Was it all practice for this moment? Was this always my fate?
My nose is broken first. A sharp, brutal snap with a blunt tool. My body jerks instinctively, but Kaelis places a firm hand on my shoulder. “Hold still, or I will be forced to restrain you.”
I try to do as he asks.
Kaelis realigns my nose with a sickening series of crunches. The Queen of Cups mends it, fastening it into its new shape. The cheekbones are next, and he’s forced to use the Eight of Swords to pin me to the table. Shavings of bone are vanished from underneath my skin with some clever use of the Five of Coins; it feels as though a pumice stone is grating under my flesh. At the same time, he uses a tiny bladeon the outside. Stitches as thin as spider’s silk tug my skin tight, holding it together. Anchoring new contours of my body in place.
The prince is relentless but not cruel.
His touch is firm, his movements decisive, and he speaks only in short, simple instructions. As if he knows my pain-addled brain couldn’t take anything more. This slow, methodical unmaking of everything I’ve ever known myself to be is agony, and by the end I’m nothing but trembling exhaustion and fleeting consciousness. I wasn’t sure if I would be able to be put back together as I was, but after this, I doubt anything short of the World could give me back my old face. This is something I wouldn’t endure again.
The cards he uses are lost to me. The tools become blurry. My senses leave my body.
Finally, after what seems like forever, he pulls away. I close my eyes, willingly submitting to sleep, but am jolted back as his hands return. This time, not to tear me apart, but to lift me into his arms.
My head lolls against his shoulder. The scent of him wraps around me, as cozy as his warmth.
“How can you break me and yet still feel…so safe?” I rasp.
“I’m the last person you should feel safe with.” The words are nothing more than a low rumble in his chest, full of what almost sounds like disdain for himself.
He brings me to his bedroom, laying me gently on his bed. The mattress has never felt softer. Yet, somehow, it’s still too firm for every aching joint and healing wound. I hiss and groan as I try to relax my locked muscles.
I almost miss the ghost of his hand over my forehead, smoothing sweat-slicked strands of hair from my face. A soft sound escapes me, something between a sigh and a wince. He stills, his hand flinching away.
“Don’t stop,” I murmur. There’s the sag of his weight on the edge of the bed. His hand remains, gently caressing. My eyes crack open. “I thought you didn’t want me bleeding on your furniture.”
“Foremost, I am offended you think I have allowed you to still haveany open wounds. And secondly, you have no idea how many old blankets I have piled up. I’ll burn it all when we’re done.” There’s the ghost of a weary smile underneath his tired and sunken eyes.
How long was he working on me? My eyes fall closed. It doesn’t matter. I take the rest while I have it.
When my eyes flutter open next, it’s because Kaelis is pressing a sliver of ice between my lips, fingers lingering as he coaxes me to accept it. I didn’t realize how raw my throat was until the ice melts. Something about the chill from within numbs everything else just a little bit.
Another piece follows. And another.
His fingers are so gentle. Socareful.My heart squeezes as I stare up at him. He meets my gaze, staring at me not as some kind of experiment…but as something to be admired.
Everything hurts worse after sleeping.
I try to choke out a sound as his fingers linger just a moment longer, his cold skin brushing the corner of my mouth before he pulls away.
“You screamed quite a bit; I thought your throat would be sore.”
“It is.” I try to force a smile. My muscles don’t move in the way I expect them to. “You did break my face apart.”
“I did all I could to make it hurt less.” He glances away.
“I know.” I try to shift my hand and reach for him, but I lack the strength.
“I loathe hurting you.” He says it so quietly I strain to hear.
“We do what must be done,” I remind him. This is for Arina, to keep her safe. For us, so I can do what must be done and give us all a better chance at a better world.
He sighs heavily, staring into the bowl of ice that rests in his lap. Strands of messy dark hair shade his eyes. Dark circles cling under them, as though this process is somehow also remaking him.
No more words are exchanged. But when he presses the next piece of ice to my lips, his touch lingers a second longer. Fingertips resting on my mouth, my jaw. I can still feel his touch just as well, even with my new face.
Eventually, I stop taking the ice, and sleep consumes me.
