Page 71 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

All is quiet.

Nemeth sighs heavily.

“Candra. Are you well?”

I lick my dry lips. Am I? I just watched Nemeth brutally destroy two men without breaking a sweat. More worrisome than that was the fact that our tower was invaded at all.Everyone knows that we’re trapped here, that we do this for the good of all mankind—and Fellian-kind—and yet someone tried to steal our supplies. I don’t understand it. “I’m all right.”

“He hit you.” Nemeth’s voice is tight in the darkness.

“He did,” I agree. “Hurts like an absolute pile of dragon shite, too. But I’ll manage.” I glance over at the doors, vaguely outlined by a trickle of light streaming in underneath. “What do we do about the entrance?”

“We’ll have to barricade it. I don’t know that it would prevent anyone else from coming in, but it would slow them down, at least.” Nemeth moves to my side, running his hands over me. “You are sure you are all right?”

I nod. My cheek stings like ten thousand fiery sparks but there’s nothing to be done about it. “You saved us,” I tell him softly, taking his hand and bringing it to my cheek. “They were going to steal our food, leave us with nothing. And you saved us.”

“I should have done more,” he growls. “Should have stopped him before he hit you.”

“You didn’t know.” How could he? It surprised me, and I was standing right next to him. “I thought I had it handled. I was apparently wrong.” I pause, because there’s a strange scent in the air, one that’s coppery and raw. “Do you smell…blood?”

“It’s nothing.”

That alarms me. “Nemeth?” I ask, squeezing his hand against my chest. “Did they hurt you? What happened? It’s too dark—I can’t see anything.” My slipper crunches on glass and I wince. “I broke one of your globes.”

He grunts, distracted. “We should go upstairs and find some things to barricade the doors from our side. Anything heavy from the top floor would work. Maybe your bed on the second floor. Anything we can jam against the doors to ensure they’ll have to struggle to get in.”

“Sure,” I echo. “Of course. Just as soon as you tell me where you were hurt.”

“It does not matter, Candra,” he says, his voice low and soft. “Our safety depends on getting that door blockaded.”

“We can start with some slats of wood, or a couple of knives,” I point out. “And some rope for the handles. I’m actually quite good at figuring out how to lock someone out of a room I don’t want them in.”

Nemeth chuckles, and again, I don’t like the sound. It’s flat and tired, as if all his strength is sapping out of him. “I believe you. All right. Show me your idea.”

Growingup in the palace with several pushy attendants, I do indeed know just how to jam a door from the inside so it won’t open. While I figured it out to keep Riza from walking in on me with a lover, I’m pleased to be useful now. I gather up a couple of knives and a few pieces of wood that we had sitting around to carve with out of boredom. As we head back downstairs, Nemeth is quiet. He deliberately avoids the light cast by the lamp in my hands, and when I glance down at the stone floors, there’s a dark trail that I don’t like seeing.

He’s still bleeding, the stubborn arse.

Annoyed, I work quickly as we return to the doors. I wedge the wood underneath the door itself, so it’ll act as a doorstop. Then along the side, where the doors are hinged, I take a thick, short blade and jam it to the crevice, pushing it forward until the dagger is wedged so tightly that I can’t pull it back out. I repeat that on the other side, and when he’s done tying the door handles together, I’m fairly satisfied. When I tug on the door, it doesn’t budge.

“Better,” I say. “This won’t keep anyone that’s incredibly determined out, but it’ll give us time to figure something out.” I glance over at him. “Do we have a staff or a pole of some kind that we can slide through the handles to act as a bar?”

“Somewhere,” he agrees, and that distracted sound is in his voice again.

I’m tired of pussyfooting around the issue. I pick up the lamp from the floor and hold it up to him, shining it in his face. “Are you going to tell me where they stabbed you or am I going to have to find out the hard way?”

He squints at the light, holding a hand up. “First of all, they didn’t have knives. They had pickaxes?—”

“Like that makes it better?”

“And second of all, I want to know what the hard way is.”

Is…is this difficult Fellian choosing now to flirt with me? Now? When I’m ready to start screaming obscenities at him? I scowl as fiercely as I can. “The hard way is me getting my soaps and some water and examining every last bit of your skin until I find the damage.”

“That doesn’t sound so bad?—”

“It won’t be gentle scrubbing,” I hiss. “Because right now I am so angry at you that I could scream, Nemeth. How dare you take care of me when I’m sick and not let me do the same for you? Do you truly not trust me that much?”

His eyes glimmer as he gazes down at me. We are in a standoff, he and I, where neither of us is willing to yield. I remain where I am, glaring at him.

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