Stained glass windows…
The Tunnels of Davran.
Tunnels. According to the tome, the earliest Arbinji monarchs had earthwielders carve tunnels beneath the palace to use as secret escape routes should the palace ever be under siege. Historians debate the existence of these tunnels entirely and whether they were just a tale concocted over time through rumor and gossip. Some say a monarch escaped through a crumbling tunnel during an attack. Others believe they were used to sneak in illicit lovers.
I snap the book closed.
Still no Zev. And still no lunch.
I bite back the growl of frustration clawing at my throat. My husband said he’d try harder to balance his responsibilities and spending time with me. The isolation is suffocating.
But it’s not just the isolation—I hate to admit it, even to myself, but ImissZev. I miss his handsome face and twinkling eyes and the smile he saves only for me. I miss his teasing and his laughter—often at my expense.
I miss the way he flirts with me. The spark that skitters across my skin whenever he traces my jaw or clasps my hand.
I’d be lying to myself if I didn’t also admit it hurts that he doesn’t seem to missme. How else could he bear spending every waking moment away from me? Does the same ache not grip his chest?
Foolish thoughts. I’m a fool, sitting here, yearning for my husband’s attention.
I am a tidesdamned princess. A proud Tundrayni. A healer.
A healer.
I quickly change into a comfortable tunic and leggings and leave my room. The guards startle when they see me, but I ignore them, briskly gliding down the hall.
“Princess!” one of them calls. “You can’t leave unattended!”
“Attend to me, then,” I say, not breaking stride. Behind me, boots scramble against stone as they rush to follow.
Before I even turn the corner, the sharp scent of antiseptic breaches my nostrils. I wrinkle my nose, entering the infirmary,six guards trailing me. There are only two medics—Sauzon, the lean, bespectacled middle-aged man with pure white hair that I met before, and a younger, dark-haired apprentice, perhaps a few years older than me.
Both of them freeze, tasks forgotten, as I enter.
“I will be healing patients today,” I announce, rolling up my sleeves before standing beside the first cot.
The medics frown, exchanging a bemused glance. The older one clears his throat. “Princess, I’m afraid that’s not possible.”
I ignore him, greeting the young woman lying on the cot. “What is troubling you?” I ask with a smile.
“Princess, please,” the bespectacled medic says woodenly as if I’ve committed some egregious sin. “This is highly unusual.”
The woman on the cot glances between me and Sauzon. She opens her mouth, then snaps it shut.
“You’ve never had a healer in the palace before,” I say, turning to the scowling medic. “Of course, it’s unusual.” I gesture to the crowded room, nearly every cot occupied. “These patients need help. I healed my people in Tundrayn every day.”
“This isn’t Tundrayn. If word of this spreads…” The stubborn medic shakes his head. “Apologies, Princess. I cannot allow this.”
I bristle. “Allow? I don’t need your permission. How do you think my husband will react when he learns I was disrespected in his own palace?” Sauzon’s scowl deepens, but he doesn’t respond, uncertainty flashing through his dark eyes. “The infirmary would be reduced to ash,” I supply. “Perhaps, themedics, too.”
He holds my gaze a beat too long, jaw clenched tightly. But in the end, he gives a curt nod and storms off.
Without his watchful eye, the woman in the cot is quick to tell me of her severe stomach pain. I send a rippling wave through her body—a large ulcer, easily healed.
The two medics whisper amongst themselves. Sauzon regards me with hard, narrowed eyes, but the younger one seems more curious than anything else. I ignore them and focus solely on healing.
Thirty minutes and three patients later, the hair on the back of my neck prickles. The air shifts—charged, tight. My pulse quickens.
I don’t need to turn. I already know.
