Page 90 of Haunted

“By the way,” I mutter as I look up, smiling, “I do believe my head’s bleeding.”

62

I huddle over the pillows on my side of the bed, waiting for Niawen. She has to come. She forgave me.

She will come.

Stop fretting.

She patched my head up. After our argument, I didn’t deserve to be healed.

She healed me anyway.

Her touch was exquisite.

Her proximity, enough to shorten my breaths.

I grip the wretched pillow in my arms. The yielding bundle bears the brunt of my worry as I twist it.

She will come.

The prince in the dungeon also has me on edge.

When he woke, he yelled until he was hoarse. A long time ago, I placed a sound-dampening spell around the dungeons. Niawen will not hear him, but his presence is distressing all the same.

My door creeps open. I relax, forcing my body to go limp. I keep my hands tucked to my side as I pretend to sleep. The bed depresses as Niawen climbs in.

I try not to smile.

I forget about the prince.

I shall have pleasant dreams tonight, I’m sure of it.

63

Niawen and I move into a comfortable rhythm. I pass her in the halls between my duties. We eat dinner together and talk quietly. I read to her before a roaring fire in the main library.

We sleep in my bed together every night.

I reach out, just to have her light course through me. Just to feel something of her warmth.

I don’t cry out anymore.

It’s because of her.

We don’t speak of the mornings. Niawen never comments on how we wake.

She never asks why I reach out.

The wonder gnaws at her.

But I sleep.

Niawen is the key to my relief. After centuries of torment, how can one woman do so much for me?

After the empress’s abuse, how does Niawen’s angelic touch instill such hope in me?

As the days pass, I crave Niawen’s touch. A desire reminiscent of carnal pleasures surfaces, but I still dare to touch Niawen—

---