Page 75 of The Prince and the Ice King

“Don’tfinish that sentence,” Jack ordered. His self-control was wafer thin as it was.

Reardon pouted but said no more, and Jack used the reprieve to escape. The prince’s pores were practically sweating ale. A cool cloth, sweetly scented, would help.

And water.

Muchwater.

Jack forced Reardon to swallow down a glassful and half of another before he allowed him to wave it away. He even stuffed a crust of bread down Reardon’s throat before picking up the cloth he’d brought and beginning to wipe at the prince’s brow and down his neck. The scent of lilacs permeated, same as the bath, and Reardon took a big breath, as if to bask in it.

“A field of flowers… outside a deep wood,” he said, sighing blissfully. “That’s what being with you reminds me of.”

Those were the most sensible words Reardon had said so far, but just poetry again, fantasy. Jack didn’t know how to respond, so he chosenot to. He simply wiped at the sweatier places on Reardon’s skin and then laid the cool cloth to rest on his forehead.

Reardon’s hands found Jack’s wrists and held them, but his breathing soon evened out and the grip went slack. Slipping away would be easy then, yet Jack didn’t rush to do so, enjoying the light touch of Reardon’s soft fingertips. Once he was certain Reardon was asleep, he rose to put everything away and refilled the water glass should Reardon need it later—which he would.

Jack had no intention of sleeping himself, and Reardon was taking up the whole center of the bed anyway, so he pulled the covers down to fit Reardon beneath them and tucked him in.

“I still… miss her….” Reardon grasped Jack’s wrists again, barely audible as he roused. “She was… so good… kind and loving. Why would someone kill her?”

His mother, Jack realized. If ever he’d thought there was selfish intent in this prince, he knew better now. “I don’t know.”

“She might have changed things… as I wish to. Because of that?”

“Maybe.”

“Conspirators working against my kingdom… killed my mother. I… I must solve it and discover who they are. I must go home.”

The warmth in Jack’s chest returned to bitter cold. “Then you should.”

Reardon smiled, and with the blindfold, Jack couldn’t be sure if he was truly awake or dreaming. “When I have the answers, I will… but not until the curse is broken and you believe you are my love. Then, my king, once you are free… I will free everyone.”

Heat returned with a vengeance, but not to Jack’s chest—it stung his eyes, hot and wet and dangerous. Reardon was a fool—he was a fool, afool—and he went limp again, head lolling to the side to show he’d once again drifted off, leaving Jack with his dreams.

Jack pulled away more swiftly than before, dizzy and feeling the need for a cool cloth of his own. He knew only one thing for certain.

Hehatedthe Emerald Prince—for forcing him to hope.

Chapter 8

Reardon

Reardon’s bed was usuallycomfortable, but he didn’t remember it beingthiscomfortable.

Then again, beds were always comfiest when one least wanted to leave them, and Reardon did not want to leave this one at all. He struggled to recall why he was so loath to move, and the dull throb in his head reminded him.

Ale. Far too much ale. And eventually wine when they’d tried to take the ale away from him. Reardon would have been fine if he’d just listened when his friends tried to cut him off, but he’d been in such a good mood.

The only thing missing had been the king.

Theking, who Reardon had announced he was going to see, and no amount of persuading from the others had swayed him. They’d helped him up the long staircase to the king’s chamber, tied his head with a long strip of cloth, and—

Oh no….

Reardon snapped his eyes open to see—darkness.

Reaching up blindly, he felt the silken cloth still covering his eyes, even though it had to be morning, and this was definitely not his bed. Snuggled beneath the soft sheets, Reardon tentatively felt down his body but breathed relief at discovering he was still fully clothed.

“Majesty?” he called to an eerie silence.

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