Page 170 of Court of the Fae Princes

Cassia

My men struggle down the hall as we slowly follow Lady Grave into the castle. I want to help them. All of them. But I can’t. At least not the human way. Without another thought, I pull the dead to me, giving them my command and in an instant, my princes are being carried down the hallway. I’m sure in any other state, they wouldn’t appreciate it, but they say nothing now.

“Which way to your healers?” I ask, realizing that’s where we should be headed.

“This way,” Lady Grave says, and then we’re racing after her.

We weave through hallway after hallway until we enter a room that branches into multiple other rooms. A half a dozen fae stand there wearing gray gowns, their hair pulled back in matching styles. Their hands are twined together, and their gazes are our doorway, as if they’ve simply been waiting for us to arrive. Like all of this was planned hours before. Within seconds, they launch into action.

“Each room has been set up for each of the princes,” one of the women says, speaking to the dead rather than me. “Follow your healers.”

“Cassia needs tending to also,” Prince Zane says.

I glance down at myself and see my clothes stained by blood from where my mother attacked me. Then I return Prince Zane’s concerned look. “I’ll be okay.”

“You’ll take care of yourself,” Prince Forrest barks.

They all nod in agreement, looking uncomfortable in the arms of the dead. I realize they’re not going to budge on this, even if adrenaline is making it so my wounds don’t hurt, no doubt. So I nod and smile. “I’ll have them fix me up.”

As my men are carried into the different rooms, my heart feels like it’s being pulled in four different directions. To my surprise, Prince Forrest looks back, battered and bruised, but his eyes intent. “Go with Sulien. He needs you the most right now.”

It’s the permission to do what my heart couldn’t decide, and I race after him. Two healers are standing over him as two undead step back. They begin removing the torn shreds of his clothes, and I circle around them to his head. My fingers tangle into his hair, and his eyes open.

“You shouldn’t see me like this,” he whispers.

“Why? Do you have an embarrassing secret tattoo?” I whisper with a laugh that ends on a sob.

He turns his head closer to mine, and I press my forehead against his own. His breathing is so harsh. I’ve never heard a fae like this. Can he be healed? What if he can’t?

“You’re going to be okay,” I whisper, and something shifts. The threads I’ve felt connecting me to the dead are there, but there are also new threads now. They’re different, far more powerful, and I feel them running between me and my men. They’re blue, bright, and vibrant, but I don’t know what they do.

“To the tub,” one of the healers says.

I step back as Sulien is lifted into the tub by the dead. He’s lowered into the water up to his chest. His eyes are closed once more, but pain mars his expression. The healers grasp things from baskets beside the back and begin to sprinkle them into the water, murmuring words.

“Death is powerful. Death is absolute. But this fae is not yet ready for the dead. He must stay here. Amongst the realm of the living. Until he’s called home.” They keep going, and then their words become chants. One of the women begins to run water over his face, and strange scents fill the air. Medicinal scents, not pleasant ones.

Another healer is suddenly at my side. She pulls up my shirt and begins applying a sticky substance to my wounds. When she glances up, she smiles. “Your Majesty, these should be healed within hours. They’re deep, but not deathly so.”

When she’s done, I thank her and return my attention to Sulien. They’re still chanting, still adding things to his bathtub, so I stay still, giving them space, as time ticks away.

Soon, the blue thread calls me to him. I don’t know what I’m doing when I reach into the water and begin to wash his face, washing away the dirt and blood, revealing the extent of the bruises and cuts. Tears fill my eyes, but I keep going, even as I feel the power that blossoms from my touch. My finger traces a particularly bad wound, and it fades to a scar before my eyes.

My heart races. I touch the bruises and cuts on his face, and they all fade. Not disappear, but fade.

It’d comfort me, if not for the way his breathing seems to fill my mind. So unsteady. So wrong. And absolutely frightening.

Unable to stop myself, I reach down into the water and let my hand rest on his chest. I listen to the wrongness of his breathing, and I tug on the power of the blue thread. It’s unsettling, like trying to get a strange animal to obey my command, but I’m patient, knowing what it can do if it wants. Healing, apparently, is something I can do, but it’s not nearly as easy as controlling the dead.

Then his breathing grows less labored. Slowly, painfully slowly, it calms until his breath is that of a sleeping man. My eyes open, and I stare at his stunning face. The harsh lines. The dusting of a beard. The beauty that is this man, and the gentleness I know that lies beneath it all. I’ve known him all my life. How is it that it took me this long to realize that I love him?

One of the healers kneels down beside me. “The spell… he should sleep for a time, but we’ll continue his healing.”

I glance at her. She’s the youngest fae I’ve seen in the House of Death. “Will he be okay?”

She surprises me by smiling. “He will be. But like most things, you just need to give it time.”

It reminds me of my own words. How often did I just need more time to face something? Maybe this time I have to be ready to give that patience to someone else.

---