Running footsteps. “Yes, my lord?”
“Please escort my wife to her chambers. Be sure she makes it there in one piece.”
7
MY FIRST CONSCIOUS THOUGHT UPONwaking is that I am dead.
My entire body throbs. A pounding in my head, again, again, again. My arm shakes as I reach up, eyes still closed, to touch my temple. The pounding persists. If I am not dead, then I am close to it. My mouth is the exact texture of chalk.
Slowly, I push myself upright, propping my back against the headboard. It’s a mistake.
My stomach pitches violently, and I have seconds to snatch a vase from the bedside table before the contents of last night’s meal gush into its base. The rancid odor sends another wave of sickness through me. I retch until my stomach cramps before flopping back onto the pillows, the vase—now full of vomit—returned to its spot on the table.
The thumping grows so loud that I can no longer ignore it, but it doesn’t come from inside my head.
Someone is banging on the door.
Judging by the pale, eastern light beyond my window, it is not yet dawn. What kind of monster wakes someone up at this hour? The king, perhaps?
As soon as the thought forms, I banish the idea altogether. He wouldn’t knock. He would barge in as if he had every right to. And Orla is too considerate to wake me in such a cruel manner.
The next knock sends a shockwave through the wall, toppling one of the paintings hanging above the fireplace.
“All right,” I snap. “Give me a moment.”
Decentis the best I can do, given the circumstances. I wear a thin, white sleeping gown—something I do not remember changing into last night, but I will not think of that now. I slip on my robe, belt it at the waist, shuffle to the door, and yank it open.
Zephyrus waits on the other side.
His mouth curves playfully as he takes in my rumpled appearance. The shoulder propped against the wall lends him a casual air, but the keenness to his gaze is anything but.
“Hello, Wren.”
If I am the image of death, then he is life: green, animated, aglow with charm. Today he wears a gold tunic that hits mid-thigh, fitted breeches, and soft-soled boots, along with a fur-lined overcoat.
“What are you doing here?”
I’ve never seen a grown man pout, but then again, Zephyrus is no man. He is the West Wind. He can likely do whatever he wants. “I came to see how you were feeling this morning.”
“By almost breaking down my door?” I snap with a dark scowl.
Zephyrus scans my body lazily before his attention returns to my face, passing over my scar momentarily. My upper lip peels back in warning as I tighten the belt at my waist.
“If that’s what it takes to wake you.” He laughs and laughs. It sounds eerily like birdsong.
“What are you really doing here?”
“I’ve come to steal you away,” he announces dramatically, tossing one hand in the air with a flourish.
I’m reminded of last night’s dinner. I may not trust the Frost King, but there is a reason he dislikes his brother. That, I cannot ignore. “You know I can’t pass through the Shade.”
“Who said anything about the Shade?” An emotion I can’t place presses his features. He glances around my room with obvious distaste.It is still quite dark, despite my removal of the curtains. “A woman needs the wind on her face as a flower needs sunlight.”
When he puts it like that, he has a point. “That would be nice,” I hear myself say slowly. Whatever averseness I feel about this meeting, it can’t overshadow the truth, and the truth is I need to be outside, stretching my legs, distancing myself from my prison. “Let me change first.”
“Do you need help?”
My skin prickles at his unexpected proposal. It is an effort to keep my tone level. “Did I request your help?”
