Page 63 of Heart of the Summer Queen

Hesitantly, I pass the comb to him and my body tenses as he sits down next to me.

With him sitting so near, I am reminded of the fact I wear nothing beneath the blanket and am overly aware of all the places the coarse fabric touches my skin.

Though Elaric combs through my hair with great care, snags are inevitable. I wince as the tines catch a strand.

He stills. “Have I hurt you?”

“It’s fine.”

He pauses before continuing, now slower and gentler. The sensation of his fingers brushing over the curve of my shoulder and the nape of my neck is so delightful that I close my eyes, almost drifting to sleep despite sitting upright.

“Have I ever told you how lovely your hair is, Adara?” His hushed voice jolts me back.

“No,” I say, “I don’t believe you have.”

His fingers trail over a lock. “Never have I seen hair so bright, as if spun from flame.”

I flush at the compliment. “I... thank you.”

We lapse into silence once more as Elaric resumes combing my hair. When he finishes, I pass him the ribbon but his attempt to tie my locks fails miserably.

“I fear my skills are limited to combing,” he admits sheepishly, handing back the comb and the ribbon.

“It’s fine,” I say with a laugh, taking them both.

Neither the comb nor ribbon shows any sign of frost despite being in his hands. Staying in contact with my hair must have prevented the spread of his magic.

I gesture to his hair which trails past his broad shoulders. “Don’t you ever tie yours back? Even while fighting?”

“Fighting?” he repeats. “I have fought no wars over these past centuries. Nowadays, there is no need for such practicalities.”

I suppose no mortal can pose much of a threat against his power. When he fought Orlan and his men, the skirmish lasted for mere minutes, even though Elaric was terribly outnumbered.

I take a section of my hair and run the comb through it, scraping it upward. “What was your hair like before the curse? Was it still long then, or short?”

“It skimmed my shoulders.”

As I examine him, I imagine him with hair several inches shorter. I decide the longer length makes him look more regal. “Has it always been white?”

He shakes his head. “Golden.”

Like his sister then, according to what we told me before we left the palace.

I brush out another section thoughtfully. “And what about your eyes? Were they still blue?”

“Green,” he says. “There’s an old portrait of me somewhere in the palace’s storehouses. When we return home, I’ll find it so you can look.”

I smile at that. “Then I look forward to seeing it.” Except if we return home, I hope we will do so having slain Isidore and broken Elaric’s curse. With the frost gone from around his heart, his appearance would have already returned to how it once was.

When I finish securing the rest of my hair, I turn to find Elaric already watching me, his expression unreadable.

“Are you still cold?” he asks.

“Not really.” At least no chatter undermines me now.

He grabs my hands, frowning at their slight trembling. “I don’t believe you.”

“Fine, maybe a little.” I sigh, relenting. “But I’m already feeling much better.”

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