Page 48 of Wrath of the Never Queen

I instinctively touch my side, but the pain is almost entirely gone.

“I am,” I reply, eyeing the stairs. “But will the climb be worth it?”

“It will.” He smiles, his eyes twinkling.

I huff my way up the stairs, grabbing the top of my skirts and lifting them so they do not tangle around my feet. The prince patiently climbs behind me, stopping when I stop and going when I go. By the time we reach the top, myface is so flush, I no longer notice the cold. We meet an old wooden door marked with age.

“Very well, then,” I gasp out, one hand on the stitch burning my side. “Show me.”

I am reassured by the prince also being out of breath, his cheeks tinged with pink. He slides past me and twists the doorknob. I peek around him, but he moves in front of me, obscuring my view.

“Ah.” The prince grins and wags a finger. “A surprise, remember?”

“Is this not it?”

“Almost, but not quite.” He turns to me. “May I cover your eyes?”

I glance behind me at the narrow, spiral staircase where he led us. My throat is suddenly dry.

“Yes,” I reply hoarsely.

He gives me a reassuring smile and places a hand over my eyes, moving behind me as he does so. His skin is smooth and warm, his touch gentle. I lean into him instinctively.

“Forward,” he says softly in my ear. “A few steps.”

I do as he instructs, tentatively taking a step and then another. His hand appears on my waist, halting me. Even with my eyes covered, I sense his presence close behind me. His chest brushes my shoulder blades. My breath hitches.

“Are you alright?” Concern laces his voice. “Is it your rib?”

“No,” I breathe. “I am well.”

His hand squeezes my waist at my answer. I am almost disappointed when he moves in front of me, keeping his hand over my eyes. I hear the squeak of a door hinge before a wall of warm, humid air washes over me.

“Okay,” the prince says, removing his hand. “Here it is.”

I blink at the sudden light. As soon as my vision clears, my jaw drops.

“Oh,” I gasp softly. “Your Highness, it is beautiful.”

We stand in a room made entirely of glass, circular and tall, with a domed ceiling. I am struck by the warmth and the smell—earthy and fragrant. Several terracotta pots of various sizes sit in various places, housing some flowers I recognise and some I do not. Towering ferns grow up one side, a wall of ivy lines another. A large table sits in the middle, laden with lines of small, square tubs. Each of them is filled with rich soil and dotted with vibrant green sprouts. A watering can sits in the corner next to a rake and two spaces, one short and the other tall. Morning sunlight filters in, drenching the flowers in a honey glow. I inhale deeply.

“Thank you,” the prince replies, shutting the glass door behind us to keep the warmth in. I step in further, admiring a tall flower with velvety red petals.This is where the flowers come from, I think to myself, recalling the castlecorridors filled with strange plants.

“Did you grow everything here?”

“I used to,” he tells me, standing near the door while I wander. “I am sad to say I have neglected this place for a while, leaving the work to the servants. But…I have recently rekindled it.”

I feel his eyes on me. I turn to look at him and catch his gaze once more, intense and warm.

“I have you to thank for that,” he says.

“Oh.” I find my mouth is suddenly dry. “You are welcome, then.”

There is a beat of silence before he abruptly crosses the distance between us. I nearly take a step back but resist, squaring my shoulders and raising my chin instead.

“How are you finding your art room?” he asks innocuously, as though he could not have asked from the other side of the glasshouse.

“Yes, it…” I consider a curt, formal response but the prince is standing so close and watching so intensely, I cannot formulate one. I think of him dozed on painkillers and speaking candidly to me. I decide I do not need lavender tonic to do the same. “It has been a true sanctuary for me, Your Highness. I fear I would have lost my mind in this cage otherwise. You have my sincere thanks.”

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