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I looked over my shoulder at him. The low light cast shadows in the hollows of his cheeks. “Do you really want to know this? Because you don’t have to pretend to be interested for us to do whatever this is.”
He stared down at me, eyes hidden beneath his lashes. “I’m not pretending,” he said. “And I wasn’t pretending at dinner either.”
I raised a brow. “You were truly interested in the different types of sedum?” I laughed. “No one is interested in sedum.”
“But you are.”
“Yeah, well, I’m easily entertained.”
Prince Thorne chuckled. “That is another thing I doubt,” he said. “Everyone was what,na’laa?”
Nibbling on my lower lip, I gave a little shake of my head. “Everyone is a potential enemy. Other kids, even ones you shared space with and trusted. The person who gave you bread one day can call the magistrates on you the next and accuse you of stealing. The too-friendly gentleman down the street? Well, that friendliness comes with a cost.” I shrugged as his fingers stilled along the last of the hooks. “So, you’re not just looking out for yourself, but you’re not alone. You do have someone else watching out for you too.”
He was quiet for a moment. “You make it sound like it was nothing.”
I did? “It just was what it was.”
There was another short gap of silence. “You are braver than I even realized.”
Face warming, I forced out a laugh. “That’s not true. I spent my entire life scared. I still— ” I dragged in a deep breath. “I don’t think I was or am brave. I was likely just desperate to survive.”
“Being afraid doesn’t lessen one’s bravery,” he said, finishing the last of the buttons. “Nor does desperation. If anything, it strengthens the bravery.”
“Maybe,” I murmured, clearing my throat. “I would ask what it was like for you, but since you were never a child . . .” I trailed off, frowning. “That’s a really weird thing to say out loud.”
The Prince huffed out a laugh, his fingers pressing lightly against my skin, parting the sides of the gown as he drew them up my back. The sleeves of the gown slipped a little farther down my arm, stopping just above my elbows.
“What was it like?” I asked, my curiosity getting the best of me. “To be created?”
“It’s hard to explain and likely impossible to understand.” His hands grazed my upper back, sending another ripple of tight shivers through me. “But it’s like . . . waking up, opening your eyes, and knowing everything.”
I blinked. “Everything? Like in an instant?” I glanced back at him, but his head was turned in such a way that I couldn’t see his expression. “You know everything?”
“Yes, but it takes a while to understand what you know and how it all applies to the world around you— the world you’ve yet to enter.” His fingers traced the line of my shoulder blades. “It can take years to fully understand.”
I tried to fathom what it would be like, to wake up with the knowledge I’d gained over the course of a lifetime in a matter of minutes. He was right. I couldn’t understand. “That sounds . . . intense.”
“Very much so.”
I held still as he continued to explore the length of my back, enjoying his warm touch. “And when you were created, you looked like you do now?”
“Not exactly.” His fingers trailed down my spine. “When I came into consciousness, I was deep underground.”
I gasped. “You were buried alive?”
“No,na’laa.” He drew his hands back up my spine. “I was created from the earth, like all Deminyens are, and when we come into our consciousness, we are not yet fully . . . formed.”
“Not fully formed?” My gaze fell on his sheathed sword. “I’m going to need more details on that.”
“It takes a while for our bodies to develop into what you recognize now, and things can go wrong in the process of creation,” he explained. “We are but a consciousness at first, then over time, our bones are forged from the rock deep in the ground as our flesh is carved from stone.” His fingers skimmed the sides of my ribs. “All the while, the roots of the Wychwoods keep us fed, creating our organs and filling our veins. The process can take years while we listen to the life around and above us.”
My mouth was likely hanging open. I tried to wrap my head around all that and gave up because there was no way. “Years beneath the ground? I would go insane.”
“Of course you would. You are mortal,” he stated simply. “We are not.”
“But I don’t understand— I mean, you bleed blood. Not sap.”
“As do the Wychwoods.”
