33. Raven #2
I closed and locked the door. Called to the maid on the other side. “Thank you, but I have never needed help taking care of myself. I can handle everything from here.”
“But, my lady”―she banged on the door―“the prince will be most displeased.”
The prince. Winter.
I tuned out her protests and busied myself cleaning the filth from my skin, taking extra time to soak my hands in warm-to-hot water.
Instead of warming my flesh, I only managed to cool the water that much more quickly.
I breathed on my fingers and rubbed my hands together, thawing my fingers a fraction.
At some point during my warming and cleaning process, I detected the click of a door in the chamber beyond. I either had a visitor or the lady’s maid had left. I hoped―hoped hoped hoped―for the latter.
Once clean and dry, and redressed in my soiled clothing, I unlocked and opened the washroom door. An inviting bed stacked with fluffy pillows and a maid-free bedchamber greeted me. As I’d expected, given that the sting of the reaping task had all but vanished.
Covering my mouth against a yawn, I shuffled across the room, pulled the blanket free of the bed, and wrapped myself tight. Within seconds, I lay curled up on the bed with my eyes closed, quickly slipping into unconsciousness.
Dreams of a reaping wraith surrounded by the fires of Hell filled my thoughts. And when I had awoken, freshened up, and properly prepped for the predesignated time of the prince’s intended collection, my dance with death’s sweet oblivion hadn’t lasted nearly long enough.
A knock on the door announced Winter’s arrival. He let himself in. “Sorry I’m late. Valen wasted much of my time with his ceaseless inquiries.”
“Inquiries about me?”
Winter flashed his pearly smile and offered his arm.
The questions were definitely about me. I probably have as many questions about him as he had about me. After all…a reaper working as a palace healer?
I accepted Winter’s arm and followed his lead.
We strode through the palace, servants and guards bowing their heads as we passed.
Overdue reaping tasks stung my arm―there and gone―but I ignored the names and instead found myself sneaking peeks at everyone’s ears, trying to determine who was fae and who was not.
Countless hallways and turns deposited us before a grandiose entrance.
“Your Highness,” two fae guards said in unison and opened the double doors.
They stepped aside and bowed.
Winter tugged me forward. “Are you ready to meet my grandmother?”
By grandmother, did he mean the queen? “As ready as I’ll ever be.”
He tugged me tighter to his side and whispered in my ear, “You’ll do fine.”
We strode across the stretched length of the throne room, crystal-cut windows and stationed guards lining the way. A gilded chair sat upon the dais at the far end of the spotless chamber.
I stifled a yawn and tried to pretend my dreams—my nightmares—hadn’t followed me into the waking hour as Winter and I drew close to the awaiting royal. His grandmother.
My fingers had gone from cold to colder to outright blocks of ice, and I feared a wrong tap or bump might shatter them to pieces. I had tried to hide my condition from Winter, but he held one of my hands tight in his own, elevating the cold cracking my bones.
He stopped our approach a respectable distance from the dais. The queen sat in a high-reaching, gilded throne, and Valen had her ear, speaking softly for no one else to hear. He cast me a hard glance. One that sent a shiver through my spine. Made me feel like a circus prize.
Before I could give his look further thought, I dropped into a low curtsey, my gaze glued to the floor. And there I waited.
Someone muffled a cough, and then Winter tugged me to a stand with the gentle pull of his palm upon my arm.
The queen arched an eyebrow but continued to listen intently to Valen. Valen, who eyed me while whispering secrets to the royal.
In his grin and the gleam of his eyes, I imagined hellfire.
I averted my gaze. Took in our surroundings.
The floor and windows gleamed. Even the guards’ shoes shone.
Everything around us sparkled like an immaculate cathedral, as if the hundred-year time trap had made no change to the daily cleaning schedule.
I supposed it hadn’t. But how miserable life must have been forever trapped in a position of servitude.
Winter squeezed my hand, drawing my attention back to the dais. Valen left through a side door, and the queen became the sole focus at the front of the room.
Swallowing hard, I steeled my spine and pulled my back straighter and taller.
The queen rose to her feet, a sight of breathtaking, regal beauty.
Silver hair swept up around a glistening crown of diamonds, and a silken gown of frost-blue and glittering adornments spilled out around her.
She stepped away from the throne and descended the dais, closing the distance between us with the glide of a born and raised royal.
The queen’s attention zeroed in on me. “Let’s dispense with the formalities, shall we? I am told, my dear, that we have you to thank for my grandson’s good health.”
I steadied my stance and lowered my gaze, my cheeks warming. “I’m glad I could help, but I’m fairly certain the report has been somewhat exaggerated.”
I risked a sidelong glance at Winter. His return smile warmed me even as my fingers continued to glaciate.