CHAPTER 16

Seraphine

The moment the crimson door closed, I turned on him. “You made that far worse than it needed to be.”

He counted more stitches. “He’s a prick.”

“He’s a Duke of Riche who caught onto what was going on here, unlike every other man we’ve met.” I started listing on my fingers. “He reads, he carries a book around in his pocket, he’s from my kingdom, he cares about his mother.”

“You don’t know that.”

“He said he missed the wedding to care for her.”

“He said as much.”

“You don’t believe him. Why?”

Korven tossed his needles and knitted yarn to the table. “Word has spread of your curse. Not the details, but the state your body is in at Castle Havenshire. And here shows up a Ravenfae Prince, bestower of curses, interviewing the gentry of the Havenshire Kingdom, asking questions lacking just enough detail as to leave out what these interviews are really about. He has half a brain, I’ll give him that. But it’s too convenient. He shows up with your favorite book in his jacket pocket? No, Phinie, I don’t believe him.”

“You remember that it’s my favorite book?” I asked.

“It was when you were ten.”

It was then. It was now.

“I’m not saying he’s the one to break the curse,” I continued. “But I am saying I liked him.”

Korven gave me a withering look.

“You have to admit he’s handsome,” I said, holding back a snicker.

“I don’t have to admit that.”

My jaw dropped. “You’re jealous!”

“Of a man like that? Never.”

His fingers worked quickly, forming more of the tube he knitted. I wasn’t sure exactly what he was making or why he felt the need to do it right now, but his words didn’t fool me. Knitting…whatever it was acted more as a distraction than anything. He didn’t like the duke. But he didn’t like him well before Arthur had swept the blanket from the chair.

Why would Korven be jealous? This is what he wanted. This is what he needed to get himself out of this curse with me. Arthur had acted rashly exposing my secret, but he had also been apologetic, thoughtful, and clever. His obvious joy of reading matched my own and he was handsome. In a dangerous sort of way. That scar down his face…I wanted to ask about it.

I examined that thought. It was pure curiosity, nothing more. For though he’d said the right things, proved he and I could likely get along, I’d felt nothing more, really.

Korven stared at me as I processed my thoughts.

“You’re thinking about him,” he mumbled.

“Yes,” I replied with a sly smile.

“Fine,” he grumbled, “we’ll see what other pieces of your past he’ll pull out of his jacket tomorrow. Crystals? Salve recipes?”

I laughed, goading him further. “Would be nice. I’ve been looking for one for warts.”

* * *

Five more men later and we’d excused them all, each one with us for no more than five minutes before we decided they wouldn’t work.

I stretched my legs under the table, letting the blanket slide off my dress in a heap on the floor. “Who knew finding a man to love me would be so exhausting,” I yawned, covering my mouth at the last second before Korven saw me.

“You’re getting tired. Maybe now that there’s more of you reappearing, you’ll be able to sleep.” We both glanced down to my legs, but no more of me had appeared.

“Ha,” he uttered, folding the blanket and placing it back on the window bench.

“What?”

“No more of you has returned today.”

“So?”

“If the ever-so-charming duke was the right man to love you, wouldn’t there be more of you by now?”

“I never called him charming,” I replied, rising and ready to tease him some more.

“But you would?” he asked, taking my bait.

I shrugged, waiting for him to open the door. “Perhaps. We’ll find out tomorrow. At noon. At the library.”

Something about seeing him obviously disgusted by the idea lit a fire in my cold bones. Not one other gentleman had sparked this in him. None had said all the right things like Arthur.

Again, I wondered why Korven seemed so irked. Breaking the curse would benefit him, too. So, why the irritation? Why did I see jealousy in his eyes as he held the handle of the crimson door, staring me down.

Softly, he said, “Are you looking forward to tomorrow, Phinie darling?”

“Yes,” I replied in a squeak. Goddessdamn him. His dark lashes drifted lower as he slid his gaze down my body, all the way to my legs covered by yards of silk.

“To see him again?”

“No,” I answered quickly, letting my grin widen on my face when I saw that same surprise in his eyes. “I’ve just never visited a library.”

* * *

I shook my head and crossed my arms, ready to stomp. “I’m not taking it.”

“Yes, you are.”

“No. I don’t need it like you do. I’m fine right here.” I pointed to the floor where I’d managed to pull a blanket from the surprisingly well-stocked, half-broken bed in Korven’s room.

“Get in the bed, Phinie.” He had taken one look at my little nest on the floor after eating a quick dinner downstairs and demolished my plans instantly.

“Korven,” I returned, just as stubborn. “I don’t even have half of my body. I will not sleep long and I will be perfectly warm if I stay next to the fire.” I pointed to the narrow bed, stocked with one lumpy pillow and three more blankets, albeit a bit threadbare. I stood my ground. “ You are sleeping in this bed tonight, end of discussion.”

“You can’t force me to do that.”

“Just as you can’t force me ,” I snapped back. It was a silly argument, really. He was a full-grown Ravenfae Prince, and I was about one-third of a human woman. My legs ached, heavy and tired, but I wasn’t about to take his bed from him.

He unfastened his black shirt, pulling the hem from his waistband and lifting the back off his wings. His movement was swift, determined, as if he’d known we’d eventually come to this impasse. He dropped his shirt on the floor and strode to me, bending to gather the mounds of fabric in his arms and lifting me up so my knees bent in the crook of his elbow.

“You wouldn’t dare,” I gasped, attempting to kick but with no real force of muscle from my thighs.

He all but tossed me onto the bed where I immediately began to scoot to the edge to stagger back to my cozy blanket on the floor.

Without a word, he leapt onto the bed, pressing his long legs down so they crossed mine. A staggered cry of injustice escaped me as I fruitlessly attempted to move my legs out from underneath his.

“I’m a heavy sleeper,” he said. “I won’t be leaving this bed anytime soon.” He pressured my legs to stay still as we made an awkward X with our limbs. He fluffed the pillow, then pulled a blanket at the bottom of the bed up over the both of us.

I sat there in awe and anger, the blanket and his legs warming me with the purity that was the heat of another body.

“Goodnight,” he chuckled, ignoring my narrowed eyes on his face. Without another word, he blew out the candle on his bedside table, leaving the small fire as the only light in the room.

I…liked the pressure, I admitted, just moments after I noticed his chest breathing deep. I didn’t want to enjoy the weight of him. I didn’t want to adore that he had forced me to sleep in his bed as more of my flesh and bones returned.

But there I was, smiling to myself. Only allowing a little grin, knowing he couldn’t see it. I had come to terms with this particular Ravenfae being the one whose fate was tied to mine, but his actions of protecting me—his jealous nature revealing itself for the first time—these were matters I needed to mull over.

My eyes grew heavy. The exhaustion from days without sleep settled in on my soul. The bed was small. He took up most of it, especially with his feathered wings sprawled out behind him.

I reached out as if I could touch him, again allowing myself this one thing while he slept deeply. Each feather looked soft and dark, a secret world I wanted to explore in the veins and downy barbs.

He’d given me one of his feathers once. Left it at our tree. I had kept that feather for years and years until the day a swift wind had taken it from the pages of my open book. I had felt sorrow at the time, watching it fly into the forest trees of Moonstone Wood. That was five years ago. I had changed much since then.

My eyes drooped lower. I settled myself at an awkward angle along the wall where the bed met the wood planks of the Rose and Briar. I lifted my gaze to see his serene face one more time, allowing myself just one more permission; if I dreamed, I hoped I dreamed of him.

* * *

I woke to the clacking of knitting needles. I refused to open my eyes. I refused to move from where my legs were tangled with his, no longer just underneath, but entwined. I held onto my dream. A dream of warm feathers and flying through a starlit sky. I blushed thinking of what else had happened in that dream with this Ravenfae Prince I was currently resting with. The most salacious of thoughts and scenarios ran through me, and I let them.

More of me had appeared in the night. I knew because I could feel the heavy weight of his thigh pressed over mine. I felt the warmth of him nestled between my legs, and Goddessdamn him, I didn’t want to move from the bed he had forced me into.

So, I listened instead. I pretended to sleep when what I really needed to do was quell the ache inside. I knew some parts of me had not returned or I’d feel actual discomfort between my legs for what my heart begged to do with the Ravenfae Prince who had cursed me.

I couldn’t have him. I’d never have him. Even if there was more of me to seek the touch of his skin, I knew he was not mine. I knew he never would be and that sobered me from my dream. We had a curse to break and a duke to meet. Dreams were for the Goddessblessed, not the Goddesscursed.

I stretched my arms and legs, pretending I had just woken. The blanket that was draped over the two of us poofed ridiculously with the amount of wedding dress that had also appeared in the night.

He allowed my stretch, adjusting his legs as I moved mine, but not enough to let them go. I sat up and covered my yawn. “Good morning,” I said sweetly.

“Good afternoon.” He lifted his eyes once over his reading glasses to give me a smirk before continuing to the clack of his needles.

“Afternoon?” I questioned.

“It’s past one.”

“Shit! We’re late!” I cried, scrambling in the blankets to free my legs from his.

He grabbed my gown, hauling me back onto the bed. “I’ve taken care of it. We’re meeting the duke at two instead. Lay back down before you trip yourself.”

I landed back with a puff, my legs bent through his. I gave him a huff and kicked the blanket from us both to study my strange ascent back to normalcy.

Lifting my voluminous skirts, we stared at my feet, my shins, knees, and thighs all returned to their usual peachy hue. I was flesh again all the way up to where my thighs met, my undergarments still transparent like the rest of me. I didn’t care if he saw. I didn’t care that I still wore what Prince Urik had gifted me on our wedding day in a white box wrapped in a white ribbon.

Now, I was glad I had put on the undergarment that wasn’t much coverage instead of tossing it into the fire like I was initially tempted to do. I glanced at Korven, but he wasn’t sneaking a look at the strings of fabric at the center of my legs; he was watching my face. His dark brown eyes, almost black, bore into mine with an intensity and hunger I recognized in a man’s face.

If I had been fully flesh, a chill would have slid through me despite the warmth of the room and his legs under mine. I shifted, bending my legs at the knee and sliding them across his own. His gaze dropped to where almost half of my body draped across him.

“There’s more of you,” he said, tossing his glasses to the small table and setting his needles in his lap.

Wrapping his hand around one of my ankles, he lifted it, pulling me toward him and I cried out, sliding across the bed until my legs were folded in his lap. Keeping his grip on my ankle, he asked, “Why is there more of you, Seraphine?”

I gulped. There wasn’t enough of me for this. There wasn’t nearly enough skin to slide against his own. I didn’t have the hands to grip him, or the mouth to slide along his neck?—

“Seraphine.”

He interrupted my thoughts. My mouth parted, my face no doubt showing every imaginable desire across it.

“We’re...we’re getting closer to finding him,” I whispered. Goddessdamn him, I could barely speak as his hand roamed from my ankle up the back of my calf, gripping the back of my knee.

“Did you dream of the duke, Seraphine?”

His question dripped with jealousy and a possessiveness I didn’t quite understand. Prince Korven wanted me. Prince Korven thought he couldn’t have me, but that was so far from the truth.

“No,” I started, shifting my leg so his hand found my thigh. “I didn’t dream of the duke.”

He licked his bottom lip. “Prince Urik, perhaps?”

Now he was playing with me. It must have been obvious—my want of him written plainly across my ghostly face.

In a flash of frustration and anger, I yanked my legs from his grip, tangling them further in the mounds of fabric. I rolled from his lap, managing to avoid his next attempt to grab me and keep me on his ramshackle bed in his cramped room that I had to share because I was half a person and he had done that to me.

There I was, lusting after the Goddessdamn harbinger of my spirit being pulled from my body to wander this Goddessdamned kingdom to somehow come across a man who could love me most.

The fury of it all rose to an unmistakable rage, and I no longer cared to tangle what parts I could with the Ravenfae Prince, or with any duke, or potential gentleman. I hated how helpless I was, relying on him, relying on Fiola’s response to the curse, and acting as if this new form was some sort of blessing instead of just one curse upon another.

I wanted to go home. I wanted to open the door to my cottage and find peace at the familiar sight of drying flowers upturned above the mantle. I wanted to put the kettle on the fire hook and brew some of my favorite chamomile tea with lemon and lavender, reading a new book I’d bought at the Moonstone market.

Fuck this prince, fuck this duke, and fuck this dress.

I flung myself from the bed, my legs catching in the endless white fabric, tripping me just as he predicted would happen. I caught myself on the floor with my knees before falling completely with a loud, “Oomph.”

Strong arms lifted me almost instantly, sitting me back onto the edge of the bed. I opened my mouth to protest, ready to claim to not need his help, regardless of how much I actually did, but he shook his head, silencing me. Layer by layer, he rolled the fabric of my gown up to my lap until my legs were exposed and he could inspect the scrape across my knee. He traced around the torn skin, wiping the bead of blood that began to drip.

“I believe I warned you this would happen just minutes ago.”

“It’s this Goddessdamned gown!” I gritted in exasperation. “I hate it! I hate the chains it represents. I hate the symbol that binds me to a life I would never choose for myself.”

In a flash, he pulled a dagger from his pocket, flicking it between his fingers and holding it poised above the bustle of bows rolled up to my thighs. “Give me the word and it’s gone.”

Without hesitation, I nodded, adding, “Do it. Get it off me, Korven.”

He went to work, slicing his blade through the yards of expensive silk, hacking and cutting away what had materialized with parts of me returned, so careful around my skin. As soon as the front of the dress fell away, I stood, providing access to the rest of me so he could rip and tear at the shackles I’d worn since the day of my wedding.

I turned as the last swaths of fabric hit the floor, my breath heavy, my anger subsiding. My legs bare and chilled before him.

My wedding gown was ruined. Destroyed by the man who had ensured I would not be marrying into the Kingdom of Havenshire. Tatters of bows, pearls, and lace littered the floor. I stood there, catching my breath—not from the destruction of my cage—but from the Ravenfae kneeling before me, his breath just as heavy, his eyes locked on mine.

I knew what I would have done.

If we’d been shoved together in some other way, some other instance that didn’t involve a curse and a body so slowly reforming, I would have kissed him.

I would have slid into his lap on the floor, tangling our limbs together. I would have run my hands over the underside of his wings just to feel the veins, just as soft as the feather he had gifted to me all those years ago. I would have touched him for hours and taken anything he’d give me.

“Are you cold, Phinie darling?” he whispered.

I gasped as he lifted a hand to the top of my thigh, right underneath the new hem of my dress, inches from the one part of me I wanted back so badly.

He slid his fingers across my legs, running his hand down and around the back of my scraped knee, caressing around the wound with his thumb and blowing softly over the torn skin.

“Yes,” I breathed in reply.

“Sit.”

Immediately, I fell to the bed. He reached around me, grabbing his knitting. Pulling the needles from the woven yarn, he cut the string, tying it with deft fingers.

“These are for you.” He lifted his work, finally giving me a good look at what he’d been working on for two days.

Stockings.

Soft, cream stockings.

In shock, I let him lift my foot to rest on his knee. He bundled the stocking in his hand, and I pointed my toes so he could slip it onto my foot.

And up his hands went.

Over my calf, carefully around my split knee, trailing up the skin of my thighs with the softest wool.

I felt the room disappear. No sounds came from below, no heat from the crackling fire. No curses, no titles, no impending doom to complete a task I cared little for.

The room faded with everything around it, leaving just a hidden princess and the Ravenfae Prince she had fallen for a very long time ago, keeping her safe, keeping her warm, unknowingly keeping her his as she always would be.