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“Thank you. It truly was awful.”
He swallowed. “Yes, I’m sure. I’ve seen the aftermath of orc attacks, tried to stop them many times.” He closed his eyes briefly, and I wondered if he was reliving horrors that he’d witnessed. When he opened them again, he didn’t meet my gaze, just reached for a rag, cleaned up more blood.
“One of the castle’s Master Healers developed a balm for scars. It’s the best I’ve ever seen. Has even erased some of my oldest scars from when I was a youngling. And, unlike most balms, is sensitive enough to use on wings. When we’re done here, I can ask if they have some to spare?”
My lips parted. That was unexpected. I wasn’t sure what to say. Would it actually be better than the elixir Althea had given me? I supposed there was a chance. Althea was no master and the tissue of the wing had been too sensitive for Althea’s balm.
“It’s just,” the prince said when I didn’t answer, “I know that scars can trigger memories.”
Of course he’d know about that. Even if he had left Roar to his own devices that one time, Prince Vale was known far and wide as the Warrior Bear. He had to have seen a few things that haunted him.
“I’d appreciate that,” I said finally. “Thank you.”
He smiled, which softened his entire face. “The least I can do.”
I didn’t know how to reply to that, so I just remained quiet as he worked, and more glass pinged into the bowl.
“Can you fly or did the attack alter your wings irrevocably?” He broke the silence. I wondered if he was uncomfortable with the quiet.
“It did.” I sighed. “I can do it, though I’m not very good anymore.”
“Which explains why you were crawling from the royal box and did not soar away.” His lips downturned. “I often feel bad for fae without wings. They are much more defenseless than those with them.”
I couldn’t argue with that. For most of my life, my wings had been rendered as useless as my magic, and I had been one of the fae he pitied.
I was about to ask about one of his soldierly exploits, if only to get the topic off of me, when he stopped and made eye contact. “I see more, but they’re higher up.”
Nonplussed, I lifted my skirt a touch more.
His eyes widened. “Lady Neve.”
“What?”
He cleared his throat, cheeks going red again. I almost laughed at the sight but held it back. He appeared much too mortified . . . and worried. “I can barely see it, but there’s a large piece of glass between your thighs.”
“No, there isn’t.” I shifted to sit up. “Where?”
Hesitantly, he pressed a hand to my skirt, which I only then realized wasn’t just bloody but torn. Through the rip, glass glinted, a large shard, just as he’d said.
“How did I not feel that?”
“Soldiers can block out pain when they need to. Especially when it’s life or death. You must have done the same.” Prince Vale shook his head. “A Master Healer will have to close it up. Unlike the more shallow cuts, it needs magical help. But it will need to come out quickly to avoid infection, and I need to bandage it.” He stared at the wound, cheeks turning red. “I can start the job. But how to extract and bandage it quickly? I’ll have to lift your thigh too . . .”
Luckily, at that moment, Clemencia arrived, her arms laden with dresses. “I wasn’t sure what you would find more comfortable, so I brought four.” She eyed my bare legs, and her lips pursed. “What’s happening?”
“I have a large shard of glass stuck in my inner thigh.” I was still shocked I hadn’t felt it because now that I’d become aware of the glass, it had started to burn. “Prince Vale is trying to figure out how to remove it and bandage it.”
“I’ll help.” She laid the gowns across a chair.
“Are you sure?” I’d known Clemencia for almost two weeks. Never had she mentioned she had even basic healing skills.
Clemencia met my gaze with a firm nod. “You’re my lady. What do I need to do?”
Prince Vale straightened and rolled his shoulders back. Apparently, Clemencia’s presence had pulled him from his embarrassment over seeing a lady’s bare thigh. He looked ready for action.
“I’ll lift her leg and pull out the shard,” the prince said. “Before I pull it out, though, we’ll place a wrap beneath her leg, and when the blood pours, tie it up. Can you manage?”
“Certainly.” My lady-in-waiting rolled up her sleeves with a determined expression on her face.
