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A flash of panic flows through me. I’ve been unconscious here, with two brute fae who could’ve done gods knows what to me. I lift the blankets, glancing at the clean dress I changed into last night. My breath hitches when I notice all of my wounds are missing. Jagged slices, from racing across a wild forest, no longer mark my feet. Bruises and swelling are nowhere to be found.
I blink a few times, unable to tear my gaze away, even though I should be perfectly used to this. Char healed me with her magical salve many times before.
A sweat breaks out on the back of my neck.
“Das Celyn used a healing salve on you.” Rainer’s voice is hard and his expression is something akin to disgust as he picks a piece of lint off his shoulder. “And valerian root is a very rare herb around here. Hard to come by. Yet we spared some for you.”
I’m unable to form a coherent response, because the healing salve reminds me of Char.
I wish I had Char.
I wish she was the one to help me heal.
My chest caves in and I clutch it, as if I can reduce the pressure there.
Rainer’s eyes latch onto mine, and even in the flicker of the lamp, I can make out the light blue coloring. His gaze drops to where I grip my chest, and his features soften a fraction.
“Does it still hurt?” he asks.
It will always hurt, I want to say. Instead, I lie. “No.”
His lips tighten, and he gives a sharp nod.
I shiver despite the room’s warmth. I bring my knees to my chest and wrap the sheet around my shoulders. Ink peeks out from beneath his half-buttoned top, catching my attention. I squint, trying to make out the design, but he catches me staring and raises an eyebrow. The sharpness of his features and his unfriendly demeanor intimidates me.
Flustered, I look away again.
Ken clears his throat. “I hate to break whatever weird tension you two have going on—”
“For fae’s sake, Kenisius,” Rainer snaps, rubbing his forehead.
“—but I do think a spy would be far more competent than the little human has proved to be.”
“I’m plenty competent.” My hands tremble as I throw the sheet off me, swinging my legs over the side of the bed. My bare feet make contact with the wood, and I flinch at the coolness.
I’m sick of males—human or not—telling me what I am, what to do, how to act.
I wince as my backside screams with the movement. Das Celyn might’ve rubbed cream on my wounds, but only the wounds they saw.
My fingers flex at my side, tempted to reach back and touch the welts and cuts on my arse. The wounds tore open on the horseback ride, and now it’ll take them longer to heal. I’m tempted to ask if there’s any healing salve left, but I’m unwilling to ask for another ounce of help from them. Especially with how uncomfortable I am with the aid they’ve already given.
Instead, I straighten up, trying not to flinch as I take another step.
Both males watch me with dark expressions.
“Leave us, Kenisius,” Rainer says in a deadly tone. The two exchange a glance and Ken nods before thudding across the room.
“See ya soon, little human,” Ken says, slamming the door shut behind him.
I eye the exit, but Rainer steps into my line of sight. A wrinkle forms on his forehead as he scrutinizes me. His lips purse together into a thin line. His eyes roam me from head to toe, like he’s assessing for damage, rather than in the predatory way Lord Edvin’s eyes had always felt roaming my body.
Regardless of the reasoning, the attention rattles me. I wrap my arms around myself again, trying to quell the ill-timed fluttering in my stomach.
“You’re still hurt,” he says through clenched teeth. “Where?”
“No, I’m not,” I lie.
His face contorts into something deadly, his eyes darkening. “You’re bleeding. I can smell it from here.”
