Which is unlikely in Arbinj.
“I’ll soothe the pain now,” I tell her. “There’s an herbal tonic that Sauzon can give you—take it in the evenings, and it’ll alleviate the discomfort at night. Come back tomorrow if you’re still in pain. I’ll heal you again.”
Her bright smile is grateful, infectious. I set my glowing palms to her abdomen and channel my power through her lower belly. Lunayra breathes a sigh of relief, the tension easing from her shoulders.
“Thank you,” she whispers, green eyes shining with gratitude. “Thank you so much, Princess.”
“Of course. See Sauzon on your way out for the herbal tonic.” I give her a mock-stern look. “And I mean it. Come back tomorrow if you’re still in pain.”
After Lunayra leaves, Sauzon’s deadpan voice calls out, “Time for a snack, Princess.”
I groan. “I’ll eat some fruit later.”
Sauzon straightens, glaring at me over his spectacles. “It’ll be my hide if the prince finds out. Fruit. Now. Please.”
“I would never let him lash you.”
“Wonderful. My fate rests in the hands of a wisp of a princess. Very reassuring.”
A peal of laughter bursts from my chest. “Wisp I may be, but I’m persuasive! At the very least, I’d heal your back.”
Sauzon fixes me with a stern look, though his mouth twitches.
“What the fuck, Sauzon?” a deep, gravelly voice rumbles from the hallway. Sauzon freezes, dark eyes wide with panic behind his spectacles. Zev stalks into the infirmary, his face bearing the wrath of lightning itself. “Did you just refer to my wife as a ‘wisp’?”
The blood drains from Sauzon’s face, and he takes a shaky step back. “Sire, I meant no—”
“Leave him alone, Zev.” Hands perched on my hips, I glare at him. “I’ll have no friends at all if you keep scaring everyone. Ignore him, Sauzon.”
The medic bows deeply to Zev, spectacles almost sliding off the straight bridge of his nose, then hurries to the supply room, muttering “ignore him” under his breath and shaking his head.
Zev crosses his arms over his broad chest. “You think it’s appropriate to tell our subjects to ‘ignore’ me?”
I offer him my brightest smile in response.
With a low chuckle, he ladles a bowl of vegetable stew from the rolling cart in the corner—the palace staff know to send food to the infirmary—and settles onto the cot across from me, so close that our eyes are level.
With Sauzon gone, Zev shucks his princely exterior, a look of pure mischief gracing his face. “I’m in need of your services, healer.”
“Oh?” A stubborn smile tugs at my lips. “And what is troubling you, sir? You seem like a big, strong man.” A giggle escapes me, even as I try to keep a straight face.
“It’s my wife,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice dropping. “She’s driving me insane.” Zev brings the spoon to my mouth, hovering until I take a sip of warm, savory stew.
“I don’t know if a healer is the right person to help with that,” I whisper.
Another spoonful of soup.
“I think you’re exactly the right person.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “How exactly does your wife drive you insane?”
“She’s cast a spell on me. When I’m away from her, she’s all I can think about—what she’s doing, if she’s eaten, if she’s happy.” His voice pitches lower. “If she’s thinking about me.”
Another warm spoonful. My tongue darts out to lick the edge of the spoon, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “And when she’s with me,” he continues, his smoldering gaze still settled on my lips, “my heart doesn’t know peace until she’s in my arms. I can barely function. The palace gossips about their inept prince, smitten with his wife.”
He sets the bowl of soup aside and raises an arm in invitation. His side presses against mine as I sit beside him on the cot, the length of his arm a pleasant weight over my shoulders.
“And you want me to rid you of this spell? So you might have some peace?” My lips curve downward in a frown.
“Absolutely not. I want you to help me cast the same spell on her.” He twirls a lock of my hair around a long, graceful finger. “Tell me how to make her ache for me. The same way I do for her.”
His face inches closer until there’s only a scant sliver of space between us.
My heart flutters in my chest. I can’t think straight with his intoxicating smoky scent enveloping me. We’re in the middle of the infirmary, anyone could walk in, Sauzon could return, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“I don’t think you need any help in that regard,” I whisper, my breath fanning across his lips. His gaze is molten steel as he studies my face. He leans in closer, his nose nudging mine. I part my lips on a shaky inhale. My palm splays over his chest, eyes drifting closed, and—
The sudden thudding of footsteps has me jerking away, smoothing the fabric of my simple gown. A middle-aged woman walks into the infirmary, wide eyes darting between me and her prince.
Zev growls a low string of curses behind me.
The woman mumbles an apology and turns to leave, but I call out, “Wait! Have a seat, please. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
When I turn back to Zev, he’s practically pouting. Something flickers in his eyes—a flash of hurt?—but it’s there and gone in a blink.
With a long-suffering sigh, he rises from the cot. “I’ll be late coming to bed,” he says. “A delegation from Volca arrives tonight. Don’t wait up for me.” His thumb traces the line of my jaw.
Volca? It seems talks of an alliance are progressing. I’ll have to ask Zev for the details later. For now, I clasp his large hand, holding it to my cheek. “All right.” I hesitate. There’s a question poised on my tongue that I’m not sure I want to ask.
“What is it?” His brows furrow.
I bite my lip. “Have there been any letters for me? From my father? Or anyone?”
His eyes shine with so much remorse, they give me my answer before he does.
I stiffen. “It’s a long distance from here to Tundrayn,” I mutter. I shouldn’t have to defend my father’s silence—there shouldn’t be a silence—yet the urge still clings to me all the same.
“Yeah,” he says softly. “Yeah, I’m sure they’re just delayed.”
I appreciate the lie.
Sometimes, it’s the lies we choose to believe that let us keep moving forward.
The tile is cold beneath my bare feet as I emerge from a long, hot bath. I pad over to the sofa, eager to continue my latest book about medical practices in Arbinj. My legs ache from long hours standing in the infirmary, and I quickly send a wave of healing energy through my calves.
I’ve barely settled into the plush pillows when I hear it.
A loud rumble of thunder.
Too loud.
My mouth goes dry.
There’ve been several storms since I arrived in Arbinj, but they all were brief and tame—usually during the day, either when I was with Zev or buried in the infirmary, deep enough inside the palace that the thunder barely reached me.
Another startling boom, even louder than before.
A soft whimper pulls from my trembling lips.
Rain sluices the windows, insistent and unforgiving.
My breath escapes in sharp pants.
A bolt of lightning rips across the sky.
Book forgotten, I crawl beneath the covers, yanking them over my head.
I’m safe. I’m safe. I’m safe.
It’s just a storm.
The thunder rumbles louder. Closer.
It pounds in my ears, in my heart.
Mama? Where are you?
The rain slams harder against the windows, each drop threatening to crack the glass.
Loud steps thudding on stairs, and I know. I just know.
It’s not Mama.
It will never be Mama again.
I can’t breathe. Frantic, shaky, useless inhales. Not enough air. Is it possible to suffocate this way?
The storm doesn’t sound like a storm anymore.
It sounds like boots. Like shouting.
