Airlie glances between the two of us again and then calls out, “Ah, Firna’s here with your broth. Soren, you'll have to move out of the doorway to let her in… Soren! The remedy is for Rooke’shealing.”
Cursing the Fates under his breath, he finally looks away though, much to my dismay, he steps around the bed to take up residence in the other plush chair in the corner.
Firna bustles in and sets out the tray on the small bedside table. Her eyes are shrewd as she takes in my pallor and mutters unhappily at the state of my skin.
I brush her off. “It’ll only be another day or two before there’s no remnant of the damage left.”
She nods and presses a small mug into my hands, the fragrant scent of the stewed marrows, crushed seeds, and healing herbs wafting up to my nostrils. It’s perfectly brewed, and I’m impressed with Whynn’s work.
“If there's anything that needs to be changed or adjusted, let me know, but Whynn assured me that this is an exemplary batch. She picked the one to bring up.”
I smile my gratitude before I take a sip of the tea, the warmth of the liquid leaching into me and spreading throughout my body with its healing magic. It can't touch the damage of the witcheswane, but it certainly does help to repair some of theexhaustion of the magic wielding and to strengthen me after my days in repose.
“She's done an excellent job. Thank you, Firna and please pass my thanks to Whynn as well. I’ll come down to speak to her myself just soon as my legs are steady once more.”
Firna clicks her tongue at me. “There’s no need for such a journey, nor any reason to hasten yourself out of this bed. Whynn warned me healers make the worst patients and I should be firm with you to stay here for at least another few days.”
There’s absolutely no way I'm going to spend even another night in this room, but I smile serenely and sip from the cup without comment, ignoring Airlie’s knowing smile. She's far too adept at reading me, considering the short length of our friendship so far. Perhaps it’s a skill honed by being surrounded by high-fae princes and the stubbornness they all hold, and learning to understand everything that isn’t being said.
Firna makes her excuses and bustles back out with the tray, happy with her work, and I finally catch a glimpse out of the doorway. From here I can clearly see Prince Soren's reception rooms, the doors left open in his haste to return to his guard duty. My stomach churns, and my urgency to leave the consort chamber doubles instantly.
“Airlie, I’ll see you at dinner,” Prince Soren says, and though Airlie’s eyes flick disapprovingly in his direction, she doesn’t question his clear dismissal, simply shifting her sleeping son back into the sling across her chest and then standing carefully.
She ignores his glare as she approaches the bed and tugs me into a gentle embrace, careful not to brush against the newly healed skin.
“Thank you for keeping your word to protect my son. I’m sorry you were injured in the process, and if there’s anything I can do, please don’t hesitate to ask. Swear to me, Rooke, anything at all.”
I might be calling her on that soon to get me the hell out of this room, but for now I simply nod and watch in silence as she leaves, closing the door firmly behind herself to encase Prince Soren and I together once more.
Whether he's waiting for her to truly leave or doesn't feel the need to speak to me, he lets the silence grow between us. I place the mug on the bedside table and settle back into the pillows, pushing my magic and carefully poking and prodding at myself to see whether I can flee this room now or if I'll need another hour to be sure on my feet.
“Is your magic gone, or are you recovered? How long does it take to replenish after use like that?”
I take a careful breath before I answer his questions, centering myself until some of my anger lifts. “I’m certainly not at full strength, but I'm no longer defenseless, if you're inquiring as to whether or not it’s safe for you to argue with me right now. Perhaps it's best to keep your insults to a minimum.”
I don't have to look at him to know he doesn't take that well, the seething silence stretching back out between us.
When he speaks again, it’s through gritted teeth. “Do you have enough magic to conceal our conversation or not?”
That draws my attention, and my gaze meets his. I find the same stony face and cold eyes, but I let my magic out around us regardless, easier than breathing.
He waits until I nod curtly to him before he speaks, just to be sure the magic will hold. I instantly wish I lied and feigned inability.
“You called for your brother during the worst of your nightmares. I have messengers who can travel across the seas safely and soldiers already prepared for the journey. Why shouldn't I bring him here?”
My brows pinch together as I stare back at him, but his own expression doesn't change.
I shake my head, an incredulous laugh falling from my lips. “Why would I endanger him like that? Why should I ask that of my brother, and what fate do you wish to place on the last of my bloodline where my life isn’t enough?”
He glances out the window, the image of the outside skewed by magic. His jaw flexes as he gnashes his teeth. “Airlie was speaking the truth. I’m not here to ensure you don't escape or to force some punishment on you, I'm here to guard you.” I frown once more, but he doesn't look away from the window. He continues, “My uncle’s assassination plans were interrupted by the image the Sol King sent from the Northern Lands of the monsters of fate.”
My chest constricts, but he continues. “Prince Roan was subdued by his grandson’s safe arrival, an undeniable gift you gave the high fae. The soldiers’ tales of the battle have spread throughout Yregar, but that’s no promise of your safety. Until you can defend yourself once more, you’ll stay here. I’ve removed the witcheswane from the castle, and the stores in the armory have been locked away. I alone hold the key to access them.”
He pauses, and the intensity in his eyes grows stronger until my skin itches under the scrutiny. There’s no sign of approval or even acceptance in their depths, only grim determination. That worries me more than any other emotion. I’ve seen it in far too many soldiers' eyes over the years to doubt the danger it may well pose for me.
“I will send soldiers to Port Asmyr to escort your brother to Yregar. No harm will come to him, on my bloodline, I swear to you.”
I shake my head at him, furious that he will never just listen to me. “I will not have my brother here?—”
