Unless it had been Jakobav, the thought slid cold through her veins, grating like ice against bone. Jakobav’s face was stone-hard, all severity, not a shred of compassion, still scowling at Bryn. There was no way in hell that brute had been the one to drag her into clean linen. Surely it was done by the healer and for the sake of preventing infection.
Bryn was older, but there was nothing soft about him. He looked strong but spry, with sharp gray eyes that gleamed like moonlit steel, like he could recite a sacred rite or punch someone in the throat, and you’d never know which was coming first.
What had he meant about collecting strays? Was that truly how Jakobav saw her, nothing more than a wounded animaldragged into his keep, another broken thing he had decided to cage? The thought was ridiculous because a man like him didn't waste his time on shattered creatures, certainly not on an intruder who’d spilled his guard’s blood and defied the wards.
No, whatever Jakobav was doing with her was not pity. It was colder, far more ruthless.
He stood there silent, shadow carved deep along the lines of his jaw, his presence unreadable as obsidian, his attention never wavering from her.
Her thoughts tangled, threatening to betray her resolve, and she fought to breathe. It must be Bryn’s herbs clouding her judgment, but perhaps it was not the healer’s smoke or tinctures at all, but Jakobav himself.
“I’m Bryn,” the healer finally said, casting a judgmental glance in her direction. “Don’t worry, dear. I’m not one to pry. Unless I’m bored. Which, unfortunately for you, I am. Deeply.”
Jakobav took the basket without looking away from Ella. “Go home, Bryn.” His voice was flat and quiet, but the promise threaded through it made the torchlight shiver.
“Not until I see the wounds,” Bryn sing-songed.
Ella tried to sit straighter. “I don’t need help. I can handle myself.”
“Oh, I don’t doubt that,” Bryn replied, rolling up his sleeves. “But if you start glowing, I’d like to be forewarned. I’ve got a salve for that. Smells like burnt socks. Works wonders.”
He flicked a hand at Jakobav. “You heard me, Your Highness. Out. Shoo. If you’re not bleeding or useful, you’re in my way. Door’s that way.”
Jakobav muttered something under his breath and stalked out of the room. He didn’t slam the door, but he might as well have.
To Ella’s surprise, satisfaction sparked in her chest.
The brooding prince didn’t like being dismissed. Good.
Some small part of her lifted at that. Maybe she could start to like the quirky healer. It was a thought she never expected to have about anyone from Dravaryn.
The moment the door closed behind him, Bryn’s demeanor shifted, only slightly, but enough.
His tone remained light, but his gray eyes sharpened as he crouched beside her. “Let’s see what damage the grumpy one missed.”
He began to carefully examine the multitude of her injuries, his eyes softening just slightly. “He’s always like that, you know... Tragic. Handsome. Useless at parties.”
Ella rolled her eyes but smiled a little despite herself.
He unwound the wraps at her ribs, clicking his tongue when he saw the work beneath. “I should have known better when Jake said he was tending you at night. Swapping bandages in the dark like an apprentice.”
Ella froze.
He’s been…what?
Heat surged before she could stop it, a flush rising under her skin.
Jakobav, the merciless, scowling Prince of Dravaryn, had been playing healer in the night while she slept in his bed?
Her heart thudded hard against her ribs, breath hitching despite herself.
Gods, she was sweating.
She flattened her expression, biting down on the betrayal of her own body. No way would she let Bryn see her unravel.
“Saints alive,” he muttered. “Jake did this? A blindfolded toddler with kitchen twine would have done better. He should’ve fetched me sooner.”
Ella managed a weak shrug, though she found it darkly amusing to hear Jakobav likened to a blindfolded toddler, so she gave Bryn a half-smile.
