Page 55 of Wrath of the Never Queen

He shoots me a confused look, one brow raised.

“To know more about you.” He speaks as though to say ‘of course’. A rush of affection flows through me as my cheeks warm. Between the heat of the fire and the prince’s words, I find my whole body growing warmer, in fact.

“And have you found anything interesting?” I wring my fingers together tostop myself from grabbing and hugging him. He straightens, an excited smile on his lips, and sits an inch closer to me on the sofa.

“Much indeed! I have learned your magic flows from an organ next to your spine. An…” He opens the book and scans the page, finding the word he was looking for. “…Ophid, is that correct?”

“It is.” I give him a small round of applause and he beams. “Although mine has been…dormant, I suppose, for quite some time.” An ache throbs in my chest, and I resist the urge to reach out to my au’mana again, knowing it will only disappoint me. The prince blinks.

“Dormant?”

“Yes.” Bitterness tinges my voice. I run my tongue across my teeth. “Ever since I was brought here. I thought it might have been drugs at first. I am not so sure anymore. The only thing I am sure of is I cannot use my magic. And I do not know why.”

“I am sorry,” the prince says softly, reaching across to lay his hand on top of mine. I inhale deeply and recall the way he hugged me that day in the gardens.

“Your Highness?” I enquire tentatively. “Would you…would you hold me?”

I feel foolish as soon as the words leave my mouth, but the prince only smiles kindly and opens his arms. I shuffle over, still wrapped in my blanket, and curl up next to him. He rests hisarms on me, pulling me even closer, and lays his cheek on the top of my head.

“I would do whatever you asked of me, Shivani,” he whispers as I sink into him. Each muscle I had not realised was tense begin to relax, and I close my eyes. Safety. Comfort.

“Thank you, Your Highness,” I breathe as my eyelids become heavy.

“My name is Theo,” he replies in a soft, low voice.

Theo,I think, before tipping past the precipice of sleep and drifting off into a dragon-filled slumber.

???

I dream of my father, the sound of his heavy breathing when he returns from the public house. I brace myself for his barbed words, but instead, two huge wings sprout from his back. He towers over me as I curl into a ball, pretending to sleep to avoid his wrath. I dream of the snow hare, heart thumping, muscles burning, terror-ridden.

I awake with a start. My eyes shoot open, and I blink quickly, trying to remember where I am. The orange glow of an early sunrise pours through the window. I realise I am still on the sofa, half-lying against the prince. He has slumped onto the arm of the sofa and is softly snoring, his arm propped under his head. I amafraid to move in case I wake him and our embrace is over.

My head is cosy against his chest. His muscle is firm under my cheek, and my pulse stutters. I close my eyes and try to memorise this moment, the scent of him so close to me, the warmth I can feel from his arm around me, the security and safety of being curled up next to him.

“Good morrow,” he says, and I jump out of my skin.

“G-Good morrow, Your Highness,” I stammer, wondering when he had woken up.

“Theo,” he reminds me, and I can hear the smile in his words. His voice is slightly different, thicker and slower. I realise, with a thrill, that it is his morning voice. It is an intimate thing to hear someone when they first awaken and have not put on their mask for the day.

“Theo,” I repeat, feeling how his name rolls in my mouth. To address a man of nobility by his given name, particularly so when they are royalty, is generally reserved only for close family and spouses. It is widely accepted to be a private acknowledgement. I wonder what it means that he has given it to me—the obvious answer does not seem likely.

Neither of us moves from our positions, warm and comfortable but scandalously close. His hand trails delicately across my upper arm while we doze. His fingers barely brush me, butit feels like a deliberate movement, and that is enough to cause an eruption of goosebumps along my neck. We are lying in a position you would expect from a married couple in the privacy of their own home, but not two people who are…merely friends.

The thought sours me, and I shift my position away from him until I am sitting upright. The prince—Theo—looks at me quizzically.

“My apologies, Shivani,” he says, pushing himself to an upright position as well. “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable.”

“No, it is not that, it…” I pull the blanket tighter around me. “We should not have been so close, like that, when you only view me as your friend.”

Theo stares at me.

“It is not right,” I press on. “You should…reserve such things for someone you choose to court.”

“Shivani.” He furrows his eyebrows. “I am courtingyou.”

My heart leaps into my mouth. My stomach falls through the sofa. My brain stutters to a halt.

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