Page 60 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

How horrified my sister would be to know that I’m in the arms of a Fellian, and I adore it. She would view it as a betrayal. That a Vestalin must do their duty to the kingdom first and foremost. After all, she put aside all of her own personal wishes so she could marry Lionel and secure the throne and the future of the Vestalin line.

Erynne would have killed Nemeth before the first month was out. Of that, I have no doubt.

I guess that makes me a bad sister because I’m ready to crawl back into bed with him and see if he wants to put his face between my thighs after all.

So I smile up at him. “Shall we return to bed?”

Instead of agreement, I get a baffled look. “Now?”

“What’s wrong with now?” If nothing else, I can get away from the sound of them laying bricks outside, which I’ll probably hear in my nightmares. “The food isn’t going anywhere.”

But my fussy Fellian shakes his head. “Right now we should get a quill and some ink and make an inventory of all your supplies so we know exactly what you have for this upcoming year. That’ll give you the best chance of making it all stretch. We can plan our meals ahead.”

Ugh, so practical. I guess I’m not getting his head between my thighs after all. “Fine, fine.”

Chapter

Thirty-Seven

The interaction with the Liosian soldiers bothers me all afternoon as Nemeth carefully catalogs each bag full of dried goods. There’s an entire trunk of dried animal pancreases for my medicine, along with bushels of herbs and more vials and needles. There are a few new dresses. There are candles, and soaps, and another book full of recipes and practical advice that I clutch to my chest, just because it means that Riza hasn’t forgotten me. There’s even a heavy trunk at the bottom filled with thick, dark-looking bricks of dirt that Nemeth calls “peat.”

“Do you ever burn this in your castle?”

“No, never.” I wrinkle my nose. “It looks gross.”

“It can have a strong smell,” he agrees. “That is most likely why. At least they sent fuel this time.” Nemeth seems pleased with my supplies, weighing a bag of dried meat with his hand as if he can tell how much is in it, then making notes on his parchment.

In a chest full of herbs, there is a book—my sister’s favorite epic poem—and tucked into it are several envelopes.

I gasp in delight at the sight of them, clutching them to my chest. “Letters!”

Nemeth smiles at my pleasure, pausing in his inventory to sit back on his haunches. “Who are they from? Your young lover?”

Holding the first one close to the light, I eye the handwriting. “Balon is not much of a wordsmith,” I admit. “This one is from my maid, Riza.” Hot tears well up in my eyes. By all the gods, I really do seem to cry a lot lately, but I’ll allow myself a moment of softness for this. “And one from Nurse.” I flip to the third letter. “And my sister, Erynne.”

“No love notes, then?”

I’m so happy I don’t even care that Balon didn’t write. “Jealous?” I tease, hugging the letters against my breasts.

“Anything that can make you smile so broadly? Aye, a bit jealous.”

My happiness bubbles over, just a tiny bit more, at his admission. “Balon probably found someone new to flirt with. He was only interested in the Vestalin name, anyhow.” The moment I say it, I think of my enchanted knife, and my happiness sours a little. It had told me that Balon wasn’t coming back, ever. That when I asked if he was well, it was silent. Maybe he’s sick and I feel guilty. “He’s a sweet boy.”

Nemeth grunts and gestures at the letters. “Are you going to save them or read them now?”

I chuckle at that. “Now, of course. Why would I save them?”

“In case you want to savor them.”

I drop my hands and give him an exasperated stare. “You and your savoring.”

“You don’t agree?” The look he gives me is pure innocence. “Savoring can make the pleasant moments last longer.”

Dragon shite. “Or I can read it now, and if I need more pleasant moments, I can read it again. And again. Which I will probably do.”

Nemeth gives me a lazy grin. “Then read, o greedy princess.”

“Thank you, I shall.” I flick my finger under the wax seal of my sister’s letter and unfold it, holding it close to the light. While I’m excited to read all three of my precious letters, I’m most eager to hear my sister’s words. The moment I see her handwriting, that confident, swooping script that’s so very familiar to me, a knot forms in my throat. I’m quiet for a moment, then clear my throat. “Dearest Candromeda,” I begin, and then pause. Should I read this out loud if it has to do with the war? Will there be state secrets I need to keep from Nemeth? When he nudges my knee, I give him a quick smile. “She has such messy handwriting, some of it’s hard to decipher.”

---