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“You did?”

I try to tell him about Frostalm and my application to the House of Learning but the words stick in my throat. I cough and blink away tears.

“Yes,” I croak. “And I know all curses can be broken.”

The prince’s eyes light up, and I find myself smiling back. Optimism washes through me, sparking fires of renewed determination.

The prince is not well enough to leave his bed, but we break fast together regardless. The maids bring us breakfast trays, and we share the meal while I stay by his bedside.

“I have read many books on curses,” I tell him, smothering butter across another slice of bread. “But I have never seen anything like your transformation.”

“It is alright.” He gives me a sad smile. “You can say monster. Transformation does not do it justice, I have heard.”

“But you were truly not a monster. You were something else. It was…well, it had scales and a long jaw. You looked in pain.”

The prince leans forward, intrigued.

“I must admit, I have no clue what I look like during these times. I only remember snippets. The only descriptions I have heard are…”

He presses his lips into a thin line, looking stricken. I think of the king and how a man such as that would describe what I saw.

“Unflattering?” I attempt a half-smile.

“You could say that,” the prince replies with a strained smile of his own and sits back.

His eyes are cast downward, and his hands are clenched tightly. I swallow, my chest aching for him. His chestnut hair falls forward over his forehead, and I notice a light smattering of freckles across his nose and cheeks. For some reason, this makes my heart start to race.

“Do you paint, Your Highness?” I ask softly. The prince looks up at me. His expression is neutral except for the smallest downward tug of the corner of his lips.

“I am afraid not, Miss Shivani.”

“When I am feeling melancholy, my favourite thing to do is paint,” I tell him. “I did not have access to many paints, but sometimesmy aunt and I were able to scrape enough ingredients together to make our own. I would paint, paint, paint until I ran out. It made me feel better. Calmer.”

The prince watches me, the firelight dancing in his eyes. My palms go slick.

“Do you have something similar, perhaps?” I ask. A tremor enters my voice that I fight to steady.

“Yes,” he says softly. “Gardening.”

“Is it…farming of some kind?” I struggle to picture what he means by gardening.

He laughs, a delightful sound bursting from his chest. I am so startled I laugh back.

“My apologies.” He grins. It transforms his face in a way I cannot look away from. “I should not have laughed. That was rude of me. Gardening is planting flowers or herbs and such.”

“So you can use it for food?”

“Yes, but also for pleasure.”

I cock my head, not understanding.

“There is nothing quite like planting a seed and nurturing it, watching it grow, seeing it bloom.” As he talks, his eyes glaze over. There is love in his face.

“It sounds wonderful, Your Highness.” I smile at him, a warmth in my chest that comes not from the hearth.

The prince looks at me then, and it is not a gaze I have ever known before. It is intense. So intense, my heart is a fist pounding against myribs, and my breath catches in my throat. I do not know what to say, so I say nothing. All the while, his eyes linger on mine, glinting like folded steel.

“Thank you for staying with me last night.” The prince raises his hand as if to place it over mine but hesitates and draws back. “I would urge you to stay in my chambers for the next few days. At least until my father finds something else to draw his attention.”