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Down the passage, the doors to Briar’s wardrobe stood open, a refuge where I’d once dressed my princess in an ivory gown, then ripped the sodden thing from her body. Moon beams spotlighted the floor, and the rug cushioned my steps, though I hardly required it. They wouldn’t hear me coming.
Pausing at the threshold, I flipped the dagger across my knuckles. My ears picked up more thuds, the sound diminutive and … small.
The fuck?
I hesitated. But when a tiny male cry penetrated my ears, the dagger dropped from my fingers, and I sprinted into the closet. Atop the dais and surrounded by several full-length mirrors, a runty body squirmed within a pile of cashmere littering the ground. Trussed up in the fabrics, the little sprite shrieked, his body twisting back and forth.
“Nicu,” I rasped, landing beside him and yanking away the garments.
From under the mound, a shag of dark brown hair popped into view. My son thrashed in his sleep and peeped like a bird caught in a net. He slapped at my chest as I hunched over and framed his damp, tear-streaked cheeks.
“Nicu, love,” I urged. “Nicu, hush.”
My son’s eyes flipped open, the green of his irises so bright they doused the room in color. Wheezing, he shook against my grasp. Confusion and terror bloated his pupils as he struggled to register what was happening.
“Shh, shh, shh,” I whispered in a rush. “It’s okay. It’s okay, darling.”
His body went limp, perspiration splotching his orange robe. That faeish countenance was riveted on mine, clarity and recognition seizing his features.
“Papa,” he wailed, flinging himself off the dais.
Nicu hurled his scanty body toward me. At the same time, I caught my son and clasped him to my chest, one arm strapping around his waist and the other cupping the back of his head. Nicu scuttled onto my lap and snatched fistfuls of my hair with surprising strength. His face dove into my neck, fresh sobs wracking his form.
“Hush, my love,” I murmured into his ear. “I’m here now. Papa’s here.”
Nicu whimpered, his words muted against my throat. I rubbed his back until he slumped, his cries thinned to sniffles, and his breathing evened out.
“I want Briar Patch,” he mewled, the entreaty puncturing my ribcage. “I tried to free her roots from the soil, but I couldn’t.”
“You tried to save her?” I interpreted, speaking against his hair.
Nicu wiggled back. With his head ducked, he spoke to my chest. “I thought she was in here and couldn’t get out, and that’s why she’s been gone for so long.”
This would make sense if my child were anyone other than Nicu. He didn’t have the capacity to grasp distances and locations.
“Nicu,” I prompted, unsure if he would comprehend the question. “How did you know where …”
Tumble could have led Nicu here. My son’s wily ferret knew the layout of this castle even better than I did. However, the troublemaking familiar was nowhere in sight, which meant he’d gone exploring.
And when Nicu pointed to the ribbon strung across the ceiling, I remembered. Despite my sleep-induced haze, I should have recalled the streamers Briar and I had installed between our suites. Although he wouldn’t have gotten past Aire—there was no way the soldier would have allowed Nicu to scramble in here alone—the knight was on duty with his troops. Whilst Aire glued himself to my son’s quarters much of the time, the man couldn’t abandon his army entirely.
Aire’s absence must have given my son an outlet. Nicu had squeezed past the alternate guards and followed the ribbon trail to Briar’s chambers, longing to soothe the ache of her departure.
He didn’t understand why the court had made her leave, why the queen hadn’t been able to stop it, and why we hadn’t gone with Briar. Mostly, he didn’t understand why she hadn’t come back, and careful explanations did nothing to soothe his pain. Nicu hadn’t been the same since, his excitable demeanor wilting with each passing day.
When he’d gotten inside Briar’s suite, my son evidently hadn’t noticed me in her bed. He’d been distracted, guessing the princess might be stuck in her wardrobe.
I dipped my head toward his bent one. “Indulge me, love. Why did you think she would be trapped here?”
Nicu glanced at the mound of priceless clothing. “I smelled her.”
My chest caved. Direction was a problem for my son, but scent carried memories. Like Briar’s bed, her fragrance permeated the wardrobe. Nicu had followed the ribbons, then followed the aroma of tart, green apples. He’d rifled among the clothes, his mind betraying him, assuming the princess was somehow inside one of the outfits. Hence, the avalanche of textiles, which he must have eventually fallen asleep in, curling himself in her scent before the nightmare descended.
Like father. Like son.
Nicu wiped an arm across his eyes, but his features crumbled. “I promised Briar Patch that I’d be a hero, so I tried to save her. But I didn’t see her anywhere. I checked all of them.” He gestured to the coats, gowns, and skirts puddling the floor. “And I dreamed the same thing. Even then, I couldn’t free her roots.”
I curled my finger under Nicu’s chin and gently lifted his head. “I have nightmares too.”
