Page 257 of A Dance of Water

Vale was desperate enough to beg, if that was what it would take.

So he did.

With effort, however.

"Please."

That singular word seemed to suck all the wet, wintry air from around them.

"You’ll plead for her?" Tharen asked.

Vale swallowed. "Didn’t I?"

Pretty.

Protect.

His dragon’s rumblings were muted, understanding that what she needed right now was not a fire-scaled beast, but a warm hand.

Mine.

From his other side, Bastian spoke. "He won’t harm her. If you’re going to do it, do it now. While she rests. But we must hurry."

He looked out at their surroundings. The untraveled path before them, the thick stormclouds, brewing with the promise of a tempest. They were on borrowed time. It was a waiting game for her storm to break free.

"You’re right," Bastian commented.

Vale hissed, so wrapped up in her that he forgot their link was still open, and he was sending his thoughts to them.

Pride made him bristle. His thoughts were his own. "The sooner we get to the castle and out of the open, the better." Vale shifted back in the saddle to make room and held an arm out. "Give her to me." His tone brooked no argument.

"You’re my King, so I will obey," Tharen said lowly, anger coating his every word, "but know that I’d much rather gut you for taking her from me."

"I understand," Vale said.

He could not look away as Tharen gently—so, so gently—lifted Luella. Vale directed his horse closer, his leg brushing against Tharen as he took her. She whimpered in pain, and Vale hushed her, keeping his hands far from her bloody, healing back.

"Careful," Tharen barked.

Vale was too busy getting her situated to reply.

Finally, he found a position that didn’t make her sleeping face pinch with pain.

Luella faced him in the saddle, her thighs on top of his, her cheek pressed against his chest with Graves’s cloak pooled in her lap, stuck between them. He carefully tugged it free and wrapped it around her front. Her back was exposed to the air, her fragile wings trembling with every brush of frigid wind. The thin gown she wore was in tatters, barely clinging to her.

Vale gripped the reins with one hand, the other curling around her shoulder carefully. She sighed against him, her wings jerking softly. The action made a fresh wave of blood ooze from the tears in her skin. His jaw clenched. She needed a healer; fae were too delicate.

Entranced, Bastian reached forward, brushing his fingertip against the base of her spine, right above the curve of her backside. His touch was featherlight; she did not stir. A smudge of red was on the pad of his finger, and he brought it to his mouth, sucking on it. "Bloody strawberries. Divine."

The blood… Will you make it to the castle?Vale thought, careful not to wake Luella.

Bastian gave a terse nod in response. And that was that.

His dragon was soothed by her presence, possessive claims turning to low rumbles in his chest.

After some time riding, when the trees had thickened, marking the true halfway point of the journey, Luella stirred in Vale’s arms.

She hummed sleepily, head lifting as she looked around. "Vale?" she murmured. High in the treetops, faint birdsong drowned out the sound of his name on her lips. He wanted to hear her say it again like that—drowsily.

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