Page 12 of Wicked Prince of Shadows (Wicked Princes #2)

The newcomer glided in—a tall, solemn figure with coarsely curled silver-white and iron-grey hair pulled back taut and smooth as possible, dark-grey sleeves rolled to reveal his arms, and a dully embroidered collar that seemed to only have half a black and white geometric design.

Several stitches were woven into his flesh, up and down both arms and along his neck.

He carried a basin of steaming water that smelled faintly of resin and iron on top of a carved black wooden chest carved with various interlocking sigils.

With a curt nod, he set everything on the plain black side table and began to work.

“Who are you?” I demanded, relieved to find that despite the pain my mouth was working better.

“Doctor Rasoul,” he said with a slight incline of his head. He opened the carved chest. Inside were several jars of grey salve and a couple slim bottles of dark liquid. “You must be the princess and descendant of Tanith.”

“I’m not the princess—” I drew back on the bed, balling up my fists. My movements were uncoordinated, my body unsteady. The aching chills had not left, and those small sputtering starts of adrenaline weren’t going to get me far.

The Hollow King snapped his fingers at me from his position near the wall. “Lay down, woman.”

“No.” I glared back at him, trying to rise on shaking legs. “I want to know what he’s doing before I let him touch me. I told you I’m not the—”

“Stop.” His breath hissed through his teeth as he glared at me, his eyes burning brighter.

Doctor Rasoul set out three containers of salve, his expression calm but pointed.

He cleared his throat as he unscrewed the lid.

A sooty, herbal scent filled the air. “Her fear is understandable, Vetle. There’s nothing I can do to relieve the pain, and this will be excruciating given our timeline.

” He looked over at me with a slightly apologetic shrug as if this brought him no pleasure. “I doubt she’ll be able to stay still.”

More pain was the last thing I wanted. I held up my hands, palms exposed toward him. “Wait—”

“Fair enough.” The Hollow King shrugged. His shadows shot out again.

The shadows snared my wrists and ankles before I could react, slamming me down against the mattress with bruising force.

They coiled tight around my wrists and at my feet like iron manacles, pinning me in place but leaving my wounds exposed.

I thrashed against them, but they only constricted further, cold and unyielding against my skin.

"Let me go!" I tried to snarl, but my voice broke. His magic had partially healed me, but my strength sputtered and the more I struggled, the tighter the shadows became, digging into my flesh like frozen rope until all I could do was twitch.

Doctor Rasoul dipped a white cloth in the steaming water, then dipped the edge into the salve.

A scent similar to burning flared through the air.

“I apologize for the discomfort. But you will feel far better in a short time. This water isn’t necessary, but I hope it makes this…

somewhat easier.” He then pressed the salve-dipped cloth across a ragged series of cuts on my left forearm.

The first touch of the salve burned like fire, and I’d have come off the bed in a breath, howling like a banshee, except the shadows kept me tight and motionless.

Instead, I screamed and swore and hissed, curling my fingers tight until my knuckles lightened and what fingernails I had cut crescent moons in my palms.

Doctor Rasoul didn’t stop. His movements were precise, efficient. He cleansed my wounds with care, removing the dress just long enough to permit access and then placing it back so that I wouldn’t be exposed any longer than necessary.

The worst wounds required multiple applications of the burning salve, but with each one, it coaxed my flesh to knit back together.

Torn fingernails and ragged toenails stung as new ones grew beneath the balm.

He layered the applications with care, sometimes telling me which layer we were on but never how many there were to go.

He pressed the hot water and salve everywhere, including my hair, cleansing it from the bile, ichor, and blood.

My scalp stung from the myriad of small cuts it found.

By the time Doctor Rasoul finished, I was trembling and sweat-soaked, my teeth chattering from the cold of the room and exhaustion. My throat burned from screaming, and my chest rose and fell with ragged breaths.

“She’s fortunate,” Doctor Rasoul said as he finished wiping the last of the remnants away.

“The Witheringlands hasn’t impacted her ability to heal yet.

She should recover without any scarring this time.

But I don’t recommend any similar excursions any time soon.

She was rather Chaori blessed, from my perspective.

Perhaps they know the curse nears its end. ”

“If they know anything, they should be helping more,” the Hollow King grumbled.

I didn’t feel especially blessed, but deep down I knew I had survived despite overwhelming odds. My mind flashed back to Enola. To have been so close to home and yet unable to make it broke my heart. Tears squeezed from my eyes and trailed down my cheeks.

Doctor Rasoul turned back to face me. “You need rest, princess. Rest and—”

“I’m not eating anything.” Though I trembled, I met the doctor’s gaze. “I appreciate you helping me, but I know better than to eat in the Witheringlands.” Or any place like it.

The Hollow King growled low in his throat, that rumble of displeasure apparent. “You actually believe that? The only one who suffers from this is you.”

“I know that you want to keep me here, and I’m not taking any risks,” I snapped back. It was hard to feel defiant when lying motionless on a bare mattress, but I gave him the best glare I could.

“Fine. If you want to starve, starve,” he said dryly. “It won’t kill you before the wedding, and that’s all that matters to me.”

Doctor Rasoul watched, his dull grey-brown eyes flicking between us until they at last settled on me.

“Well, you’ll be a little stiff after you sleep, Your Highness, but you’ll be more or less back to your old self.

I don’t recommend you take further trips into the kingdom without proper protection and those who know the way this kingdom works.

So far as your refusal to eat, I can understand your reluctance, but it makes no difference. ”

The Hollow King leaned against the wall, arms folded, watching.

“I’m not risking it,” I said shakily. But I prayed they wouldn’t tempt me because my stomach did cramp, reminding me of its emptiness that ached all the more from the day’s experiences. My eyelids heavied, and I struggled to hold them open.

“Sleep is the best medicine after all that has happened,” Doctor Rasoul said, his voice becoming more distant.

The Hollow King loomed over me, disdain in his gaze. “She can sleep until the end for all I care.”

Something warm pressed up over my body as he glared down at me. Then darkness took me.

I was running again—barefoot, bleeding, breath ripping through my throat as I tore along the edge of a black stone cliff.

The wind screamed past me, wild and cold, ripping at my hair and tearing at my ragged skirt.

Gravelly soil crunched underfoot, shifting just enough to send warning jolts through my ankles.

The cliff’s edge blurred, jagged and broken, merging with nothing but blackness below.

My breath tore through my throat, raw and shallow, the sky above pulsing red like an open wound. Jagged rock jutted up on either side, and below—only blackness.

Something sliced across my arm.

I cried out, the words thick and dull on my lips. A hot, wet sting bloomed across my flesh, and blood splattered the stones in crimson arcs. I stumbled, gasping, the earth groaning beneath me. Fissures split the cliff like a shattered bone.

Help, no! Don’t let me fall!

I pitched forward into the open air.

The scream never made it out of my mouth.

Wind shrieked past me, tugging at my limbs, flattening my hair to my scalp. The world spun, sky and stone turning end over end as the void yawned open to swallow me whole.

Far below, the chasm waited like a great mouth.

A massive hand shot up.

Long fingers made from stone and earth, disjointed and yet whole, pale and sharp, stretching toward me. My heart lurched.

This is a bad idea. This is such a bad idea.

I reached out anyway, floating in the darkness. “Who are you?” The words were heavy in my mouth.

A face appeared beneath me, shuttered in sleep. Not human and not animal. Like pieces of rock that had been formed loosely into a visage that you had to look at just right to see the person. Rock with moss and snails.

Smoke curled around the skull like strands of dark curly hair.

I twisted around for one last look at the sky when another hand lashed out, vines coiling around it and snapping it back as it fought to reach down.

I woke with a strangled cry, sitting up with my hair flying in my face. Pale watery sunlight poured through the window. A rough grey blanket covered my body. My breath frosted, so I wrapped the blanket around my shoulders to cover myself better and got up.

As Doctor Rasoul had warned, my body was a little stiff. But it was nothing compared to the pain last night. Curiosity got the better of me though, and I made my way to the window and peered out to see the damage after the behemoth’s attack.

The palace should have been in shambles. How much of it could have been survived after that attack? I’d only seem a little of it, but the sounds had been horrified.

Yet now as I scanned the surrounding area, it was as if the attack yesterday had never happened. At most, there were dark cracks that appeared to have been sealed somehow.

I placed my hand against the stone wall of the windowsill. How was this possible?