My lips lingered, and my heart yanked at the golden thread that sought my hands, no longer coy. Exhaustion seeped into my bones, my limbs begging to rest, but I forced my fingers around my thread. The spool of my soul unravelled, spinning and spinning, and steam rose and filled my nostrils with soot and burnt twine.
I tried to slow it, but I was too drained from the evening’s magic. I had little will left. Besides, it was too late—my eyes were magically sealed shut, the spool taking on a life of its own.
Master Carter’s words, his warnings, came to mind, but as much as I tried to stop the spool, as much as fear burst from my skin, the end of the thread was coming. Destiny seemed to have its own plan as magic flooded my veins and seeped through my palms. Theworld was warm. Was this what death felt like?
Yet I would make it matter.Come back to me, Thom, I told my soul.
Let my magic matter—at least for this moment.
Let my Papa be proud.
I was made for more. For this. To be a hero of the kingdom. A woman who gave up everything for love.
The last of the thread whipped out of the spool, yanked from my hands, and I stumbled. My palms were blistered and red. The air rushed from my lungs.
I looked up into the blackness, which closed in on me slowly, like a fading sunset.
And suddenly, I could not look anymore.
I was gone.
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Something warm and foreign brushed the back of my neck. I jerked away, my eyes flying open in alarm.
Thomas sat before me, eyes incredulous, face inches away from mine. Instead of the cool damp of the dungeon, soft silk met my fingers.
His cool breath tickled as it caressed my neck. My cheek prickled with lingering warmth. He must have just kissed me.
I squinted at the bright light beaming through the windows, barely making out his fuzzy form and the soft blankets that covered me.
“You’re alright,” I said in a raspy voice.
“Me?” Deep circles rested under his eyes, his glasses askew. His face was heavy with heartbreak and exhaustion in a way I’d never seen. “You’realright. I feared…”
I stilled.
I’m alright.
The world tilted for the briefest of seconds.
And then I remembered: the spinning spool, the prince-turned-frog, Lee Blackwood, the end of the thread whipping out of my hands…
I lifted up trembling fingers. Large, angry red divots marked my palms atop the scars I’d earned from my blacksmithing apprenticeship.
I swallowed. “How?”
“You’ve been asleep for two weeks. I…” He wiped his cheek as a tear slipped down. A sharp pang shot through me. “I thought you were gone,” he continued.
He leaned down so his forehead rested on my abdomen. I ran my hand over his scalp, through his short hair, anchoring myself in the feeling of its prickle against my fingers, in the spark in my chest from touching the prince so intimately.
A prince I hadn’t touched like this in a year and a half, although I’d dreamed of doing so every day since then.
He rose back to a seat, more composed. “You’re awake now.”
“Yes,” I whispered, my breath shaky. A small smile twitched at my lips. “I’m awake.”
“When I turned back into a human, you slumped over. Your heart had stopped. I couldn’t get you to…” he trailed off.
