Page 78 of Bound By Darkness

She wasn’t over eighteen, her cheeks rosy and full ofyouthful spark. “Excuse me?” she repeated. “Is… is that woman beside you alright?”

“Yes,” I spat, my arm tightening around her. “She’s fine.”

The girl bit her lip. “She has a gash above her temple.” She wrung her hands. “And she needs stitches. I promise to be gentle, your… your highness.”

“Do not use that name,” I ground out, swiping the hair away from her temples. Indeed, a deep gash rested above her left eyebrow, leaking red.

How had I missed it?

The girl chewed on her cheek, her eyes shifting back and forth. “My apologies, Kaydn,” she squeaked. “You… you are him, are you not?” she said as she gestured to my eyes.

The one sign I could not hide. The sign that gave me away at any of the Four Houses.

“I go by Ivan. Do not mention my old name again, and spread the word throughout your comrades.”

She nodded quickly, her head dipping in reverence. “Pardon my question, but what is a High Fae prince doing here?”

A muscle in my jaw ticked. “Aren’t you a medic? Do your job and leave the personal shit out.”

She bowed her head low, her body shaking. “I didn’t mean to offend.” Her lip quivered as she set the med kit onto her lap. “May I?”

I reluctantly nodded, shifting Thalia to rest against my chest as I brushed her hair from her face with nimble fingers. “Make it quick.”

The girl, whether knowing not to piss me off, worked diligently and efficiently to dress and clean the gash. She slathered putrid green paste on Thalia’s bruises and cuts, her trimmed nails clicking together as she wrapped fresh linen from temple to temple.

“She’ll need rest. There’s a med tent located near the front of the city square.” She paused. “Well, what’s left of it.”

“Thank you–”

“Aline,” the girl said softly.

“Thank you, Aline.”

She had done an excellent job as I scanned the linen across Thalia’s temple. Not one error had been made, her skills observed in the delicate needlework and cleaning she’d completed despite the jostling of the carriage.

“I can tend to yours as well,” she inquired, her fingers opening the kit as she reached for a bottle of swirling black liquid.

I shook my head. “I’m fine. A few bruises, that’s all.”

“But–”

I shifted my gaze to hers, a look of cold malice and defiance staring at her. “I’m fine.”

She dropped the topic, her hands resting in her lap as we rounded the corner through the broken gate. She knew better than to test my patience or she knew the rumors. Rumors of who I was… of the hatred I was capable of.

Shouting erupted as we rounded the corner. There were so few survivors, the streets littered with more dead than people standing. Guards, men, women, and children were piled high along the main road.

A few citizens were knee-deep in dirt, shovel in hands as they tossed the dead into massive pits. The place reeked of decay as the carriage maneuvered through the broken wood and deceased.

The rage festered further. A deep wound refusing to close as onlookers narrowed their gazes toward me. Good. Let them direct their hatred at me. Something solid. Something tangible and real.

As we neared the makeshift campsite,a few lowered their gaze in reverence, their fingers crossing in front of their lips. I did not deserve their respect.

I preferred the people who sneered.

The camp consisted of a few pop-up tents spread here and there among the wreckage. A once bustling city reduced to less than fifty tents.

Many of them killed were half-breeds, refugees from the war seeking asylum. Only a few remained from the carnage as they shouldered the hardships of many.

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