“Leave him alone, Zev.” Hands perched on my hips, I glare at him. “I’ll have no friends at all if you keep scaring everyone. Ignore him, Sauzon.”
The medic bows deeply to Zev, spectacles almost sliding off the straight bridge of his nose, then hurries to the supply room, muttering “ignore him” under his breath and shaking his head.
Zev crosses his arms over his broad chest. “You think it’s appropriate to tell our subjects to ‘ignore’ me?”
I offer him my brightest smile in response.
With a low chuckle, he ladles a bowl of vegetable stew from the rolling cart in the corner—the palace staff know to send food to the infirmary—and settles onto the cot across from me, so close that our eyes are level.
With Sauzon gone, Zev shucks his princely exterior, a look of pure mischief gracing his face. “I’m in need of your services, healer.”
“Oh?” A stubborn smile tugs at my lips. “And what is troubling you, sir? You seem like a big, strong man.” A giggle escapes me, even as I try to keep a straight face.
“It’s my wife,” he murmurs, the timbre of his voice dropping. “She’s driving me insane.” Zev brings the spoon to my mouth, hovering until I take a sip of warm, savory stew.
“I don’t know if a healer is the right person to help with that,” I whisper.
Another spoonful of soup.
“I think you’reexactlythe right person.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “How exactly does your wife drive you insane?”
“She’s cast a spell on me. When I’m away from her, she’s all I can think about—what she’s doing, if she’s eaten, if she’s happy.” His voice pitches lower. “If she’s thinking about me.”
Another warm spoonful. My tongue darts out to lick the edge of the spoon, and his eyes drop to my mouth. “And when she’s with me,” he continues, his smoldering gaze still settled on my lips, “my heart doesn’t know peace until she’s in my arms. I can barely function. The palace gossips about their inept prince, smitten with his wife.”
He sets the bowl of soup aside and raises an arm in invitation. His side presses against mine as I sit beside him on the cot, the length of his arm a pleasant weight over my shoulders.
“And you want me to rid you of this spell? So you might have some peace?” My lips curve downward in a frown.
“Absolutely not. I want you to help me cast the same spell on her.” He twirls a lock of my hair around a long, graceful finger. “Tell me how to make her ache for me. The same way I do for her.”
His face inches closer until there’s only a scant sliver of space between us.
My heart flutters in my chest. I can’t think straight with his intoxicating smoky scent enveloping me. We’re in the middle of the infirmary, anyone could walk in, Sauzon could return, but I can’t bring myself to care.
“I don’t think you need any help in that regard,” I whisper, my breath fanning across his lips. His gaze is molten steel as he studies my face. He leans in closer, his nose nudging mine. I part my lips on a shaky inhale. My palm splays over his chest, eyes drifting closed, and—
The sudden thudding of footsteps has me jerking away, smoothing the fabric of my simple gown. A middle-aged woman walks into the infirmary, wide eyes darting between me and her prince.
Zev growls a low string of curses behind me.
The woman mumbles an apology and turns to leave, but I call out, “Wait! Have a seat, please. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
When I turn back to Zev, he’s practically pouting. Something flickers in his eyes—a flash of hurt?—but it’s there and gone in a blink.
With a long-suffering sigh, he rises from the cot. “I’ll be late coming to bed,” he says. “A delegation from Volca arrives tonight. Don’t wait up for me.” His thumb traces the line of my jaw.
Volca? It seems talks of an alliance are progressing. I’ll have to ask Zev for the details later. For now, I clasp his large hand, holding it to my cheek. “All right.” I hesitate. There’s a question poised on my tongue that I’m not sure I want to ask.
“What is it?” His brows furrow.
I bite my lip. “Have there been any letters for me? From my father? Or anyone?”
His eyes shine with so much remorse, they give me my answer before he does.
I stiffen. “It’s a long distance from here to Tundrayn,” I mutter. I shouldn’t have to defend my father’s silence—there shouldn’tbea silence—yet the urge still clings to me all the same.
