Iwakeonemorningwith a cramping in my gut as I assume the foetal position.
Wonderful. My monthly bleed.
Oh, how I wish I had one of Mama’s healing tonics right now. Anything to rid myself of the nausea and pain and fatigue.
I’m too tired to get up. I must drift off again because it’s later when I become aware of a presence, one that wasn’t there previously. His gaze burns into me.
“You’re still in bed.”
A shiver courses down my spine at the timbre of his voice. He always sounds as if he’s singing. How a voice can be rough yet melodious still astounds me.
I groan, throwing the blankets and furs over my head. He can’t see me like this. No wonder I was so weepy last night.
Worst of all, he witnessed my crying.
“Normally, you’re bright-eyed and bushy-tailed by dawn. It’s midmorning. Are you sick?”
I shake my head, too ashamed to look at him. “I’m fine, just…tired…”
A brush of wind at my back, and soon he’s standing right above me. He tugs the furs and blankets away, and I roll onto my stomach, covering my face with my hands.
“Ivy. What in the name of Mag—?”
He pauses, inhaling deeply through his nose, and the hair rises at the back of my neck. He falls still.
Toostill.
It’s unnatural.
“You’rehurt…” he growls.
I cringe at his words. This can’t be happening.
“Why are you bleeding?”
My heart pounds, and then I finally find the courage to look at him. His eyes flicker like the flames of a sconce, his teeth bared in preparation of an attack.
Does he really not know?
“Has someonehurtyou?”
I grab my pillow, using it to cover my face.
“Describe them to me, Ivy, and I will hunt them down and present you with their head.”
My heart splinters at the gory description, and I rise, meeting his shuttered gaze.
At least he appears to be in better health. The moment he used his tears to heal my wound, he seemed to decline.
Still, his eyes don’t glow as brightly, and his gold-green skin exhibits a sickly hue. He looks dreadful, just as he did when he touched iron.
I sigh. “Tegwyn, I’m not hurt.”
His jaw ticks. “Then explain the blood.”
My skin blanches when I spy the glint of a claw peeking out from his gloves, and it finally occurs to me that I have never once seen him without them on.
Is he ashamed?
