Page 129 of The Prince and His Stolen Throne
The branch in my chest withered and slipped away. And that was notfucking idealbecause now my wound bled more freely.
I grasped the arm of the throne and collapsed into it, barely avoiding the jutting pommel of my sword. It stuck out of the smooth, wooden back of a perfectly normal chair. What it had been before it’d become the anchor for a curse.
Hands tried to grab me, to pull me up, to inspect my wound. Every time they jostled me, it sent a fresh spike of pain through my stomach. “S-stop,” I panted, barely able to get the plea out. I just needed a second to catch my breath and then I could—
I coughed up a mouthful of blood.
Fuck, that’s not good.
The hands around me froze. The feeling in the air changed again, like it had before when Wilde stopped time. Even my wound stopped bleeding, a few drops suspended in the air between me and the throne.
My friends and family were ruthlessly shoved out of the way as someone else took their place. Wilde gently turned me over so he could examine the wound.
I leaned against the chair back, staring up at his familiar face. He was usually hard to read, but pain and panic crumpled his features as he surveyed the damage. When he noticed me looking, he slammed the doors closed on his emotions, shuttering his expression again. “I can fix this.”
“I don’t … think a health potion will be enough.” The words were broken and breathy, barely above a mumble, but he seemed to understand them.
He cupped my face with his hands, holding me steady as he looked into my eyes. “Iwillfix this. But it won’t be the same.”
I couldn’t tell if the pain was making him hard to understand or if he just wasn’t making sense. “What won’t be?”
“Will you love me, if things are different?”
I think I love you now.I wanted to say the words, but another wave of pain assailed me. I tried to breathe through it. That would be so much easier if Wilde’s magic hadn’t stilled the air, but I didn’t have the heart to tell him.
A touch on my cheek finally grounded me. I focused on the soft, back-and-forth caress off his thumb rather than the pain for as long as I could.
“Close your eyes,” he whispered.
I almost fought him, to prove that he couldn’t boss me around just because I was dying, but I slowly let them drift shut.
“And think of home.”
Did he mean the apartment upstairs? The manor I’d grown up in? None of those were home. Home was the castle of Bane. Sitting across the table from my father’s. Training with Hector and sitting through endless diplomacy lessons. That was home. The only thing missing was Wilde.
Soft lips pressed against mine, burning with magic. Like trying to eat an ember. I only had a second to enjoy the taste of him before the world faded away, and everything went black.
Chapter One (Again)
I sat up in bed, panting like I’d just been running for my life. I patted my stomach, searching for a gaping wound. All I found was my pajamas twisted around me. When I pulled my hands away, I expected them to be covered in blood. They were squeaky clean, not even a speck of red.Wait, why did I think I was wounded in the first place?
I looked around the room, disoriented and confused, trying to recognize my surroundings. As soon as things came into focus, I realized it was my own bedroom. The same one I’d lived in for twelve years.
A knock on the door startled me and I jumped out of bed, reaching for my sword. Which wasn’t there. Why did I think it would be? I never slept with a sword near my bed.
“Trey?” Dad called. “Time for breakfast.”
Right, breakfast. Because I’d just woken up.
I dressed slowly, my thoughts chasing the dream I’d had last night. There’d been a man with moonlight hair and midnight eyes. Or was it midnight hair and starlit eyes? And there’d been a bloody fight … I couldn’t picture the location at all.
In a half-daze, I collided with the door on my way out of the room.
“Are you alright, Your Highness?” an unfamiliar guard asked.
“Yes, I’m fine, I …” My head ached like someone was merrily thumping a rock against my poor squishy brain. I hurried off before the guard could ask any other questions.
Dad had beaten me to the breakfast table, sitting on Father’s right, and they grinned at each other over their plates. They still flirted like giddy newlyweds all these years later.
