“Let’s go somewhere private,” Caius said, and without a second thought we were valenned away.
Now sitting on a healer’s bed, I looked down at the purple lines that marred my arms where the bonds had held me, then noticed my stomach bore similar markings where the fabric of my dress had been burned away.
“Are you okay?” the king asked as he slid a gentle hand across my cheek.
“Huuaaaa.” The breathed-in rasp was all I could manage, and I instinctively touched my throat, wincing in pain. I’d expected to feel dampness, given I’d been ensnared by ice magic, but as I drew my hand back, I couldn’t help but stare at the sticky crimson staining my fingers. I rested my hand on my chest and felt the diamond pendant. I looked down, registering the bloody handprint across my chest, and rested it on the clean, crisp linens.
“O…rry,” I scratched out, trying to apologize for getting the necklace dirty.
“King Thaddeus,” Myron said with great tenderness.
The king stood up from his kneeling position next to me and met the high lord head-on.
“One of my gifts as the high lord of the Spring Court is healing,” he said, looking down at me and then back up at Thaddeus, the implication clear. “If you’ll allow it, I can mend her wounds.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
I reached up to grab the king’s attention.
“No,” he said again.
“E…ase,” I begged.
I held his gaze in a silent plea, and a flicker of pain crossed his features. He knelt next to me again and held my hand.
“Okay,” he relented.
“Aaa…lone,” I said, straining as much as I could to make sure they understood the broken word. The king held my gaze, then squeezed my hand before standing up and ushering everyone out of the room.
He glanced back at me before crossing the threshold to the hallway, and his look seemed to ask,Are you sure?
I nodded, and heard the door click behind him.
Myron stepped forward, hands raised as if to begin.
I don’t know how, but some small part of me knew what would happen if I allowed him to do as he wished. Weakly, I fumbled for his wrist, the contact making a small smacking sound. He looked down, then met my gaze, questioning.
Releasing my grip, I gestured to my throat, wanting him to heal it enough so I could speak. He understood, and the soft caress of his magic obliged.
“Thank you,” I whispered, my voice weak but free of the stilted, acidic gurgle that had choked my words moments before. Then, more firmly, I said, “Go no deeper than the injuries dictate.”
Surprise flashed across his features, but to his credit, he didn’t question me; he merely nodded and readied himself.
I found the complexity of Myron’s healing magic unexpected. Initially, it bathed me in a comforting warmth reminiscent of a fast-acting tonic, but as his powers delved deeper, seeking out my wounds, the sensation shifted. It felt akin to someone rubbing hot coals into an open, festering wound. The sharpness drew tears from my eyes, but just as quickly, the sensation was replaced by a gentle, itchy tingling before settling into soothing relief.
His powers went deeper then, as if to probe my mind.
“Stop,” I ordered.
His eyes flared with shock before he schooled his features. “Sorry,” he said, having the good sense to sound abashed. “I was curious about what happened… I’m sorry.”
With a curt nod, I said, “If you’re done, let the others in and I’ll explain.”
My gratitude for his healing was oiled with agitation, and a splintered fragment of my heart was angry that he’d tainted my first true experience with magic by weaving in a thread of mistrust.
He nodded, and with a flick of thewrist, the door opened.
Chivalry well intact, Fiora entered the room first. She stole a quick glance in my direction, and a look of distaste crinkled her soft features.
