Page 60 of Feathered Thief

Such talk sounded hopeless, yet his deep voice soothed her. He was puffing a bit before they arrived in the kitchen, and she was just awake enough to feel guilty. She was no lightweight.

“Whew!” He lowered her to a seat beside the banked fire. “Let me catch my breath, and I’ll serve up our meal, such as it is.”

She simply watched him, unable to look away.

Then he caught her eye and smiled, which was even more devastating than his earnest expression . . . She suddenly felt overheated, and her stomach rumbled. How embarrassing!

“Is that porridge I smell?” she asked.

He was already scooping some into a bowl. “When did you last eat?”

She had to stop and think. “I’m not sure. I know the gaoler gave me a loaf and some cheese, but that was yesterday. I really don’t remember . . .”

He frowned. “I mixed honey, nuts, and dried fruit into this. Would you like cream on top?”

“Please.”

The oat porridge was the best thing she’d ever tasted, by far. And this man who claimed to love her was the most gorgeous being she’d ever seen—more beautiful even than Geoffroi or the golden bird.

She gradually realized that her bowl was empty and her hero was still talking. “The pot over the fire, the milk jug—all these bins and jars of food and drink never go empty. That mage thought of everything.”

Her thoughts blurred, and she yawned into her hand.

“I am so sorry!” she heard his voice. “You need to sleep, not listen to me babble about magical food. I’ll escort you to your suite so you can have privacy and sleep in a bed.”

That woke her up.

“No! Please don’t leave me alone.”

17

THEN AND NOW

Helena’s eyes were so round and pleading that he couldn’t speak for a long moment. His face felt hot enough to combust. “But . . . you’re a princess, and it isn’t proper,” he sputtered. “I know it’s creepy, all the sleeping people, but they’re all in the Great Hall, and they haven’t sleepwalked even once in all these years.”

She shook her head. “What people? Oh, never mind, just . . . please! If you show me where to find bedding, I’ll sleep right here beside the hearth. Just, please don’t go away!”

He finally gave in. “I’ll bring down a feather tick and some coverlets. “Um, the garderobe is along that hall on the left. You’ll be all right until I get back?”

“No, I want to go upstairs with you.”

She stopped at the garderobe first, and he didn’t mind waiting for her.

He hoped she didn’t guess how awkward he felt when they entered her private chambers and he pulled her bedding off its frame while she watched. At least the curse had kept everything fresh—no dust, no mice, just fresh linens. She didn’t seem to recognize her own suite.

She insisted on carrying some of the coverlets, then silently followed him back down to the kitchen. He arranged her bedding near the hearth but well away from the banked fire. Helena might not remember being a princess, but he couldn’t treat her as anything less. After all she’d been through—and he could only guess at her trials—she deserved pampering. If only she would accept it!

He felt like a wavering fool, trying to treat her like the princess she was while also respecting her wishes. Longing to hold her in his arms while she slept but fully aware of how rash that would be.

“There. The feather tick should soften the stone floor a bit.” His voice sounded loud and overly cheerful.

When she didn’t respond, he turned to see her slumped over like a ragdoll. Blowing out a tremulous breath, he gathered her up, carried her to the tick, and laid her in what he hoped would be a comfortable position. Using his magic carefully so as not to disturb her, he pulled any lingering moisture out of her clothing and warmed her bedding. Finally, he draped two satin coverlets over her. The hood of her cloak had slipped back again. Her cap was missing, and a loop of golden braid draped over her shoulder, shimmering in the firelight.

“Helena,” he breathed her name on a sigh. “You are incredibly beautiful. How could anyone mistake you for a man?” Even the idea made him huff in disbelief. “I have no idea what to do for you next, but I won’t give up. Now that you’re here, I don’t care so much if the curse is never broken . . . No, wait. I don’t mean that. Innocent people are suffering under this curse. God willing, we will find a way to break it. Together,” he whispered.

Then he wrapped himself in another coverlet and lay close enough that he could see her lovely pale face in the firelight, but far enough that he couldn’t give in to the temptation to touch her while she slept.

He slept surprisingly well and awoke early. Helena was still asleep. Thanks to that crazy Magic Council mage, fresh porridge and cream were always at hand, so if she awakened before he returned, she should be fine. But just in case, he set a noninvasive mental alarm to alert him when she woke—one of the many practical uses he’d discovered for his magic in the past few years.

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