in this exact position, but I still struggle thinking that he’s seen the way I look now.
I’m so ashamed.
I don’t want to latch onto him though. Hope and the belief that true love exists is what got me here. For all I know, he used the opportunity of Gloombane’s death to further whatever his real agenda is. I’ll never be stupid enough to trust again.
Even if the hope of him coming to save me was sometimes the only thing keeping me sane.
He doesn’t need to know that.
The door opens and a skinny elf in glasses rushes in. “I’ve heard about your arm, Prince Tristan—”
“It can wait. Please see to my… to Nate first. Lutie told you about the need for discretion?”
The elf swallows, his eyes passing over me with such pity I can’t watch it anymore.
“But… Ser Tristan, I’ve never treated a human before.”
This is so humiliating. Now my guardian has to convince the doctor to bother looking at me. But he does and even promises to turn away as the medic opens the cloak. That does make my ordeal slightly more bearable. After the examination, I’m happy to be once again wrapped in the fine cloak.
I love it so much.
Loved it from that first moment Tristan draped it over my shoulders.
The list of things that are wrong with me is long.
The worst of the treatment is the moment when the elf forces my ankle back into its proper position.
But he does give me some bitter drops that relieve the pain a little bit.
Then, there’s a special potion meant to be added to my baths, and a syrup I’m supposed to consume every eight hours.
I’m to stay warm, on soft padding, and eat small quantities of liquid food, or else I could drop dead.
Makes sense. Basic biology.
Knowledge doesn’t make me feel any less hungry though.
The medic concludes I should be seen by someone more specialized, and that’s that.
He seems very happy tending to Tristan’s injury instead.
There’s a spark of curiosity in me at how different the treatment is.
From under my blanket I see the medic wrap some green wet rags, or maybe leaves, over Tristan’s arm once it’s set in place.
He then dries it with the green fire called swamp light, so that it creates a kind of cast. Apparently, he will be fine within the week.
It makes me hope that my state could also be healed sooner were I to use elven means for it. But then I remember I don’t want to stay here.
Right before the medic leaves, our food arrives on an elegant trolley, but Tristan ushers out the servant who tries to get a peek at me.
Once we’re alone, the silence is filled only by the crackling of real, warm, orange flames in the fireplace, and the clattering of dishes as Tristan prepares our bowls. He struggles with his stiff arm, but I’m in no state to help him.
Why should I, anyway? He spent the last two months enjoying his royal life in a castle while I rotted in a dungeon, never knowing if the next day wouldn’t be my last.
I don’t bother filling the silence, but as much as I hate being too weak to eat on my own, the scent of clear vegetable soup makes my stomach growl. I’m grateful when he feeds it to me with a spoon.
I have never eaten anything more delicious.
My grandma used to say ‘hunger is the best sauce’ and she wasn’t wrong.
I didn’t even notice when Tristan managed to get the bathtub filled, but the moment I’m done eating, he offers me the warm water. The last thing I want is for him to see my naked body again, but once I wrap myself in a linen sheet, he carries me to the tub, which already smells of the healing oils.
A part of me is furious and wishes I could walk on my own, but another part is greedy for affection and happy about the excuse to touch him.
He sits on a stool by the tub, golden eyes so earnest. He’s the opposite of Gloombane, yet I can’t trust him. How would I know what his real agenda is now?
“Would you like me to help?” he asks, grabbing a sponge.
My first instinct is to shake my head and attempt to wrestle the sponge out of his hand, but I don’t have the energy for it. Maybe it doesn’t matter that he gets to see the ruined state of me? I just need a bit of help.