Gilead’s response made me wince, prompting me to crane my head back for a better view. She lounged in a nearby chair by the fire. The steam from her mug curled upward as she observed me, an amused arch to her brow.
“The priests believe they have been touched by Nellium. They claimed your dress as their relic.”
“Nellie,” I muttered.
“Pardon, Your Highness?”
I sniffed. “Nothing.”
It was a dream, a fleeting hallucination, like the aftermath of eating tainted mushrooms. Certainly not a goddess in the guise of a giddy child, visiting me amidst a trial.
With a groan, I rolled onto my back, keeping the furs tucked close to my chin. “Why—how are you here?”
Sainte propped his head up on his hand, his other on top of the blankets for all to see.
Probably safer that way.
My cheeks stung with embarrassment.
“It’s common practice to use body heat to warm someone who has the Crown of Frost,” Gilead explained.
Sainte’s blue eyes reflected the fire’s glow as he studied my face, a faint smile tugging at his features. “Anderz declined,” he said.
The healer scoffed with a mirthful shake of her head. “Sainte offered.”
I smiled, though I regretted it when the tender skin split further. Wincing, I licked at it, and Sainte’s gaze flicked to my lips. A frown creased his brow.
Not the reaction I hoped for.
“Help her up,” Gilead said, moving to the kettle near the fire.
I squeaked a protest as he pushed himself upright, lifting the blanket with his movements. I hissed with pain, but quickly tucked the furs around my body.
It struck me as amusing how I didn’t mind when a seamstress and crew of maids saw me without a stitch on, but with Sainte thrown in the mix, I became as prudish as a priest.
I glared at the smile that threatened to lift his lips. He cleared his throat, then climbed behind me to lift me against his chest. I clung to the blanket for all I was worth.
Gilead extended a mug of steaming liquid. The rich aroma of cinnamon and cloves teased my senses, promising comfort.
“Drink,” she ordered.
“I can’t,” I said, eyes pleading.
My stinging fingers clutched the fur close. Nestled between Sainte’s legs and thankfully shielded by his trousers, I refused to let go.
Sainte chuckled, a deep rumbling sound, and I tried not to think about the funny things it did to my stomach. The weight of his presence pressed against my back, the heat of his breath brushing my ear. I sat frozen, my pulse pounding, feeling both foolish and exposed.
He stretched around me, securing the blanket tight to my chest. I attempted to turn enough to give him a skeptical glare, but my stiff body wouldn’t allow it. He leaned over the rest of the way so that I could seehis eyes.
He winked.
I felt like someone had just shot my heart with an arrow, sitting there like a fool as he straightened behind me.
“Drink, Princess.”
I cleared my throat and reached for the mug. When I saw the state of my hands, I froze, turning them over, horrified. Swollen and red, my fingers glistened with oil. Gauze wrapped several spots, and small, angry blisters swelled with fluid.
“It’s not too bad,” Gilead said. “We had to lance the largest abscesses. Better to relieve the pressure and keep the wound clean than risk it bursting on its own and getting infected.”
