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I hop on top of the trunk and fly on it up the stairs, dodging the walls, railings, and the ceiling. I land the trunk in front of the hole in the wall that should be her cell. Alarmed, I pull out my sword and use magic to open what’s left of the door, then enter her room. She’s alone and on the bed, lying on her side, her back turned away from the entrance.
Tud tud tud.
I hear the slow rhythmic beats of her heart.
Everything is fine.
It’s fine.
She’s fine.
It takes me longer than it should to calm down from the battle mode and even longer to retract the horns that sprang from the top of my head, which I find the most disturbing. Having had more experience with peacemaking than with violence over the turns I’ve spent serving my king, I rarely, if ever, sprout horns.
I drop the trunk near the bed and sit on it, then feel out the rest of the tower for objects. I find the bathtub, and my magic grabs it and brings it inside. Next, my magic reaches out for the buckets and carries them outside to scoop up some water. Outside, I collect whatever dry branches I can find from abandoned bird nests and make a fire by rubbing stone over stone. I heat the buckets of water over fire.
I leave the weapon I reconstructed on the ground floor. I must ask about it later.
Hoping to wake her, I clear my throat. Nothing. She sleeps like a vampire. Dead to the world.
“Princess,” I call out. When she doesn’t answer, I repeat it several times and finally say, “Chloe.” The moment her name rolls off my tongue, she snaps open her green eyes and stares at me briefly, before rising into a sitting position.
“What? What happened?” Her heart is beating fast again.
I don’t wish to scare her. “You’re safe,” I say. However, many things have happened.
She scrubs her face. “I fell asleep again.”
“The iron in the walls and furniture is designed to weaken and drain powerful magic. It makes you tired. But don’t worry, most of the powerful royals purge their magic with iron, so the quantity here is well measured.”
“They do?” She yawns, stretching like a kitten.
I stare above her head so I’m not tempted to stare at the movement of her breasts. “The night will be long and more tiring for you, so I am happy you’ve rested.”
She bites her lip. “It was an accident.”
“Pardon?”
“The shadow portal. The king’s portal. It was an accident. As you know, my magic isn’t under control, and it…” She makes a clawed hand. “It grabbed it and ate it. All of it, and then it started solidifying into glass with all these blades at the edges, and I freaked the fuck out?—”
“Language,” I interrupt.
“Language,” she repeats. “And it freaked me out, and I lost what little control I had over it. The glass shattered.” She starts picking at her thumb.
My hands rest on my thighs, and I tap my thumb, drawing her attention to what she’s doing with hers, and without me having to ask, she stops. Good girl.
Behind me, I use the magic to position the bath in the middle of the room, “The warm water is on the way. Bathe, refresh, and dress.” I tap the trunk, then rise from it. “Everything you need is in here.” I walk to the window and give her my back.
When I don’t hear any feet shuffling and hustling around to do what I said she ought to do, I turn my head and raise an eyebrow. “Was I unclear?”
“Are you taking me somewhere?”
“I am.”
“Where? The Spring Court? Please don’t…don’t give me up. Please. I beg you, D’Artaron.” She leaps off the bed and rushes to me, and when I realize she’s about to get on her knees, I grab her shoulders and keep her upright.
“I would never give you up.” I wouldn’t? Why not? I can’t promise her that. If my king wants me to hand her back, I will. Mmhm.
The heat of her body warms my palms through the leather gloves. I ought to wear another pair over the ones I’ve got on now. Or perhaps wear fur gloves for an extra layer of protection.
