This prince seems to know his plants.
Uncomfortable silence settles between us, full of questions two people know they should not ask. I can’t help but wonder what will happen if we find a way out. Will he kill me on the spot? Or will we just part ways, each fighting their way through the rest of the night? My heart suddenly feels heavy. Stupid, stupid heart. Some similar thoughts seem to be bothering him, too, because his head hangs somewhat…hopelessly.
“It’s time to go, Talysse,” his whisper is softer than the stream’s murmur. “This way.” He points to a dark opening. “There’s fresh air coming in.”
I reluctantly push myself up, not bothering to hide my exhausted sigh. The prince hesitates, and for a moment, it’s as if he wants to say something—anything—but the silence between us is louder than words. And then, without another word, he turns, leading me into the darkness.
Talysse
The forest hut
Aeidas’s superior Fae senses are right. Just a hundred feet down, the tunnel narrows, and we have to crawl into the Elders-be-blessed-not-too-deep creek to squeeze through the tight opening.
Skidding on my ass down the rounded stones of a tiny waterfall, I splash into a shallow pool.
It’s still dark.
Shivering, I creep out of the cold water, looking like a water hag. Only the stars prick the velvety darkness of the sky. The moon has set, and the air is so cold that my breath comes in foggy gusts.
When nights are that long, it gets really cold. In the stables, the water buckets for the horses often freeze solid, and the Bountiful Bosom windows are getting stained with pretty ice laces.
Aeidas stands on the rocky shore and watches the silent forest around us. The dead trees are crowding us like an army.
The coldness and the lack of sleep are draining the last remains of my strength. I rub my arms and blow into my palms, eyes never leaving the tall, dark silhouette of the prince.
What is this silver-haired bastard up to?
My bloodied, shaking fingers close around a rock. It’s a ridiculous weapon, but it might grant me the advantage of surprise.
“Talysse!” The stones crunch under his boots when he approaches me, and I hang on to the rock in my fist as if my life depended on it. Or maybe it does.
“You’re freezing,” he notes.
“N-n-no, I’m fine.” It’s not the stutter but the loud chatter of teeth that gives me away.
“There’s shelter just a mile away.” One step, and he looms over me, studying my face.
He’s right. Wet clothes cling to my skin, and my lips are probably a lovely shade of blue.
The fatigue makes my brain slow like a duck treading mud. Obviously, the prince is not going with the murder plan. What a relief! My magic depends on my physical fitness, and so do my reflexes. Fighting a Fae nearly twice my size could only end in one way. And it’s not a good one.
“You are shaking, Talysse.”
“I am aware of this, Aeidas.”
“Let’s go and find this shelter, and we can make a fire.” He slings his arm around me. His touch is warm and calming, grounding against all common sense. It’s not the touch of a murderer but a promise of safety and warmth. He smells of night herbs and freshly mowed grass, of enchanted castles and midnight secrets and it washes over my dumbfounded sense as we drag ourselves beneath the black canopy of trees long dead. What is this sudden care about my well-being? Is this another form of Fae cruelty—making me trust him before killing me? Yet right now, the idea of shelter is not that bad, even if I have to share it with this traitorous monster.
Focus, Talysse, one foot before the other. Survive the cold first; then you’ll see what fate will throw your way.
The last drops of daily warmth are gone, and the memory of the sun morphed into an icy fog that swirls around our ankles.
The Dead Hour, they call it, it’s the time when the darkness has lingered so long that even the nocturnal creatures are tired. It’s silent as in a tomb, only the occasional cracking of dry bunches under our feet and our panting breaking the silence. And my chattering teeth, of course.
My clothes are soaked from the final plunge in the creek, and a thin layer of ice starts forming on my doublet.
How long can I walk before collapsing from exhaustion and drifting into catatonic sleep? And giving this murderer the perfect opportunity to strangle me?
A murderer who has saved my life and loves gardening.
