Page 59 of Dare

“We can do this the easy way or the Winter way. Which do you prefer?”

“Which one involves my fist and your face?”

“You’ve been rubbing your mouth ceaselessly.”

Attentiveness claimed his features. Like a reflex, I thought of his determined expression when he flushed the poison from my body, then remembered him examining my wounds last night and this morning.

My tastebuds responded, conjuring the deceptive flavor of those najava berries. Stubbornness wouldn’t keep me alive. Refusing his help was just silly.

I parted my lips. My compliance allowed his fingers to ghost over my mouth, the contact gentler than I’d expected.

Then again, he’d been gentle in the tower before choking me. Yet the shivers across my body insisted this was different, and I wanted to scream because his touch shouldn’t be tender. Like last night, his fingers shouldn’t warm my flesh.

“Wider,” he instructed, his voice uncharacteristically gruff. “Slowly.”

With his thumb pushing on my lower lip and the rest of his hand braced under my chin, he tilted my head to the light. His eyes narrowed, sketching my lips and then sliding past them to seek out my tongue, where the poison had leaked.

“More,” he murmured. “Let me see.”

My thighs clenched, but the command found its way under the chemise anyway, his words flicking against my clit like a crooked finger. Getting ahold of myself, I unfurled the flat of my tongue. The prince’s pupils fattened and sharpened at the same time. Any more of this, and that look would penetrate deeper.

But then a crease formed between his dark brows. “You lost your voice at a young age.”

The question hit me like a splash of cold water. “It happened after Summer caged me. I was twelve.”

Something that bordered on anger kindled in his irises. “Did your throat feel branded from the inside? Did you have a fever afterward?”

“Both. I’d been screaming until I couldn’t anymore, until I killed my voice.”

The anger intensified, icing his words whether or not he noticed. “Your marking caused that, not you. This kingdom uses an ink infused with ash particles of Summer tinder. When the guards painted your neck, residue seeped into your vocal cords,” he explained. “It can happen. From what I see, there’s tissue damage because you must have vomited some of the liquid.”

I had. Pyre had smacked me over the head for that.

Loss clogged my throat. So I hadn’t erased my voice. It had been Summer’s doing.

In the span of an hour, the prince had volunteered to step over that wire first, to make sure it was safe, then he’d launched after me when the boa appeared, bore my weight while descending the thorned tree, and reassured me about the tattoo. He could have continued running while the viper targeted me. Instead, the prince had stormed in my direction.

The words fell from my mouth. “Thank you.”

The prince gave a start, as though gratitude was foreign to him. Uncertain, he offered a brisk nod. “You’re still recuperating from the poison. Your mouth will be uncomfortable today. It will pass.”

An eternity went by. His breath stroked my cheeks, his body enveloping me in the scents of needle forests and blustering winds. Sweat licked down my spine and between my breasts. The slightest movement would brush my nipples across his chest, which rose and fell heavily beneath his shirt.

The moment snuck up on us like the tripwire we’d stepped over earlier. Something hidden under the surface, then suddenly there, straining tightly. If not careful, it would trap us.

Mist sprayed the trees. A breeze shook the gleaming leaves and produced a thumping noise.

The sound broke our trance. It reminded me of ropes hitting a slab, the same thought gripping the prince as well, our gazes locking in recollection. We swerved toward the canopy.

“The conveyance,” he muttered.

I jerked my chin at the expanse of trees. “They would come through here.”

That much, I knew for certain while remembering their direction. I had assumed the cords were natural to the rainforest, but what if that wasn’t true?

We hastened toward the commotion and scanned the foliage. My fingers seized his sleeve, and I pointed to a sliver between the leaves, where a garland materialized, the current causing it to smack the branches.

I thought back to the castle blackout in Autumn, when I’d helped Briar and Poet follow the ribbon streamers installed in the ceiling. The stronghold’s hallways had been as dark as a crypt, yet I’d been able to see my way through after years of living in a cage.

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