“Are you uncomfortable?” Lorcan asked as he watched her flop around on the pillows.
“I’m…” She wanted to sayfine, but that was a lie. Nothing was fine at all, and she doubted it ever would be again.
Lorcan shifted a little further onto the bed, and then gently pulled her into his arms. She opened her mouth to protest, but the moment her head rested against his chest, she forgot every word she meant to say.
He was solid and steady and familiar in the midst of so much chaos and pain. Lorcan had been the cause of a lot of that, of course, but that didn’t matter right now. She breathed him in, leather and smoke and steel, and emotions she thought she’d lost washed over her.
I still hate him though, she reminded herself.I still hate him, and I’ll remind him when I don’t feel like I’ve been through another round of the Battle for the Shard.
But she wasn’t entirely certain she would be able to get the words out. Not because they were lies. Ofcoursethey weren’t lies. She didn’t feel anything toward Lorcan Rothach, the Prince of Shadows, but hatred. Hate, hate, hate, and nothing else.
His heart thudded against her ear. Despite how muscular he was, his chest was surprisingly comfortable. Not soft like a pillow, but smooth and warm and safe. With a contented sigh, she snuggled in and gave in to the exhaustion that tugged insistently on her eyelids.
Her eyes drifted shut as she basked in the steady warmth of him. Reyna had never liked the heat. In fact, she hated it. The burning cold of the northern ice was far better than anything created by fire. But this was different. A good kind of heat. The best kind, really.
Distantly, she was aware of Lorcan stroking her hair and pressing soft lips against her forehead. The stubborn part of her wanted to wake up and slap him right in his stupid handsome face, but the other part of her—the part that was enjoying this far more than she should—begged her to yield. Just this once.
You’re healing. You need the rest. There’s no reason to be so stubborn all of the time.
Time passed as slumber pulled her into the darkness of a dreamless sleep. Eventually, she heard the clattering of footsteps on a wooden floor, but she did not have the strength to rouse. Her face was still plastered against Lorcan’s chest, her limbs heavy, her stomach still throbbing with pain. She stayed right where she was, eyes still shut against the world.
A familiar voice cut through the silence, a grating voice she would recognize anywhere. “Your Highness. Thank the gods. We were worried you hadn’t made it to safety.”
More thudding of footsteps followed.
“How’s the princess?” Tarrah asked in a soft voice.
“She’s in a lot of pain, but she’ll live.” A pause. “These wood fae saved her, Nollaig. If they’d turned us away, she’d be dead.”
“Yes, quite right. We’re lucky they aren’t loyal to the wood king.”
“This village is awfully close to the border,” Lorcan said, so quietly that his words were almost garbled in Reyna’s tired brain.
“What are you saying?” Teutas asked.
“I’m not sure. All I know is that I will not let another village full of innocents burn down.” He cleared his throat, his voice sounding strangled. “Did you stop the scouts?”
“Some,” Nollaig replied tensely. “But not all. The wood king will soon know we’re here, if he doesn’t already. And he will come for us.”
21
Lorcan
Lorcan paced a line from the window to the door and back again. He did not know what to do or even if he should do anything at all. At least one of the wood king’s scouts had made it back to Craobhan. Now, the Wood Court would know that shadow fae had been poking around the forest just north of Findius. And they would likely know why. As cruel as the wood king was, he was not dim-witted. In fact, he was very clever indeed, if the tales were true.
Only a male of great cunning could have gotten as far as he had.
Duff suddenly strode inside Reyna’s healing room, flanked by two of his fellow warriors. They eyed Lorcan’s frantic pacing, and then exchanged knowing looks.
“Sure you don’t want to join us at the tavern tonight for a round of ales?” Duff asked, still donned in boiled leather armor even now. “Our local bard is a sea fae, and he’s got some tall tales he loves to sing about. You ever hear of the Ghaisgeach, the one who’s supposed to save the world?”
“I’ll pass. Meredith said Reyna is getting better, and I don’t want her to wake up alone.”
“If she does wake up soon, it likely won’t be for long,” Duff said. “It’ll be several more days before she’s back to normal.”
“I don’t care. I’m staying here.”
“Suit yourself.” Duff shrugged. “In the meantime, I thought you might like something to wear. I’ve brought you a tunic.”
