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“For as long as you require the white powder,” he answers, rinsing his gaze over my face, as if to study every freckle or blemish he can find there.
“Will you tell me what evate means?” I ask, the word crawling into my mind.
His grin fades to a menacing smile. “Nothing your kind will understand.” Then he lets a darkness fall over his face. “Now, leave.”
Startled, I blink. And after that strangled heartbeat, I push up from the pillows, fastening my bodice up as I go, and shimmy off the bed.
I abandon the tray of his untouched meal as I scurry out of the bedchamber, feeling his familiar icy gaze on my back as I go, and all the more curious what evate means.
12
Prince Daein has been gone for some time. His absence churns my gut with a deep-bellied fury. Not only has he left me without the white powder, he has left me to fall back into my sickness for the litalf princess.
That’s where he is. In the light landswith her.
A perfect, beautiful, skinny and tight-bodied, hairless, and probably amazingly talented and educated creature. And here’s me and all my flaws that he’s probably so disgusted by and finds unappealing.
Mind you, I don’t exactly know what the princess looks like. I don’t know so much as her name. But all the fae—the light and the dark ones—are beauty incarnate. They are the faces worthy of awe, meant to disarm us, the humans, and lure us into their arms ... so they can rip our heads off.
Part of their predatory perks.
At least that’s what Grandmother used to say. I doubt she’s wrong. In just my small village, I’ve seen more unattractive people than attractive. Yet here, in the dark lands, I have seen beauty on the faces and bodies of every single fae I have laid my eyes on.
But the prince...
He is beauty and more. He is everything and all.
And he’s weaselled his way into my insides, a thick, heavy snake that is slithering around my gut as I fussy about in the washtub, flicking water droplets off my raised kneecaps. I spot a few hairs on the right knee and my face crumples into a frown.
Sighing, I bury my face in my folded legs, feeling the water roll down my back from my wet, soapy hair. I’m washing off the lake water, filling the absence of the prince with tedious chores. That’s what it all feels like. Chores. And he’s been gone so long that boredom is starting to sink in. Even Terry has taken to helping Sira with some of the chores around the quieter parts of the castle where less of the guards wander.
I decide to go and find them. Better than moping around alone.
I get out of the wooden tub, leaving the water for Sira if she wants it later.
But as I’m dressing, finishing up the lacing of my bodice, a violent cough strikes through me like a sword. I topple over onto the foot of my cot, hands clutching onto the coarse blanket. I hack up specks of blood that spatter out of me until my head is dizzy.
Once the fit passes, my chest is too tight for my breaths to come easily. I sink off the foot of the cot to the floor and sit there a while, rubbing circles between my breasts and leaning my head back in a desperate search for a filling breath.
Leaving the blood to stain my blanket, I finally force myself up to an unsteady stand. My hands flatten on the air at my sides, as if to keep my balance.
After some ragged heartbeats, the dizziness fades away and I can no longer hear my blood pulsating in my ears. I shake it off, wiping the back of my hand over my mouth—that comes away with a slight smear of blood—then use my skirt to clean it off my skin.
Once I’m sure that the fit is over, I head out of the bedroom and make for the kitchens. There, I’ll find Hilda and she might steal away some soothing tea for me if the cook has her back turned for a moment.
When I reach the kitchen, I do find Hilda but she’s in a flurry, fussing around Terry’s hair, still damp from the lake, and pinching her cheeks—and my heart leaps into my throat.
The prince must be back.
I rush past them to the map on the wall and scan it with wild eyes. Then I spot his glaring red dot, like a siren calling to me. He’s moving through the bridge that winds along the rougher parts of the valley into the courtyard.
He’s not alone. Prince Elden is with him, his royal-blue dot moving at a speedy pace that tells me they’re on steeds.
“What can I do with this?” Hilda’s screechy voice comes at my ear and jolts me full of fright.
I spin around, my wild eyes landing on her. Her meaty hands come up to my wet hair and grip locks, shock slackening her face.
My own face falls. “Oh,” I mumble. “I just washed.”
