And it shouldn’t hurt.
He’s the enemy of my people.
The prince who holds a blade to the throat of everyone I love.
A monster.
Except, he hasn’t hurt me. Not once. He’s not taken advantage of the treaty beyond a single stolen kiss each day—and if I’m being honest, I don’t hate it that much.
Iron poisoning often ends in a fever, but... had he drained himself too much in trying to defend us? Me?
I touch his skin, but every inch of him feels frozen.
And I’m dangerously warm.
Don’t you dare even think it. “You are not getting naked with the Prince of Evernight.”
The silence echoes accusingly.
If he dies, then I’ll bear this burden on my conscience.
He did save my life, after all.
Slipping out of my shirt and breeches, I pause with my fingers on the hem of my short chemise. It’s not as though he can take advantage of this moment of weakness, but still….
I slide under the fur cloaks with him. My chemise shields me from the press of his naked skin against mine, but I’m desperately aware of how close I came to dying today.
I can’t help a shiver as I wrap my arms and body around him. Every inch of him is like ice. I’m practically glued to him, rubbing my palms against his arms to try and force his circulation to warm him.
“If you die,” I whisper, “then you’ll never realize you finally got me in your bed.”
There’s no answer.
He’s no better by morning.
Cursing him under my breath, I check his wounds and try to rub heat into his skin. Black shadows darken the veins near his deepest wounds, rousing my worst fears.
I rest my head on his chest, listening to the racing beat of his heart. Iron poisoning. The fever will be coming. And with his wounds barely knitting together, I’m not certain he’ll be able to survive it.
This calls for drastic measures.
I remove his bloodied bandages, washing the wounds clean. Still raw and bloody, which bodes ill. Fae heal from practically anything. This should have been smooth, unblemished skin by now.
The fire of my magic would burn the iron poisoning from his blood. If I could summon it….
“I really hope you’re not relying on this,” I whisper. My magic is erratic at the best of times. Healing is a gift through my mother’s bloodlines, which makes it easier for me than most, though at best, I can heal minor scrapes and bruises.
There’s no answer.
The tattoos on his chest swirl over his pectorals like shadows, dark and inky. They look like they’re about to separate from his skin and envelop him, the way his magic did earlier. I reach out tentatively, placing my palm over the worst of those puncture wounds. I've seen that symbol before. Seen those tattoos? An aching pain lances behind my eye, and I gasp, pushing away from the thought. The ache subsides with a weary grumble, but the threat of it remains.
Setting my palm over his bandages, I risk letting a little of my power stir through the wound. A gasp parts his lips, and those sultry black lashes flicker against his tanned cheeks. Dangerously green eyes blink open.
“Vi?”
Thank Maia. A gasp escapes me. “You son of a bitch. I thought you were dying.”
"Sorry to… disappoint," he rasps, and I grab the cup I filled with water and tip it to his lips, cupping the back of his neck to help him drink.
Thiago collapses back on the furs, the muscles in his throat straining as his chest heaves. “What happened?” He blinks, turning his head. “Where…?”
“I found your hunting cabin. And I saved your life.”
“So, you did.” He laughs, but it dies suddenly, and he repeats, a little more softly, “So you did.”
“Don’t think I’m not going to hold it over your head. You owe me.”
“A life for a life.” His eyelashes flutter against his cheeks. “You didn't leave me."
It has to be the fever dreams. "Of course I didn’t leave you. I— I can hardly uphold my side of the treaty if I left you to die in the snow.”
“Don’t leave me.” His fingers twine with mine. “Not this time. Don’t ever go.”
I stare down at our linked fingers.
He’s fading again. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.
“I can’t promise that.” There’s just enough of Maia’s blood in my veins to make oath giving dangerous. “You know I can’t promise that. But I’m not going to leave you here to rot. It’s not as though I know where we are, or how to return to Valerian.”
Thiago turns his head restlessly. “Don’t leave me.”
“Here, you’re burning up.” I reach for the cup of water and a damp cloth.
He thrashes, seeking my hand.
“Curse you, stop!”
There’s no calming him. Sweat dampens his brow as he flings his arm out. I have to practically throw myself atop him to calm him.
“I’m here! I’m here!” I capture his hand, press it to my cheek. “See? You’re not alone.”
Thiago relaxes back into sleep, but I can sense the restlessness within him. Whatever ghosts haunt him, they wield sharp whips.
I can’t help thinking of his wife and the hatred he bears my mother. He’s never told me how the queen took his wife from him, but it’s clear it affects him still.
I lie down beside him, hesitantly resting my head on his shoulder. “I won’t leave you. Not until we find help. I promise.”
This is one promise I can keep.
After another fitful night, the second morning brings change.
I’m pacing the cabin, wondering what I’m going to do with the prince, when I hear his voice call hesitantly from the other room, “Vi?”
Mother of Night.
Rushing back inside, I gape as the prince struggles up onto his elbows. “You’re alive.”
“Of course, I’m alive.” He looks irritable.
Rust-colored blood mars his bandages, and those wicked-looking tattoos seem to leer at me. I offer him fresh water, which he gulps thirstily.
“Don’t tell me you thought I was dying.” His voice might sound like it’s coming from a raw throat, but there’s a twinkle in his eyes.
“I was hoping.” I say with false bravado. “I nearly left you behind twice.”
“No, you didn’t.” He looks around, hazy recognition dawning in his eyes. “My hunting cabin.”
A disbelieving laugh escapes me. “Of all the paths I picked to follow, I somehow led myself straight to it.”
“Mmm,” he murmurs. “Fate works in mysterious ways.”
There’s something about the way he says it that makes me look at him sharply. “Surely, you don’t believe the old tales—that I was meant to find this place.”
“What do you believe then? We’re in the middle of a fucking forest, Vi. Do you think you just happened to stagger upon the right trail, when I’d given you no more than a general direction?”
The thought has plagued me over the days.
“Maybe the demi-fey led me here,” I reply with a shrug. “I was half-comatose myself.”
And they’ve been known to lead strangers to safety in trying circumstances.