Chapter 18
T here are no books in my chambers or my art room for me to research the prince’s curse. I ask Vanya and Inez and even Eliza but they have only hand-written fiction, passed between them. I recall the books in the prince’s chambers and so make my way there one evening.
I use the secret passageway to avoid the guards and knock on his door. No response. When I knock again and hear nothing, I decide to try the door. It opens easily, and I peek my head around.
The prince’s chambers are empty.
I linger in the doorway, reluctant to make him think I am invading his privacy. After a few moments of dithering, I decide it is worth it. I need to understand this curse if I am to leave unscathed.
I close the door softly behind me and hurry over to the bookshelves .
The books are arranged by colour, so I am forced to tilt my head at an awkward angle to read each title individually. Still, it is more organised than Aunt Meena’s haphazard stacks, so I make do. I pass over several books about horticulture and gardening, their jackets free of dust and clearly recently used. Instead, I gravitate towards the dustier books, blowing gently on the spines so I can read the titles.
Tales for the Young , one of them says in dragon text. I frown. As far as I am aware, no dragons reside in Mossgarde anymore. They used to, many hundreds of years ago, leaving behind only faint remnants. The books in dragon text my aunt have are rare finds. To see one buried under a layer of dust in the prince’s bedchambers is strange indeed.
I delicately run a finger along the spine and make to pull it free, but the door slams open behind me. I snap up and spin, hand on my chest.
The prince is held up by two guards as they drag him into the room.
“Your Highness,” I breathe out, heart still thumping.
“Miss Shivani.” His voice is strained and weak. The guards drop him on the bed, roughly pulling his legs up.
“Leave him. I will do it.” I am not in a position to be giving out orders to the king’s guards but my voice leaves no room for them to question me. They straighten and leave without saying anything else. I take over from them, gently hooking my hands under the prince’s knees and arranging him comfortably on the bed. His skin is still half-wet with blood, and only a blanket covers him.
“I did not know you had turned,” I tell him. An apology is layered underneath that I was not there with him.
He opens his mouth to respond but winces in pain, clenching his teeth together. I search the drawer for the lavender tonic and quickly find the familiar, purple bottle.
“This has become quite the regular occurrence,” I say, sitting back down.
“The transformation?”
“Keeping you company during your recovery.”
The prince smiles wanly as I tip the bottle towards his lips. I keep a careful eye to ensure it does not spill.
“And I am much obliged,” he replies once he has had his fill. I place the bottle to the side and chew my bottom lip.
We fall silent. The sun begins its ascent, filtering through the gaps in the heavy curtains. Birds start their morning songs.
“What do you plan to do with me?” I ask. It surprises even me.
The prince lays there like I had lain with a fractured rib, both of us nursing the other back to health. I want it to be genuine, his concern for me, but I cannot deny the dead women who came before me. The ones he could not or would not protect.
The prince lets his head fall to the side, towards me, and we lock eyes. His hair sticks to his forehead with sweat and dried blood.
“I plan to keep you safe.” His jaw is set.
My heart thumps rapidly, and I fight to keep my breathing even. He fixes me with the same intense gaze he had done before, as though he is looking into me. His eyes glance down to my lips for a moment and I am suddenly self-conscious. Exposed like a nerve. But the feeling is not unpleasant—the opposite, in fact, as a warmth crawls across my skin. I want him to look at me. I do not know what should happen next, but I know I do not want to leave.
The spell is broken when he shifts and grimaces in pain.
“More,” the prince gasps, clenching his teeth and staring at the lavender tonic.
“O-Of course.” I grab the bottle and tip more of the liquid past his lips. I find myself drawn to his mouth. The softness and fullness of his lips, despite the caked-on blood. I shake the thought from my mind and pull the bottle back. “Is this better, Your Highness?”
The prince blinks rapidly before exhaling through pursed lips. His body relaxes, the tension in his muscles easing as the lavender tonic works through his system. He sinks back into the bed.
“Sleep will find you soon,” I tell him. “Rest.”
To my surprise, he turns his head back towards me. His cheek rests on the pillow, a wonky grin on his face.
“Ha!” He gives a bark of laughter, loud and sudden. I jump out of my skin.
“Your Highness?”
“Thaaaat’s not my naaaame,” he drawls, giggling. I stare at him, bewildered. “Your Highness, this! Your Highness, that! But it is not my name, is it?”
“Um.” I glance at the empty bottle of lavender tonic. I fear I may have poured too much. “No?”
“Correct!” The prince jabs a finger at me before rolling his head to stare upwards, a thoughtful expression on his face. “I would like to tell you my name, but…well…”
I wait for him to finish but he does not.
“Well, what, Your Highness?” I prompt and he bursts into another fit of giggles.
“Your Highness, Your Highness!” He laughs as though he has never heard anything funnier in his life. I decide to refrain from calling him by his title until he falls asleep, lest it trigger another mildly terrifying bout of laughter.
“Are you…feeling better now?” I ask, hoping a simple question might encourage a direct answer. But his eyes, large and shining, tu rn on me, and he breaks out into another lopsided grin. It reminds me so much of his smile, his genuine smile. I cannot help but grin back.
“Miss Shivani.” He reaches out to grab my hand, holding it tight. “You are braver than I.”
I laugh, thinking he is still joking, but his face has turned serious.
“I am not sure about that,” I reply, shaking my head.
“You are,” he insists. “You stand up to my father.”
A heavy pit forms at the bottom of my stomach at the mention of the king. I give a half-hearted smile.
“I do not think that is brave of me,” I reply, my voice small. I recall how often it has nearly claimed my life.
“Shivani,” he says. He speaks my name quietly, with reverence. The sudden drop in formalities takes me aback, but he does not seem to have noticed his mistake. “You are brave every day you are here. I…” he stammers to a halt before squeezing my hand. “I admire you.”
Butterflies explode in my stomach, and a deep heat crawls up my neck and over my face. I lower my eyes, bashful in the face of his sincere compliments. My brain churns quietly, trying to think of what I should say back. Should I tell him I admire him too? The way he perseveres through a brutal transformation so often? Or the way he has managed to live a life under the gaze of a cruel father and still have a soft heart?
I squeeze my eyes shut and decide to tell him all these things. How my heart flutters when he looks at me and how I look forward to each time we meet. I steel myself and open my eyes, but when I do, the prince is already asleep.