I place the wooden box on the workbench, and she turns to look at me, her eyes guarded as a seething anger simmers behind them.
I motion toward her prize. “You're going to open it and show me, or I’ll destroy it for the safety of the castle. Maybe Tauron’s right and I've let my stupidity over the Fates and your acts of healing fool me into letting you bring it in here in the first place. I know better than to believe in your lies.”
She steps forward and pulls the lid off the wooden box as simply as she'd stirred the pot, no reverence in her hands. It’s as though it holds no memories or connection to her, a very convincing act.
“Fabric. You’re all fretting about a bundle of silks and linens. The high fae have a lot to be worried about if this is terrifying to your kind.”
She turns away from me, once more plunging her arms back into the soapy water, and I let my own gaze drop to the dress. Tyton was right, they’re clearly ceremonial robes. White silk with embroidery down the edges of the lapels, fae flowers and oak leaves dance and play until they form into the pattern of the old oak trees of the Ravenswyrd. The colors are vibrant and lush, a true image of the forest.
I can't feel anything around the box, just the same as Tyton. There’s nothing to say that the witch hasn’t concealed it from us both, but I place the lid back on and pick it up once more, the wood warm in my hands as the weight of it surprises me.
“I’ll lock it in my chambers until you manage to convince me that going ahead with our marriage is the best thing for the kingdom,” I say with a smirk.
She shakes her head at me, clicking her tongue disapprovingly. “You've got it all wrong, Prince Soren—you're the one who's going to have to convince me of such a thing, because right now, I’d set you on fire just to watch the flames consume you.”
As I turn away from her, a smirk stretching across my lips at getting under her skin, she calls out to me again over her shoulder, “If my sister's name ever crosses your lips again, or my brother's for that matter, I’ll end your bloodline. I’ll do it and laugh as the Fates open to destroy us all, I swear on my coven’s name.”
She says it with the same sincerity that she explained to my cousin her husband’s condition and the way she told us about the wishes of the trees. She says it like there’s no question of her capability, like every word is as indubitable as the Fates’ commands of us.
For the first time, I believe the words falling from her lips are true.
CHAPTERTHIRTY-THREE
Rooke
In the last moments before dawn, Prince Roan wakes from his healing sleep.
He blinks rapidly and a low groan vibrates from his chest, his body tensing as he jerks his limbs. A cold sweat breaks out over his forehead, and before he truly regains consciousness, he speaks.
“Airlie. Where is my wife?”
A lump forms at the back of my throat, his devotion to her as beautiful as hers to him, and I step forward through the darkness of the room, lit only by the woodburning stove still burning to ward off the healing chills. “She's alive and she's safe. I'll bring her down to you if you'd like?”
His eyes don't turn in my direction, the sweat beading on his forehead until it drips down his temples. He grits his teeth together and nods, a simple jerk of his head. I quickly dart to the door to ask the soldiers to call for the princess, their presence a constant that I’ve learned to put out of my mind already as I work.
Tauron arrived at the healer’s quarters moments after Prince Soren left, the box with my mother's robes in them tucked under his arm. I should regret my brash words to him, and I’m sure he'll make me do so soon enough, but my sister's sweet name falling from those cruel lips was untenable, worse even than the sarcastic drawl of my brother's name in the hut.
Pemba would havesomuch to say about this Fates-cursed mate of mine.
Prince Tauron slumbers as Roan’s groans get louder, the pain of the poison’s effect on his body rolling through him in waves, and I retrieve the tincture to measure out two more drops. If only he could down an entire bottle of it and walk away a new man…but it's too strong for that. Any more than a few drops a day would kill him as his body burned bright and short.
Tauron wakes with a start moments before I feel a tug in my chest and hear the rush of footsteps coming down the hall toward us, jumping to his feet as he rubs a hand down his face with a sheepish look. Our eyes meet, and I raise a brow at him, smug at his lapse. These princes are running themselves ragged protecting the castle and running around the kingdom collecting supplies for their beloved family, but I’ll make no excuses for any of them, no matter the consequences. I’m done giving kindnesses to those who spit in my face in return.
The doors to the healer’s quarters open as I ease the spoon with two drops between Roan’s lips, murmuring quiet instructions and reassurances that it's going to help him. He takes it without any trouble, his chest heaving as he pants through the last of the pains. The elixir soaks into him, and his skin begins to glow once more, brighter and brighter until he lights up the entire room.
“Roan,” Airlie says, the word breaking on a sob that wrenches deep from her soul.
Her arms are full of their sleeping son as she stumbles into the room, distraught from her worry and exhaustion. Prince Soren catches her elbow, keeping her feet underneath her, but she turns to hand me the baby as sobs begin to rack her body. I take him easily, folding his tiny form into my own chest as I soothe him back into a content slumber.
The princes look away from the little bundle, but I’m not worried about their actions. Airlie made it clear she wanted no one else to hold the baby until her husband could see him and, besides Firna and I, no one has even attempted to look at the infant. There is a lot of talk about him throughout the castle, maids and soldiers whispering joyfully at the curse finally being broken and the arrival of a new Snowsong heir, but they’ve kept their eyes averted.
Prince Soren made his command perfectly clear.
Airlie hovers over Roan’s still form, dropping to her knees by the pallet as tears roll down her cheeks. Her hands frame his face, and she whispers to him, “My love, you've returned to me safely.”
He swallows as he frowns, his mind still clouded, but he raises a hand to thread through the golden curls that fall over his chest. “You're alive. I thought the curse would take you, Bluebell, I thought it would take everything from me this time.”
She smiles through her tears and leans forward to press a gentle kiss against his lips, pulling away to scowl at the sweat on his forehead. She tucks a hand into her sleeve and wipes the moisture away.
