Page 20 of A Kiss of Healing & Honor (Darkstone Academy #4)

“My father is a master manipulator, Your Highnesses.” Fernan sounded apologetic. “He’s been laying the groundwork for this coup for years, carefully cultivating allies and sowing dissent among the ranks. With the might of six legions behind him, and the princess-royal as his figurehead, he thought it would be easy to become the next dominus.”

A wave of despair crashed over me as the true magnitude of our predicament sank in. We were just a handful of people, alone and adrift on a damaged ship, while the duke had an entire army at his command. How could we possibly hope to stand against him?

I turned to Mama. “Is there any way to send a warning to the capital using magic? We have to let them know what the duke has done, before it’s too late!”

Mage Bevitrice, who had been listening to our exchange with a furrowed brow, shook her head regretfully.

“I’m afraid not, Your Highness,” she said. “Building a messenger construct requires reference books and materials we simply don’t have here or at Darkstone Academy.” Her lips twisted sourly. “If you haven’t already noticed, our library and laboratories are all poorly stocked.”

Mama sighed. “We’ll stick to our original plan and make for Baleares. There, we’ll implore the Duke of Espola to send a warning to the capital.”

“Of course, Your Highness.” Bevitrice bowed. “Now, it’s getting late. I think we should take our leave before our lovely Fae ship turns back into a collection of floating odds and ends.” She turned to Armand. “Niccolò, may I help you across the gangplank?”

Armand shook his head. “I want to stay with Their Highnesses. Avelina, will you take over the castle infirmary? I’m sure you can find qualified apprentices among your advanced surgery and potions students.”

“Of course,” she said warmly. “Your talents were wasted on that island, anyway. I hope that the domina-regent will find it in her heart to restore you to your former position at court.”

“I’m not going back, either,” Gwydion declared. “Princess Branwen can maintain the spell on the ship long enough to deliver everyone safely back to the island. Especially if Lord Mariota and Lady Karminn continue to pitch in.”

“I don’t want to leave my brother,” Karminn protested. “And I can smooth the way for you with my parents in Baleares.”

“All right.” Mama surveyed our group. Her gaze halted on Boreas. “And I suppose you want to travel with us, too, Prince Boreas?”

“Is that even a question?” he asked, sounding incredulous.

“Then I suggest you find some clothes.” Mama’s lips quirked into a smile. “And wear them.”

Boreas roared with laughter.

∞∞∞

Then it was time for Mage Bevitrice, Princess Branwen, Lord Mariota, Captain Ondine and the others returning to Darkstone Island to depart on the Fae ship, along with the prisoners.

We’d briefly discussed sending the wounded with them, but with only Bevitrice to staff the castle’s infirmary for now, it made more sense to keep them on the ship with two experienced mage-healers and all Master Armand’s apprentices. We would deliver them to Baleares, which had hospitals stocked with qualified mage-healers.

We made our farewells. Mama and I thanked all of them profusely, especially the men-at-arms who’d braved the unknown to save me.

As the Fae ship sailed away, bright in the morning sunlight, I stood at the railing, watching until its golden sails disappeared over the horizon. The wind whipped through my hair, carrying with it the tang of salt and the promise of new beginnings.

Below, I saw the occasional flash of sleek bodies surfacing from beneath the waves as Tama’s Dolphin Clan allies affixed thick hempen cables to the front of our ship.

In return for Mama’s promise of a generous trade concession, they’d agreed to help tow our crippled vessel to the port of Baleares.

Ilhan joined me, his stalwart presence a steady anchor in the churning sea of my emotions. I turned to him, my heart swelling with gratitude and affection.

“Thank you for coming, Ilhan.” I reached out to take his hand in mine. “Your bravery, your leadership today…it means more to me than I can say.”

Ilhan’s blue eyes met mine, and in them, I saw a reflection of my own feelings.

“I would do it all again, Jacinthe,” he said, his voice low and intense. “For you, I would face a thousand armies.”

Overcome with emotion, I threw my arms around him, burying my face in his chest. Ilhan’s arms wrapped around me and held me tightly, his heartbeat a steady rhythm against my cheek.

And then, before I could second-guess myself, I tilted my face up. “Will you kiss me?”

He grinned boyishly down at me. “Of course.”

His lips crashed against mine, the kiss searing with an intensity that stole my breath.

As his lips devoured mine, I clung to him as if I could somehow anchor myself against the tide of emotion swelling within me.

In that moment, everything else fell away—the ship, the crowded deck, the uncertain future that stretched before us. There was only Ilhan, the solid strength of his body against mine, and the raw honesty of his feelings racing through our bond.

He wanted me. But more than that, he loved me. Despite everything, despite all the complications and the dangers, he loved me.

And I… I loved him too.

The realization crashed over me like a wave, as powerful and inescapable as the magic that flowed through my veins. I loved Ilhan every bit as much as I loved Tama, Boreas, and Gwydion.

Our brief separation had showed me that all four of them were a part of me now, woven into the very fabric of my being, and I couldn’t imagine my life without them.

But even as joy and relief surged through me, a sliver of doubt crept in. Could I really have all four of them? Knowing that most people would call me a scandalous lightskirt? That Mama would surely disapprove of my choices?

I closed my eyes and held on tighter.

Ilhan gentled the kiss, his lips moving softly against mine as his hands rose to cradle my face.

“Jacinthe,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion. “I know it’s complicated. I know there are others who hold a piece of your heart. But I want to be yours.”

Joy squeezed my chest. I could hardly breathe. “You already are,” I managed. “I am yours in return.”

His grin returned. “I need you. When can we—?”

“Princess Jacinthe! Ilhan!” Alondra’s voice cut through the moment, shattering the fragile intimacy. “Come quick, Mage Armand needs our help with that head injury patient.”

Ilhan swore, and we hastily sprang apart. We traded regretful looks as we realized the reality of our current situation.

For the next few days, at least, we were stuck on this ship full of people, with scarcely any privacy. And Mama.

Whatever came next in our relationship… it would have to wait for now.

“We’ll find a way when we get to port,” I said, fighting my disappointment.

As we hurried to join the others, Ilhan took my hand and laced his fingers through mine in a silent promise.

∞∞∞

Hours later, I wiped the sweat from my brow with the back of my hand as I handed Mama a fresh roll of linen bandages. Afternoon sun slanted through the porthole.

The makeshift infirmary in the sailor’s dining hall belowdecks was cramped and reeked of blood and antiseptic salves, but at least the ship’s storerooms had ample supplies to treat the wounded.

Besides weapons, the duke had stocked up on medical supplies to prepare for battle.

As I assisted Mama and Mage Armand in cleaning and dressing wounds, a sudden wave of fatigue and weakness washed over me. It took me a disoriented moment to realize the sensations weren’t my own, but Gwydion’s, filtering through our soul-bond.

Worry knotted my stomach. I set down the pestle I’d been using to grind herbs into a poultice. “Ilhan, can you take over here for a bit? I need to check on Gwydion.”

Ilhan glanced up from the splint he was tying. His dark golden brows furrowed. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m not sure,” I admitted. “But he’s feeling unwell.”

“He’s probably hungry again.” A wave of scarlet washed up over Ilhan’s neck and face. Even his ears blushed.

“Oh.” A lot of things suddenly became clear to me.

But… Ilhan, of all people? With Gwydion? I would have never guessed it.

Ilhan cleared his throat. “He used a lot of magic today with that ship-spell, and now with healing spells… Go, Your Highness. We’ll manage here.”

“Thank you.” I squeezed his shoulder and hurried out of the makeshift infirmary.

The narrow corridors of the ship were dim and close, the air stale with the odors of pitch and unwashed bodies. I made my way down to the lower hold, guided by instinct and the tug of our soul bond.

I found Gwydion tucked into a shadowy niche between towering stacks of supply crates. He sat with his long legs drawn up to his chest, arms wrapped around his knees.

In the faint light filtering down the ladder, his pale green hair looked colorless, his beautiful features drawn with exhaustion.

“Gwydion?” I sank to my knees in front of him and brushed a lock of hair from his eyes. “Are you all right?”

He sighed, tipping his head back against a barrel. “Just tired. Today’s taken everything I have. I feel like a wrung-out rag.”

A pang of guilt arrowed through me. “All because of me.”

“It’s nothing. I’ll be fine soon. I’ll just feed off the pain of the injured tonight.” He grimaced.

I cupped his cheek in my hand. As I thought, his skin was burning cold. He was shivering with exhaustion, the tremors vibrating against my palm.

“Or you could let me take care of you.” My heart pounded with sudden excitement. “I know exactly what you need. And how to give it to you.”

He reached up and covered my hand with his own. A ghost of his usual wicked smile curved his lips as he asked huskily, “Do you, now?”