Page 31 of A Court of Masks and Roses
“Of course I’m female, you bastard.” The first words I’ve spoken to Trace since directing him to Lianna’s suite. I pull off my wig—the bloody thing is uncomfortable and useless atpresent—and ruffle my own short hair in relief. As for Leaf, my sister needs no explanation for why going to the infirmary with my marks and bruises isn’t an option. She does need one for why Trace is currently in our suite and I’m covered in blood. “There was a Viva Sylthia attack in the woods,” I say briskly. “Followed by some inopportune disrobing and piecing of two and two together in the process.”
Leaf freezes, the color draining from her face. As if the compromise of my identity weren’t trouble enough, Trace and I appear to have barged in on my sister in the middle of research.Living crystals, books, and that rutting board with the charted magical elements leave little to the imagination as to Leaf’s field of study. Stars take me.
My blood heats, my fingers curling into fists as I step between my sister and Trace. “In case I was unclear before, you will tell no one that Kal and Lady Lianna are one and the same. Compromise my identity, and we will discover just how kindly the king takes to his captain of the guard sleeping with an Everett princess.”
Trace crosses his arms, composed except for a vein that pulses along his temple. “Threat little becomes you, my lady. Why don’t you try a civil tongue and see where that gets you.”
“Why don’t you spare me your notion of manners.”
“Why don’t you both shut up and sit down before you bleed on the rug.” Leaf turns her back on the battle raging between Trace and me and retrieves her medicine chest. She pops open the lid, her upper body disappearing inside the box. “Worktable, not the good chairs. Both of you.”
Trace stares at my sister’s back, a flicker of amusement touching his face.
I grip the cloak more tightly around my shoulders before remembering that it’s Trace’s. My fingers release the cloth at once and I cross my arms over my chest instead. The woundwhere the arrow nicked me throbs in dull waves, but I’ll wait until Trace is gone to attend to it. “I’m fine, Leaf.”
“As am I,” Trace says, but Leaf spins around on us, her arms full of bandages.
“No. No, neither of you isfinein any sense of that word. And neither am I.” Her thin voice trembles once, and she draws a breath before continuing with borrowed strength. Her eyes glisten. “There was an attack on the palace grounds, my sister is bleeding, and words that will shatter the lives of everyone in this room are being tossed about like confetti. So you two will let me do the one thing that is actually in my power, and you will sit on that table. Now.”
My breath catches. Trace weighs Leaf’s words for only a heartbeat. “Yes, ma’am.” Touching his fist to his chest, he crisply takes the half dozen steps to Leaf’s worktable and hoists himself onto it. His hand hesitates at the hem of his shirt.
Leaf glowers at him.
Trace pulls the linen off in one smooth motion.
It’s all I can do to keep from sucking in a breath. The skin stretching taut over Trace’s muscles is covered in scars. Scars from knives, from whips, from brands, from worse. In that company, the bloody gash that crosses his pectoral and disappears around his flank seems trivial. A blue healing crystal, like Leaf’s, dangles against his sternum on a leather thong.
Seeing my stare, Trace’s eyes pierce into me, daring me to say one word, ask a single question. I don’t.
“You too, Kali,” Leaf snaps at me. “And take that damn cloak off so I can see what happened.”
I pull myself up onto the table beside Trace. Without a shirt, the man gives off more heat than a furnace and is impossible to ignore. I shoot a glare at my sister but let Trace’scloak fall from my shoulders, leaving my back and shoulders bare. The front of my once-beautiful dress is a mess of rips and stains, the sleeves little better than baggy satin rags.
Trace leans over and nudges one of my shoulder straps down a bit. I open my mouth to snap at the man, but something in his tight gaze makes me stop.
“When I asked who left bruises on Lady Lianna,” he says softly, “the answer wasme, wasn’t it?”
I shrug, tilting my head obediently as Leaf steps behind me to examine my wound. “Might have been Luca. It little matters.”
“It matters,” says Trace.
Leaf snorts, shifting her attention from me over to Trace. The room is quiet for a few heartbeats while Trace watches Leaf’s too-experienced fingers wipe away the blood and inspect his wound. “I see you’ve a bit of practice tending trauma,” he says gently to my sister. “You have good hands.”
She flashes him a scolding look. “I see you’ve a bit of practice getting skewered, which puts you in good company with this one.” Leaf jerks her head in my direction. “Don’t move, either of you. I need to get a few things.”
Trace raises a brow. “Not easily cowed, is she?” he murmurs, watching Leaf pile sutures and sharp needles into a small metal basin with more force than necessary.
My chest squeezes. “Leaf—”
“If you don’t want needles, don’t get sliced,” Leaf snaps over her shoulder before striding back to us. “Simple logic.”
Trace’s eyes narrow on me, his mouth breaking into a small grin. “Are you... Don’t tell me you are afraid of needles.”
My face heats.
Trace throws back his head and laughs. A deep, rich sound that fills the room with sudden, unlikely warmth.
“Are you through?” I demand when he stops for breath.
