Page 24 of Anwen of Primewood (The Eldentimber #2)

Galinor all but ignores the cat and motions to my gown. “I need to pull the dress away from the arrow now.”

“All right.”

With great care, he slides the gown over the short stick and then apologizes as he tugs the skirt up.

Modesty is the last thing on my mind at the moment, and I yank the fabric over my knee, exposing the wound.

Even though I prepared myself, I feel a little sick when I see the arrow embedded in my leg.

Galinor sighs, and he sounds relieved. “It could be worse.”

Worse? Does he not see the arrow in my leg?

He laughs at my expression. If he were not the only one here to remove it, I’d probably give him another black eye where the first has finally faded.

“Calm down,” he says, his voice soothing. “I just mean it isn’t embedded very deeply. It’s barely in there at all, in fact.”

I look down at my leg. Once I get past the horror of the dripping blood and ripped-open skin, I realize I can still see the tip of the arrowhead.

“All that fabric saved you.” Galinor gestures to the layers of skirt. “And the fact that musicians and acrobats can’t make a decent bow or arrow to save their lives—much less shoot one.”

“Just get it out,” I snarl, irritated with his chatter.

He grins, obviously finding my irritation amusing. Heating his knife over a candle flame, he asks, “I don’t suppose you have any herbs on you? Something to numb the pain?”

I keep my eyes locked on his blade. “Do I look like an herbalist?”

He cools it now, waving it to speed the process, and I grow lightheaded.

“Anwen,” he says, smiling. “You're all right.”

“What is wrong with you?” I demand. “Why are you in such a good mood?”

The twinkle leaves his eyes. Suddenly, he leans in, wrapping one hand around my waist and cupping the other at the back of my neck. “When I saw you jump in front of that arrow, I thought it would kill you.”

I open my mouth to speak, but my mind is blank except for the nagging pain.

“When I realized it was in your leg, I thought it might have hit an artery. If it had, you would have already bled to death.” His fingers twine in the hair at the nape of my neck, and he’s close enough I feel his breath on my lips. “So forgive me for being relieved you’re not dead .”

He smells like campfire and summer evening. My heart pounds in my chest, and if it weren’t for the arrow in my leg, I think I would lean in a little closer to see what would happen.

I think I might lean in a little closer anyway.

“This is going to hurt.” He looks down. “Remember to breathe.”

Galinor completely ruins the moment when he begins to remove the arrow. My vision blurs, and I press my forehead against his shoulder.

“Just a few moments more,” he says, but his voice sounds strangely distant.

I feel as if the cart is spinning circles instead of traveling down a road.

And then…the world goes black.

I blink several times, feeling groggy. When my vision clears, I see Galinor.

He wraps a strip of cloth around my leg.

“Are you finished?” I ask, my voice wobbling.

“Just about.”

Pika sleeps, no longer watching us. Danver is once again cuddled up to the glasseln. I don’t hear voices outside, but we continue to roll down the rutted road .

“It’s not many hours to the Lenrook border,” Galinor says. “Once we cross, we’ll make camp.”

I struggle to sit, and as I do, I notice Galinor created a pillow out of blankets for my head. I watch him finish with the bandage, his hands careful and sure.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

He meets my eyes and gently pulls my bunched skirt down. That stretch of leg is far more than Dimitri ever saw, but Galinor doesn’t make me feel uncomfortable like Dimitri did. The prince treats me as if I’m something rare and valuable—the way Father handled the changeling stone.

The thought of the troublesome crystal irritates me. I should have known it would only bring trouble.

“I hated that awful stone,” I say.

Galinor’s eyebrows shoot up, surprised. “The changeling stone?”

I nod and scoot up so I’m sitting with one leg crossed and the other still extended. “Father would never let me touch it,” I admit. “When I was young, I’d slip into my parents’ room at night to sneak it away and play with it.”

Galinor moves so he’s sitting next to me. He wraps his arm around me, and I settle against his shoulder.

“I feel awful about it now, but it would bring me pleasure to use it and return it to him without anyone noticing. It was as if I had to prove that I could be careful with it, even if he never knew.”

Galinor doesn’t say anything but waits for me to continue.

“I had no idea why he was so protective of it, why he was so obsessed.” I turn to face Galinor. “It was just a thing, you understand? A possession. I hated the way he loved it.” I look away. “Why didn’t he tell me, do you think?”

Galinor runs his hand down my hair. “He probably didn’t want you to know. When you were young, it might have scared you, and now that you’re grown, he may have thought you would have been disgusted.”

“I wouldn’t have been.” I turn back. “I love him. I know that I haven’t shown it—and I made a truly terrible decision when I took the stone—but I do. I don’t know if he’ll ever forgive me.”

Instead of answering, Galinor leans his cheek against the top of my head. “You need to rest.”

I appreciate that he doesn’t answer just to make me feel better. He doesn’t pretend to know my father; he doesn’t pretend to know if he’ll forgive me.

“What do you think he changes into?” I murmur.

Now that the excitement is over, I’m getting drowsy.

“A gnome, most likely.”

I smile, starting to feel fuzzy and warm, and I let myself drift. Then, quite suddenly, I notice the strange taste in my mouth.

I shake off the sleepy sensation and look up, horrified. “Galinor, did you give me a sleeping draught?”

Galinor’s forehead knits. “Rosie had some tea. We stopped when you passed out, and she gave you a dose.” He strokes my hair. “Is that a problem? We thought it would help with the pain.”

The panic I’m feeling is irrational. This is Galinor, not Dimitri, but still, I feel like I can’t breathe. “Please, don’t leave. ”

How ridiculous, I sound like a scared child.

Understanding dawns on Galinor’s face, and he holds me tighter. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Unable to fight the tea, I lean into him and let sleep come. As I slip away, I feel the softest brush of his lips against my hair.

I stretch when I wake, realizing there’s a kink in my neck, and my leg aches. When I open my eyes, I find Danver stretched across my lap.

I’m still perched against Galinor’s shoulder, and I glance up at him.

He stayed with me, just as he said he would.

Pika is no longer on the bed. Whether she was kicked out or left on her own, I don’t know, but Marigold and Rosie are there now, asleep.

Sunlight streams through the cracks in the shutters, and birds chirp outside.

I sit up, hoping I won’t disturb Galinor, and pull back the wrap to examine my leg. The wound looks funny, but it’s closed.

“I cauterized it when you passed out,” Galinor says, his voice thick with sleep. “Be grateful you weren’t conscious for that.”

I am.

“Will it scar?” I ask, more curious than concerned.

“Most likely. I’m sorry—I didn’t have a way to stitch it.”

Scars are preferable to bleeding to death. Wondering how bad it is, I stand up, testing my leg. As soon as I put weight on it, I gasp and fall back onto the bench.

“You’ll want to stay off it for a while,” Galinor says.

“Can I ride?”

He thinks about it. “Most likely, though only for short stretches. Most of the time you’ll have to ride in the cart.”

I glance at the sleeping women and whisper, “Rosie won’t like me stealing her place.”

Galinor leans close and drops his voice. “Right now, I think Irving and Rosie would both like some distance from each other.”

Apparently, Rosie hasn’t forgiven Irving yet.

I turn my head to study Galinor. His hair is rumpled from sleep, and stubble shadows his jaw. My mouth goes dry as I acknowledge he looks good.

Very good.

I must stare a bit too long because his eyes meet mine in question. For a moment, I forget that we’re not alone. He’s too handsome, he’s too close.

I bite my lip, trying to control my racing heart.

“Stop that,” Galinor says, his voice low.

He runs his hand up my arm. When his fingers graze my neck, I know it’s not the sweet, non-romantic move it’s been so many times before.

I lean toward his touch. “Stop what?”

Galinor groans softly. “You’re always biting your lip—when you think, when you’re nervous.”

I lean in. “I’m not nervous.”

His breath teases my lips. “Then maybe you’re thinking?”

“Maybe. ”

“Maybe we should stop thinking?”

I search his eyes, which are as dark and hesitant as my own thoughts. “Maybe you should stop thinking first.”

His eyes drop to my lips, and my heart all but stops.

Suddenly, the door swings open, and Irving strides in. Galinor and I jump apart. I can tell from Irving’s expression that we look as guilty as I feel.

Irving scrutinizes Galinor. It’s the same look he gave Teagan when the prince was speaking with Marigold. Finally, he says testily, “Anwen, your glasseln just ate our breakfast.”

“What?”

“I walked away from the fire for a moment. When I came back, she’d swiped the two rabbits I trapped.”

“I suppose she was hungry?”

“Tell her to catch her own food.”

What is it they think I can do with these animals, exactly?

I sit back. “It’s not like I can strike up a conversation with her.”

Irving glares at me…and then he glares at Galinor. Once he tires of that, he glares at Rosie.

He then turns on his heel and leaves the cart, nearly slamming the door behind him.

The moment is broken, and Galinor stands. “I better appease him and hunt something for breakfast.”

I nod, rolling my shoulders.

He glances at Rosie, who’s either still asleep or wisely pretending to be. “This is going to be a long journey to Triblue if those two don’t make up soon.”