Page 125 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

His hard mouth twitches. “That’s not how magic works.”

“How would I know?” I explode, indignant. “I’m a bloody human! Even if I had Fellian magic in my veins, who’s going to teach it to me? The humans at court couldn’t magic their way out of a goat pen.”

Nemeth rubs my arm. “You’re right. You’re right. I’m not saying you do. I’m just worried things are growing more complicated. If we have to go back to my people, I don’t want to give them cause to cast you out.” He pauses, and then adds, “I won’tletthem cast you out.”

“Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that, then.” I give him a mock-pout. “I shall be very cross if that happens.”

He laughs, his expression more like the Nemeth I know. “Cross, eh?”

“Excessively.” His smile eases some of my worry. “I am sorry, you know. It wasn’t as if I was trying to get pregnant. I’ve been told all my life it’s impossible. And yet here I am. I should be thrilled that I’m not barren, since that’s apparently supposed to be the worst thing ever for a Vestalin woman, and instead of being excited, I feel vaguely betrayed. Like everything I’ve been told is a lie.”

Nemeth rubs my arm again. “I understand.” His gaze strays to my stomach. “You’re certain?”

“The knife gave me a ‘yes’ answer so it must be true, right?”

“Aye, its magic wouldn’t let it lie to you.”

I tilt my head, studying him. Other than creating a spark of fire with a snap of his fingers, Nemeth hasn’t done a lot of magic in front of me. But he makes it sound like all Fellians are brimming with magic energy. “Do you have lots of magic yourself?”

“I should. Most Fellians are taught spells from the time they begin schooling into adulthood. But because of who I am, I wasn’t allowed to learn anything that wasn’t deemed essential.”

“Who you are?” I’m puzzled.

“The son of the First House bound for the tower. They worried anything I knew might be shared with humans. They would rather keep it secret than risk teaching me.” A bitter smile curves his mouth. “So I know less than most children.”

I rub his chest to offer sympathy. I know what it’s like to be coddled because of who—and what—you are. “What kind of magic were you allowed, then?”

“Small things. Fire spells, light spells, communication spells?—”

“Communication spells?” I ask, my skin prickling with awareness. I’d forgotten that he was communicating back home. “Remind me what you’ve been communicating about again?”

An uneasy look crosses his face. “Candra…get dressed.” He sits upright, his wings sliding off of our naked bodies, and then he untangles himself from the bed, dumping me on the far side of the mattress. A moment later, he melts into the shadows, disappearing.

Just like that, I’m alone.

“Dragon shite—you do not get to end a conversation like that!” I pound a fist on the mattress. “Come back here, Nemeth!”

He doesn’t come back, though. There’s no one in the hut but me. I’m so annoyed with him that I jerk to my feet, grabbing at my wet chemise that’s spread out on the nearby table. The moment I stand, though, darkness creeps in at the edges of my gaze. My stomach turns and my skin gets clammy. Oh no. This has happened before—when my dose is wrong for my medicine, or I take it and I haven’t eaten enough.

Dragon shite. I’m going to faint.

The realization hits me a moment before I go completely under.

I wakeup some time later to my ass on the cold floor, a blanket tossed over me, and the sounds of eating.

Disoriented, I open my eyes and roll over to look at Nemeth, who must be ravenously devouring a meal—only to find that it’s not Nemeth at all. Two strangers stand with their backs to me, eating what is left of our foodstuffs spread out on the table. I glance around the cottage quickly, but I don’t see Nemeth. The front door hangs open, and one of the pretty window shutters has been destroyed, likely from an axe. Our drying clothes have been scattered about the cottage, no doubt tossed aside when the thieves entered.

And I’m only wearing a blanket.

I clutch it to myself tighter, bewildered, as I sit up. Dizziness assails me again, along with nausea. I have to lie back down, or else I’m going to pass out again. “Water…please.”

The men turn around. I wonder if they’re going to kill me, but right now I’m feeling so lousy I might welcome a quick death. I groan as another wave of nausea hits, and to my surprise, someone lifts my head and puts a cup to my lips. “Here. Drink slowly.”

Taking small sips, I’m relieved that it helps the nausea disappear. I continue to drink, and as I do, I watch the men. Both of them are of an indeterminate age, their faces unshaven and dirty. They’re incredibly thin, and their clothing is ragged and faded. One is wearing a torn cloak that has the symbol of Castle Lios’s guards, but perhaps they stole it, like they’re currently stealing the last of our food.

I don’t see Nemeth anywhere. Has he abandoned me?

He wouldn’t. He loves me. Something must have happened. Worry makes my nausea flare again, and I swallow hard.

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