Page 36 of Wicked Prince of Shadows (Wicked Princes #2)

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Iwoke, my body stiff but warm. A hand smoothed the hair back from my face. “Sabine?”

Vetle’s voice pressed in on me, gentle but firm, distant at first. The scent of myrrh and cloves enveloped me. Fingers swept across my temple, brushing the damp strands of hair from my face.

My tongue pressed at my cracked lips.

Something warm and earthy touched my mouth—the rim of a cup.

"Drink," he murmured, his hand sliding beneath my head to lift it slightly. Chills played down my spine from where his fingertips stroked my neck and scalp. "Slowly."

Pleasantly warm liquid spilled across my tongue. Mushroom tea, bitter but strong, with an undertone of something sweet I couldn't identify. I swallowed reflexively, heat spilling down my throat, blooming in my chest like a strange, reluctant comfort. The fog in my mind frayed at the edges.

"That's it," he murmured, his thumb grazing the line of my jaw, then brushing the seam of my lips. "Another sip."

I drank again, slower this time. My body felt heavy, anchored to whatever surface I lay on. A bed, probably. Soft sheets beneath me, a pillow cradling my head.

"Open your eyes for me, little thorn," Vetle said, his voice dropping lower. "Let me see those beautiful endless depths you hide behind your lashes."

Endless depths? The phrase tugged at something warm and aching in my chest. I tried to respond, but my eyelids weighed more than I could manage. My lips parted slightly.

"Sabine!" Osric’s voice rang out from somewhere beyond where I lay. Osric. His footsteps pounded across the floor, rapid and eager. “Is she awake yet?”

Vetle's hand left my face. "She's just resting," he said, his tone shifting to something more measured and protective. "Give her time."

"But the dance starts soon!" Osric's voice carried a note of worry mixed with excitement. "Will she be awake for it? She can’t sleep through that."

"We'll see," Vetle replied. "Now go. Let her rest."

The door slammed shut with a heavy thud that echoed through the room.

I forced my eyes open, just barely. The world swam into focus—grey stone ceiling, the flicker of candlelight casting dancing shadows.

My head turned slightly, and I found Vetle sitting on the side of the bed, hunched slightly forward, his amber eyes locked on me like I would fade away if he so much as blinked.

"I’ve never feared death so much as I did seeing it try to claim you." His hand found mine, fingers threading through mine with surprising gentleness. "How do you feel?"

I swallowed hard, my throat thick and my body exhausted but surprisingly whole. Heat crept up my neck and across my face at his words. I barely knew how to respond, so I went with the basics. “Not nearly as bad as I expected.”

“Doctor Rasoul said you should be fully recovered aside from some lingering weakness and fogginess. You’ve barely stirred for hours. Your sleep was so deep, I don’t know if you were even able to dream.”

I blinked slowly, trying to rouse myself. There had been dreams. Something with vines and hands and falling. But the memories slipped away like water through a sieve. “Is everyone all right?” I started to sit up.

Vetle’s hand rose, pressing me gently back. Clawed fingers splayed across my shoulder with just enough pressure to pin me and make my breaths tighten. “Deep breaths.” He pressed a pale-grey mug into my hands. “Drink if you can. It’ll help you complete your recovery.”

I sipped the thick liquid, wincing at the bitter tang that clung to the back of my tongue.

But with each swallow, the haze in my head peeled back layer by layer, until the room sharpened at the edges and the weight in my limbs eased.

I set the mug aside, my fingers trembling just enough to betray me.

The memories came flooding back—the behemoth attack, the vines dragging us toward the chasm, Osric's terrified screams, the deathbeak's beak piercing my thigh. I looked down at my leg, half-expecting to see it mangled and useless even with the combination of Vetle’s shadows and Rasoul’s healing magic.

Lifting the blankets, I smiled to find it loosely wrapped beneath a fresh grey gown.

I wiggled my toes experimentally, the muscles stiff but not painful. “Is Osric all right?”

“Yes. Eager for you to be awake and terrified you’ll miss the dance tonight.

” Vetle smiled softly, but his claws flexed and retracted against his thighs.

His shadows curled along his shoulders and hands, moving along his wings.

“He was a little bruised and cut up, but the healing salves set him right.”

“I’m glad he’s all right.” My chest tightened as I saw those vines wrapping around him in my mind.

“You saved his life,” Vetle said, voice low and certain. “I couldn’t break away from the behemoth in time. I thought—”

He stopped.

His jaw locked, the stitching in his face pulling tight. He looked toward the window, though the curtains were drawn. Silence stretched between us, thick with everything he hadn’t said.

My chest ached.

I didn't know what to say to that. The warmth in his eyes, the way his thumb continued those gentle circles against my skin—it made something deep inside me ache with longing and fear in equal measure.

This man who had terrified me days ago, who had kidnapped me and threatened my life, was now looking at me like I was precious.

Like I mattered beyond just being a potential solution to this curse.

I reached for his hand, my fingers brushing against his clawed ones. "But you did get there. We're both safe."

He turned his hand over, curling his long fingers around mine. His thumb began those small, aching circles again. "I am a king. It’s my duty to protect my people. And you—" He paused, his gaze dropping to our joined hands. "You…almost died.”

My heart squeezed in response. “But I didn’t.”

His jaw worked, the stitches pulling tight along his face. His gaze lifted. The fire in those amber eyes had quieted into embers, slow-burning and intense. "No. You didn't." His voice was rough, barely above a whisper. "I will never permit you to be so close to death again."

I swallowed as a knot formed in my throat.

The way he said it—so passionately, so firmly.

It was like a vow that settled between us, dark and solemn, and the way his thumb kept circling my palm betrayed something softer.

His skin was cold, yet the steady motion sent a strange heat up my arm.

The ache intensified within me. Maybe it was because I knew that if my hope didn’t prove right, he might have to choose between sacrificing me and…

I shifted, threading my fingers through his, palm to palm. “You can’t promise that.” My voice barely carried.

His grip on my hand tensed, and the air heavied between us. “No,” he admitted quietly. “But I can try.”

I ducked my head but didn’t let go of his hand. Though I couldn’t bring myself to say it aloud, I knew that if it turned out Rasoul’s blood proved my being royal changed nothing, then Vetle would have to make a devastating choice. My throat tightened.

The flicker of candlelight caught on his hair and along the scars of his face, gilding him in pale gold and shadow. His wings were half-furled, the tips brushing the floor as his shadows moved as if the wind brushed against the flame.

It wasn’t a choice anyone should have to make. And suddenly I doubted that Rasoul’s blood would reveal anything to help us. A desperate, gnawing fear surged again, bitter in the back of my throat. I swallowed hard. “What about the tablets? Did they reveal more?”

His expression shifted, some of the anguish replaced by something sharper as if he braced himself.

"They did. The guards are taking it in shifts to reveal it. You were right. The earth had built up around the tablets. It’s quite solid, but they will have the rubbings for Maltric.

He will translate them tonight.” He indicated my mug on the small table with a dip of his head, the light catching on his spiked crown. “Drink more of your tea.”

“Were there any other pictograms? Anything that offers another solution?” My heart quickened as I took another sip.

“There are signs that there is a counterimage that mirrors the top third of the panel…or I suppose now the top quarter. But the excavation and analysis aren't finished yet. We’ll have answers no later than dawn.” His gaze drifted over me, a soft marveling in his expression.

“What made you realize that there was more hidden?”

“I work with plants.” I looked down, heat flushing over my neck.

The way he watched me made my pulse thrum low.

"After seasons of working in the gardens, you notice how things accumulate.

Soil builds up year after year. Leaves decay.

Roots push through. What's buried gets deeper.

" I gestured vaguely toward where I thought the tablets might be, then offered an awkward smile, my shoulders tensing. “It’s just what I do.”

He smiled, his fangs showing more. Something like delight shone in his eyes as his pupils widened. “So it is.”

My fingers twitched against the mug as I lowered it. “What about everyone here? The behemoths…everything…” I glanced around the bedroom that had been my home these past days. It seemed as it had been from the first time I was here, though the curtains were drawn firmly shut.

A muscle jumped in his jaw, his gaze flickering as his brow drew up. “The garden was almost completely destroyed. Most of the storerooms as well.”

“And Osric thinks there will still be a dance?” I held the mug tighter, my hands shaking a little despite the warmth seeping through the ceramic.