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My ribs cinched tightly. Standing, I dragged my gaze from the princess to the small body cocooned in the neighboring bed. His toes stuck out from under the covers because his feet always got too hot. That knoll of messy hair forever smelled of powder and sunlight.
I loved it all. I loved all of my son.
His chest rose and fell, the movements barely detectable. When he was an infant, that chest had consumed me with paranoia. I would stay up all night to make sure he was breathing. I’d place a finger under his nostrils, reassured by those priceless wisps of air that hit my knuckles.
Presently, Tumble snoozed in the crook of Nicu’s nape. The ferret’s body twisted into a corkscrew, and his whiskers fluttered.
Putting Nicu to sleep whilst Jinny mended the princess had been necessary, but now that our guest hogged the spare bed—the one I used during my visits—’twas best not to leave her with my son. I couldn’t take the risk that he’d rouse and attack Briar with hugs, or scurry under the covers with her, hoping to make a friend of the princess and rip her stitches in his enthusiasm.
A pity, indeed. For the trio of humans and fauna made a fetching sight, filling this room with their steady breathing.
I hooked my arms beneath his legs and shoulders, then lifted him off the mattress. Tumble jolted awake and nipped at my cloak in tired protest.
“Hey,” I scolded. “We’ve talked about this. Not the clothes.”
The command was more of a reflex than anything, considering blood clotted the mantle. There was no saving this garment, much less the rest of my attire, all of which was sprayed in crimson.
Annoyed, the ferret hopped off the mattress. He scurried beside me as I balanced Nicu with one arm and closed the door behind us with the other. Crossing the hallway, I stepped into the living room.
Jinny sat at the kitchen table and darned one of my shirts, her quick pace verifying that I’d charred her nerves to cinders tonight. She concentrated on the linen and sealed a tear. And how many times had I told her she didn’t have to do that for me? I kept a private tailor at court, yet the woman insisted.
The fire snapped and spewed embers onto the grate. The blaze’s orange cast stretched across the walls, illuminating the space.
Jinny waited as I swaddled my son by the hearth. Whilst Tumble jumped into the nearby mending basket and wrapped himself around a sock, Nicu flopped over and mumbled in his sleep.
Despite the fur rug and pile of blankets, this wouldn’t do. I kept opulent chambers in the castle, with paneling mounted on the walls, feather pillows and silk casings, and a wardrobe that would make an emperor jealous. Yet my family needed a sofa, and my son needed his own bedroom, not a cubicle he shared with me during my visits.
Granted, I had the means. But large or extravagant deliveries to this cottage—to say nothing of commissions or renovations—would be noticed. Drawing public attention to this place was the one thing none of us could afford. So no matter what minor luxuries I brought with me on a weekly basis, it would never be enough.
They deserved better. They deserved a palace.
I wiped Nicu’s moist brow with my thumb and then, lacking my usual finesse, dropped into the seat across from the woman who’d been a mother to me since I could crawl.
Jinny jerked her head toward Nicu. “He’s yours, all right. Trying to charm the maidens the minute he sees them,” she wisecracked, referring to the way he had waddled toward the bleeding Royal in excitement before I’d intervened.
On the table, a mug of tea waited for me, the contents reeking with the scent of ginger. It rekindled a memory of my eight-year-old self, spice flaring on my tongue when Jinny forced me to drink a shitload of it. That had been my punishment for using her cups to practice juggling after she’d told me not to.
I raised the cup in a mock toast. “I suppose I deserve this.”
Nonchalantly, she pulled a thread through the shirt and spoke to the material bunched in her hands. “You deserve fire pepper.”
I set down the mug and pinched the bridge of my nose. “What the devil is happening?”
“You tell me.”
“’Tis a long, inconvenient story.”
“You’re a master at those. Let’s hear it.”
“Sadly, I reached my crisis threshold hours ago. I’m tired and haven’t the energy to embellish.”
“Well, try,” Jinny scolded, dropping her arms in her lap. “And leave your fancy talk at the castle gate, my boy.”
“I propose we delay the unpleasantries until tomorrow, when we’ve rested and stuffed ourselves with so much food that we lack the strength to actually talk.”
“Poet—”
I threw up my arms. “Why does that suggestion get aPoet?”
