Page 114 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

I look down at my hands and sure enough, the backs are bright red with sunburn. I’m stunned—and then I laugh. “I haven’t seen sunlight in two years. I must be truly pale.” I flex my hands and wince at how hot and tight my skin feels. “That’s going to be painful in the morning.”

“What can we do for it? I do not like to see you in pain.”

I think of the delicate, floral-scented lotions I have back at the tower. I didn’t bring them because we only brought necessities, and why would lotion be one? But now I’m regretting it. I shrug. “Not much to do about it except wait for it to heal. Tomorrow I’ll wear a hood. It just felt nice to have the breeze and the sunlight on my face.”

It was really the only nice thing about today.

“I should have left you safe in the tower,” he mutters to himself. “Let me see your feet.”

“I wouldn’t have stayed,” I retort. And I’m wrong—the sunlight wasn’t the only nice thing about today. Being with him is always wonderful. I peek at him as he kneels in front of me, lifting my skirt and taking one of my aching feet in his hand.

He frowns down at them as if they’ve somehow failed me and then pulls one shoe off. “These are useless.”

“I noticed.” I wince when even more sand falls from inside the shoe though we left the beach hours ago. “They weren’t fun to walk in.”

“I will fix them for you before we leave in the morning.” As if it’s his job to tend to me, Nemeth wipes sand away from my toes and then rubs my foot, tsking at the red marks and blisters on my skin. “Tomorrow, when you get tired, I will carry you.”

A thoughtful offer, but it’s one that makes my mind spin into uncomfortable territory. We walked all day today, most of it in pensive silence. The silence bothers me less now than the fact that I have a winged man at my side…and we walked. Not once did he spread his wings, except to shield me from the rain. “Can I ask you a question?”

He looks up from my foot, his eyes glowing. “What is it?”

“I hope this isn’t too personal, but…your wings. You didn’t try to fly today?”

Nemeth is silent for a long moment. He continues to rub my foot, sending skitters of pleasure up my spine. He’s thoughtful as he continues to rub, and eventually speaks. “When we first arrived in the tower, I thought of nothing but my freedom. Of the day I would see wide-open skies above me and then I could fly into the air. Most of Darkfell’s mountains are hollow. Did you know that? The main caverns are hundreds of handspans high, and riddled with tunnels and caves so we can fly back and forth between each other’s homes. There are very few stairs because they are not needed except for the elderly and infirm. I always flew at home. Even at the Alabaster Citadel, my room was situated in a tower on one of the highest parapets. All I had to do was open a window and I could fly out. I flew constantly. It was as necessary as breathing. And then…”

He pauses.

“And then you were trapped in a horrible tower for two years because of the name you were born with,” I say bitterly.

“No,” Nemeth says quietly. “And then I met someone who showed me that perhaps it is not so bad to be on the ground. It is all about the company.”

I reach over and flick his shoulder. “That’s a lovely story.”

He smiles at me.

“And we both know it’s dragon shite,” I continue, my voice tart.

Nemeth’s smile widens into a grin. He laughs, and some of the unease I’ve felt all day melts away. “It’s not all dragon shite. I do enjoy being with you.”

“Are you afraid to try out your wing?”

He goes back to rubbing my foot, thinking. “It feels tight,” he admits after a moment. “It has for some time. Like it’s pulled taut in one spot. I’m afraid that I could damage it further if I try to use it without a healer looking at it. And as long as I don’t try it out, I don’t know how bad it could be. I can delay the truth for another day.”

“Oh, Nemeth.” My heart aches for him. “I’m so sorry. I wish I could have fixed it better for you.”

He shakes his head. “You did the very best you could. That is all anyone could ask for.” He sets my foot down and picks up my other, dusting it free of sand and then rubbing it as well. “How can I be upset? We have had to fend for ourselves for two years.” Tilting his head, he studies my face. “Which reminds me. We should heat your potion soon.”

“Soon,” I agree, and then wiggle my foot in his grasp. It feels good, the foot rub, but it also feels like a distraction, as if he’s determined to pull me away from a difficult conversation. “Tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow what?”

I wiggle my foot again to get his attention. “Tomorrow you’ll try to fly? For me?”

“You must truly hate walking.”

That does it. Exasperated, I pull my foot out of his grasp and lean forward to cup his face, so he’ll look me in the eye. Why is it this man can lick my pussy with the confidence of a court lothario but gets shy when I ask about his wings? I meet his gaze, stroking his cheek. “It’s not about walking. It’s about knowing our limitations so we know what we have to push past in the future. Just because your wing is tight now doesn’t mean it always will be. It just gives you something to overcome.”

He smiles at me, his cheeks stretching. “How is it that you can make me feel so calm? Even on a day such as today?”

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