The hunting cabin is freezing.
There are wards carved into the doorframe, ancient, ancient fae glyphs I barely recognize, but I do manage to wet them with his blood. Instantly, I feel them awaken, protecting the cabin from intruders until the magic in his blood dwindles or the glyphs weaken.
I can't feel my toes in my boots, and for a hot-blooded Asturian with summer in her veins, that’s a troubling sign. Shivering, I cross to the hearth, finding a fire already laid. The current simmers in my blood, a mere spark. I grit my teeth and call fire to life, setting the tinder blazing.
Light flares, revealing a rough-hewn log cabin decorated with heavy furniture that is draped with decadent furs. Four chairs. A table. Two chests of drawers. A bed.
It will do.
Blood stains the hard slabs of muscle in the prince’s chest, and his shoulder is ravaged. He desperately needs healing. I cut his clothes from him to examine the wounds. The edges are gray and ashen with iron poisoning. Some of the smaller gashes are working to heal themselves, but sluggish blood pools around the larger, deeper wounds.
But it’s the black bruises that decorate his arms and back that worries me. They look like teeth marks, if something with a million razor-sharp teeth that size existed.
I find a clean shirt in one of the chests and bandage his wounds as best I can. The chill of his skin bothers me the most.
There’s no possible way I can lever his enormous body up onto the bed, so I drag the quilts and blankets down onto the fur in front of the fire, creating a warm cocoon.
If I can get him dry and warm, hopefully he’ll last long enough for his people to find us.
Of all the ways I expected this day to end....
“Just so you know, I’m not trying to get you naked for my sake,” I mutter. A part of me is certain his eyes will blink open again the second I have him bare to his skin. He’ll smile at me mockingly, as if to say he knew I wouldn’t be able to resist him.
Except, there is no smile.
No hint he’s even breathing beyond the faint flicker in his throat, let alone aware.
“Thiago?”
His head lolls bonelessly to the side as I release his chin.
I curse under my breath as I strip his leather breeches down his long legs. Every inch of him is bloodied and bruised with those horrible mottled suction marks, and I still can’t look at the gaping holes in his chest. It hurts too much to think of him never mocking me again.
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.
Of course, they’ve also been known to lead them to their doom.
There’s no other answer I can believe.
“Maybe.” He rubs at his temples. “How did you get me here?”
I proceed to tell him about the past two days.
And, of course, he lifts the furs and glances down, then looks up at me with one eyebrow arched. “Did my Shadows destroy my clothes, or did you finally succumb to my charms?”
“What charms?” I growl under my breath as I push to her feet. “That’s exactly what happened. When you were unconscious, I could no longer contain myself and tore your shirt to shreds. Don’t worry. You’re definitely more irresistible when your mouth is shut.”
His eyes narrow.
“And it wasn’t as though the cold made you any less a man.”
That shuts him up.
He pushes upright, the heavy muscles in his shoulders flexing as the furs fall into his lap. “I guess you won’t mind if I do this then.” Throwing aside the furs, he slings his legs over the edge of the bed.
Crossing my arms over my chest, I arch a brow as he pushes to his feet. If the bastard thinks me a very maid, here to blush and stammer just because he has his cock out, then he’s sorely mistaken.
“If you’re trying to impress me, I’d suggest you wait until you’re not covered in blood.”
He suddenly sways and nearly goes to one knee. Only a last-minute grab at the bedframe saves him.
“No, please,” I say, not taking my eyes off him. “Don’t kiss my boots in gratitude. I’m not one for genuflection, though I must admit, there’s something about the thought of having you on your knees in front of me that gets me quite hot under the collar.”
Thiago pushes away from the bed. “Is that what it takes? Because there’s a lot of things I can do on my knees that’ll put a smile on your face. And it doesn’t involve kissing your boots.”
Heat sears my cheeks. Someone’s recovering well enough. If anything was going to convince me he’s not going to die on my watch, it’s this.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
“I need to… clean up.”
He manages to make his way inside the wash chambers without a single comment about me washing his back.
“You’re welcome,” I mutter under my breath.
When he returns, he’s draped in a blanket that he’s managed to wrap around his lean hips. It does nothing to disguise the chiseled vee of his hips and the tented suggestion behind the fabric.
He has, however, peeled most of my bandages off.
Every inch of him is smooth, flawless skin once again.
“You healed yourself.” It’s the sort of thing one isn’t encouraged to do, as healing draws upon the power within a body and he’s barely recovered. “You shouldn’t have.”
“Someone had to.” Thiago sinks onto the bed, looking wan. Despite his lack of cuts and bruises, he’s doing his best to resemble an animated corpse.
“I did my best.”
He finally looks up. “And I’m grateful for it. You saved my life.”
Awkwardness falls over the room.
“Don’t tell my mother,” I say, flashing him a weak smile.
“I promise.”
And I realize that in the last few days he’s gone from enemy to… wary ally in my mind. He was right. I’m no longer afraid of him, despite the threat of the Darkness that lurks inside him.
He saved my life. I saved his.
There’s an uncertain feeling inside me.
I may be a princess in my mother’s court, but I’ve always been expected to hold my own. The guards are there for our protection, but if someone attacked me and I failed to defeat them, then my mother would have shed few tears for my loss. Weakness, she would have called it. I’d have been better off dead.
But the prince didn’t hesitate to push me out of the way of that trap, though he had to know he’d not make it himself.
“Now,” I say, clearing my throat and trying to shrug away the feeling, because I can sense weakness within me when I feel it. “How are we going to get out of here?”
“We’re not,” he says, slumping back onto the bed, his arms spread. “We’re going to wait. I’m in no condition to walk, let alone fight. Eris will find us.”
“I can hardly wait.”
The faintest of smiles touches his lips, but then it’s gone as he surrenders to sleep.