He lifts his chin. “I agree to this bargain.” With a flick of his fingers, the standing guard pulls the sword from Franco and shoves it into the sheath at the incapacitated guard’s hip, then hefts him off the ground. The three retreat behind a line of fire that springs from the earth, stretching out in a wide arc behind them.
I run to Franco as does Nyxia. Some of her soldiers pursue Ustrin, breaking through the wall of fire, while the rest set up a perimeter around us. I kneel at the Lunar Prince’s side and call for wine and clean cloth. His shirt is soaked with his bright red blood, his face even paler than usual, a gray tinge beginning to creep up his neck. I know what happens to fae who sustain iron injuries. I can only hope the sword wasn’t embedded in his abdomen long enough to do severe damage.
I grasp the collar of his linen shirt and tear it open. Black patterns cover his chest and stomach, mingling with the blood. With a shock of relief, I realize the black is not from veins of poison but from his intricate tattoos. I let out a sigh, the tension smoothing from my shoulders. His wound is deep, but with his abdominal cavity free from poison, he will heal much faster than Aspen did.
With the thought of his name, comes the awareness of his proximity. Aspen stands near Franco’s head, his presence heavy in the space he occupies. I meet his eyes for a moment, finding a flicker of confusion in them. Then they go steely, and he turns away. Before I can consider him a moment longer, a wraith’s gray hand comes into view, bearing a bottle of wine. I quickly pour the liquid over the wound and my hands, then get to work.
25
With every move, I call upon my fire, let it tingle my fingertips as I pour all my intent into Franco’s healing. In a matter of minutes, the wound is cleaned and the bleeding is staunched by the remnants of Franco’s shirt. Only then do the guards lift him and transport him to his bedroom. That’s when I’m finally able to seek out a splinter of bone and spider silk thread to stitch his wound.
In the prince’s room, I’m joined by three petite fae with enormous black eyes and pale moth-like wings. I quickly learn they are Lunar Court’s healers. They flutter around me, helping where they can. Like Gildmar, they aren’t adept at handling injuries from iron or any kind of human weapon. Luckily, Franco’s affliction proves to be minimal. I assess internal damage and find that a lesion in his small intestine is already knitting back together before my very eyes. With no further surgery needed, I finish cleaning his wound and begin stitching him back together.
One of the healers hands me a cluster of silky green moss. “Moon moss,” she says. “Use it beneath his bandage once you finish his stitches.”
I take it from her. “Thank you, but what does it do?”
“It will speed his healing. It only grows near the Wishing Tree when the moon is full.”
I finish my ministrations with the help of the fae. Prince Franco begins to rouse by the time I finish tying off his bandage with the moss packed beneath it. His eyelids flutter open, accompanied with a groan of pain. He tries to sit, but I place a hand on his shoulder to steady him.
The moth fae flutter about, and one darts toward the door. “I’ll tell Queen Nyxia he’s awake.” Another pours a cup of Midnight Blush and hands it to me.
“Drink this.” He takes the wine from me, and immediate relief crosses his face. Midnight Blush might not be as effective as honey pyrus extract, but considering the mildness of his injury, it should suffice.
He takes the cup and drinks the liquid down, then meets my eyes with a furrowed brow. “You...saved me. With a bargain.”
“So you were conscious during that.”
He shakes his head, silvery hair sticking out at odd angles. “Sort of. I hope you didn’t bargain away anything too vital.”
I purse my lips. “So do I.”
He studies my face. “Why did you do it? Nyxia would have taken him down before he managed to kill me. Her shadows would have wrecked his mind and each of his guards before they made another move. That’s if he had any intention to follow through with his threat to begin with. You know he was baiting you, right?”
At the time, it didn’t occur to me that Nyxia would have saved her brother or that Ustrin might be bluffing. In retrospect, of course the powerful alpha would have saved the prince. King Ustrin’s threat was a trick for me alone. And it worked.
I try for a nonchalant shrug. “Maybe I wanted to make the bargain.”
A corner of his mouth quirks. “For me? Or for some devious plan of yours?”
I blush. Even with the presence of the moth fae, I’m still painfully aware of my proximity to a shirtless Franco in his bedroom. It hadn’t seemed improper when he was unconscious. Now all I can see is his heated expression, his bare, inked chest. I clench my jaw and take a step away from his bed where I can more easily maintain my composure. “If I had a devious plan, I wouldn’t tell you about it.”
“Then I’ll pretend you did it for me.”
“Pretend all you like, but don’t leave this bed for the rest of the night.”
His lips pull into a mock pout. “That will be so boring. Unless you plan to stay in it with me.”
The sound of buzzing wings and stifled giggles deepens my blush. The prince certainly has no shame. I cross my arms and give him a pointed look, although I can’t hide my amusement. “I’m a medical professional, and you are my patient. You are going to stay in this bedaloneand try to get some sleep. Iron injuries are no joke.”
He rolls his eyes. “Fine. You sure know how to take all the fun out of a near-death experience.”
I shake my head and pour him another glass of wine. “Drink this, then go to sleep.”
He accepts it, and I watch him down it in a single gulp. He winces as he returns the glass to me, then settles back on his pillows. His lids grow heavy and his expression turns serious. “Thank you,” he says, “for what you did for me.”
“You’re welcome.” I place a hand on his shoulder to give him a comforting squeeze. Just as I’m about to pull away, he lifts his hand to rest it over mine. Our eyes lock the way they did outside my bedroom after the revel. I can’t help but think of the kiss we shared that night. But, of course, that kiss is impossible to consider without thinking of Aspen. About the hurt it caused. About our fight, about the passion and fury I still carry for the king.
