His lips pressed tight and attempted to shift the sleeve off his injured arm with a grimace. I reached out to help, removing the wet fabric.
I dropped his tunic and pulled him toward me to inspect the wound. “You were the only one who didn’t.”
The arrow had pierced his bicep, leaving an angry red wound free of streaks, reassuring me it wasn’t infected. Carefully, I rotated the limb to check the exit, relieved to find it clean and healing. Both marks were scabbed over with slight cracks oozing fresh blood.
“You’ll live.” I cleared my throat, stooping to retrieve his wet tunic.
“I’m relieved.”
With a haughty sneer, I left to hang it on a branchy section of driftwood before finding a seat facing the woods. Birdsong and wind rustling through the foliage entwined with the soft brush of fabric as he undressed, followed by the splashes of his washing.
As a child, I believed he cared, missed me even, and that was why he visited. As I grew, I didn’t care why he came, just that he did. He was the highlight of my year, the one who put up with my rebellion without a judgmental word to say about it. After my sixteenth birthday, I mentally accused him of stringing me along for the fun of it. With recent developments, I still felt used—but that was a lot to endure fora person.
How many times had he been flogged?
I’d seen my fair share of flogging scars in the slums, yet none amounted to that mass of marred skin. He suffered that much to use me? Couldn’t he have sent someone else to keep an eye out, to send word that I was alive and well? Why risk such pain to spend one day with me?
Unless…
Unless he really did care about me.
I curled over my knees, pressing my fingers over my eyes. Out of everyone I knew, I trusted him the most. Despite his departure and the sense of abandonment it brought, even after he kidnapped me, it was hard to erase years of loyalty. Sainte was embedded into my soul as deep as my own heart. He showed up regardless of weather or circumstance. He was the single person I could count on who never failed me.
If only I could convince him I wasn’t cut out to be a princess.
After blowing out a shaky breath, I glared up at the sky. Religion was not rampant on the streets, nor in Kelsie’s home. My faith in the gods was faulty at best. But I would’ve prayed to one if I knew which would hear me.
The slosh of water signaled him getting out, and I waited patiently while he dressed.
There was an extra horse—a potential means of escape. Though the thought of returning to my friends sent a pang of regret through my chest. The more I learned about Sainte and Wynterborne, the worse I felt for planning my escape.
That, and he would always find me.
A strip of white linen dangled beside my face, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. Twisting, I squinted up at him, doing my best not to gawk at his bare chest. I was a grown woman. I knew better than to ogle my kidnapper.
He dipped his chin, gesturing to his right arm, then wiggled the linen again. I threw my legs over the log and took the bandage. My heart settled with a sense of rightness, like it was happy I saw to his wounds.
“Stupid,” I muttered, securing the bandage a little tighter than necessary.
Sainte grunted as I finished tying it in a bow with a flourish. The red that already seeped through pulled at my frown. Slowly, he raised his arm and flexed his biceps with a wince, revealing the strain of his injury.
Fish guts, he was built, though.
I cleared my throat, then strode over to his drenched tunic. With a swift turn, I made to throw it without realizing he followed close behind. The fabric slapped against his chest, and I glared, frustration evident in my expression.
“We’re headed out after this.”
“Right,” I grumbled. “Have to take the princess to her prison. Ahem, I mean castle.”
Stupid heart. Stupid, stupid heart.
Chapter 6
Iclung to Sainte, my arms tight around him, resting my forehead between his shoulders. My body shook with a wet cough, rattling my lungs. As it faded, I rested more of my weight against him, seeking support.
“She’d do better in an inn,” a soldier suggested. Otto?
I hadn’t a clue what half their names were, and my exhaustion made it so I couldn’t care less.
