Page 30 of The Witch Queen

“Dozens, maybe more, is our best guess,” Carex admits. Anguish fills my chest. Imuststop these attacks.

Prince Hawthorne turns back to me. “Let. Me. Help. Your healers can only handle half a dozen people at best before their magic is spent. I can do four times that, maybe more.” The Prince is confident, sure of his magic. Olive, mossy eyes plead with me. I want to help the injured, but what if this impacts Hawthorne’s ability to persuade the rebels that he’s on their side? What if this is some trick by the Velmarans? It’s too much to sort out this quickly, especially as my heart beats faster with every second we don’t move to action. “Can we speak about this privately?” the Prince asks. Carex interrupts before I even open my mouth.

“You’re insane if you think I’m going to leave you alone with Her Majesty,” Carex spits. I turn angry eyes on him. I wasn’t going to agree, but now I will, just to spite Carex and his protectiveness.

“I decide where I go and with whom I speak, Carex.” Before he can respond, I walk away.

Before following me out of the room, I hear the Prince murmur lowly to Carex with thick insinuation, “Don’t worry, we can bring you along another time.” Did he just imply that we’d have athreesome? Right now, of all times? This male is absolutely insufferable.

When we’re in the hall outside the Council chambers, Prince Hawthorne smirks as he leans against the wall with a cool confidence that makes me hot all over, though with anger or something else I don’t want to admit. How can he be relaxed at a time like this? “Make this quick,” I hiss to hide my reaction to his imposing presence.

“I know what’s going through your mind, witchling.” He reaches for my face, as if he’s going to touch it, and I step out of his reach. He drops his hand quickly, trying to cover the gesture by running his hands through his hair. I’mnotaffected by the way the movement makes his hair fall back so perfectly across his handsome features.I can’t be.

I scoff to hide the awkwardness of the situation. “I highly doubt that.”

He leans against the wall again, crossing his arms over his chest casually, eyes sparkling. “You’re wondering whether bringing me will hurt our chances to convince the rebels of the ruse. And whether you can trust me. But you also see the sense in anotherjaw-droppingly powerfulhealer there with you.Andyou’re annoyed at how protective Carex has been acting lately. Plus, you can’t keep your eyes off my handsome Velmaran face,” he says with a grin.

My mouth opens. I want to protest, but he very accurately summed up every thought I’ve had in the last five minutes. “I wasn’t thinking you are jaw-droppingly powerful,” I say to spite him, and the words come out more defensive than I want them to. I don’t even address the handsome comment. He just keeps smirking.

“Look, if the rebels ask me about it, I’ll just tell them you asked me to come, and I had no choice if I was going to keep up appearances with you. And now would hardly be the time for me to betray you, right before we’re about to implicate ourselves in a heist that would easily give you an excuse to have me killed if we’re caught. I can help.”

It’s convincing. But what if I’m the one being played? What if he orchestrated the attack, and he wants to go to help the rebels get away, or for some other duplicitous reason? Or, what if this is just a way to get close to me, to build my trust in him so I spill all my secrets? I can’t forget that Nemesia thought Mazuswantedthe Prince and I to meet. There’s got to be a reason for that. I study his features. His eyes are pleading, open and genuine. And itwouldbe the worst possible time for him to show his hand and betray me. It’s a risk, but we’re already in this, and I can’t deny the injured. But I don’t plan to take my eyes off him while we’re there.

“Fine,” I relent. “But you heal people, and you stay where I can see you. If I suspect you of doing anything other than healing, I will rip the air from your lungs until you suffocate to death.” He only grins, the bastard unafraid of anything I say.

“You know, my father makes these kinds of threats all the time, too. Maybe you have more in common than you think.”

I pull the air from his lungs instantly, then flood them with water for several seconds. When I release the magic, he chokes, spitting water and gasping for breath.

“Point made?” I ask.

“Clear as ice, witchling,” he replies, eyes somehow twinkling with mirth, as if he enjoys my threats.

Now it’s my turn to grin, a feral expression that’s more bared teeth than smile. “Good.”

I aerstep four healers, the Prince, Carex, and six guards to Rusthelm. Thick smoke immediately fills my nose when we arrive, quickly followed by the sounds of groans and screams. Most of the village is on fire and black clouds rise high above into the sky. I steel myself, locking the mask of the Queen in place, ready for anything.

Prince Hawthorne runs into the village the second we appear, gathering a massive orb of water around him and dousing the first building he reaches. Without missing a beat, he drops more water onto the next building, then yells for the healers to follow him. Within seconds, he’s disobeyed my order to stay in my sight. I sigh. It’s not the time to fight this.

“Guards!” Carex yells. “Four of you should follow Prince Hawthorne and search the buildings that are no longer on fire for any survivors. Bring them here. The other two—stay here and start helping the healers set up a makeshift infirmary.” They nod and immediately follow orders. “His power will be helpful here,” Carex admits to me, nodding to the Prince. I reluctantly nod my head in agreement, but say nothing, just calmly walk into town to assist with finding the injured.

“Over here,” a guard yells, and I aerstep to where he stands in front of a partially burned home before he leads me inside. Huddled together in a corner is a family of fae—two children and their parents. It’s incredibly rare for fae to have two children, especially two who are so close in age. They’re burned severely, and only the father appears to be conscious.

“Please, help us,” the father croaks out, lips cracking as he speaks. These injuries might be beyond even my own healing power. Though I can theoretically heal with any conduit I like, I haven’t mastered any of them. It’s time to see if Prince Hawthorne is as powerful a healer as he claims.

“Get the Prince,” I quietly tell the guard before crouching in front of the family. I hide my cringing at their charred skin. “What’s your name?”

“R-R-Russell.”

“I’m going to heal you first, so you can help calm the rest of your family when they wake.” He nods. I place my hand on his forearm, and he moans in pain. I want to jerk away, but I keep my hand steady. Conjuring cool, healing water, his blistered and cracked skin slowly reforms under my touch. He hisses. “I’ll work as fast as I can,” I whisper. “Tell me if you need to take a break.” He only nods, eyes shut tight against the pain.

“Aethers,” Prince Hawthorne says from behind me, voice reverent. Russell’s eyes snap open and lock on Prince Hawthorne, and his already tense body locks up.

“Vel-Velmaran,” he whispers, fear in his eyes.

“It’s okay, Russell,” I tell him. “Prince Hawthorne is a powerful healer. He’s only here to help.” The Prince crouches beside me and reaches for the first child. Russell hisses.

“Here, Prince Hawthorne,” I motion him toward me, scooting over to make space for him next to me. “Heal Russell with me. It will go faster, and then he can help us with his family.” He nods and sits next to me, his large frame crowding my space. Despite the circumstances, my body reacts to the nearness of him, goosebumps breaking out across my flesh. I’m acutely aware of every line of muscle that presses in against me, of the heat of his body as it wraps around me.

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