Page 66 of The Red Woman and the White Bear

Aisling sat beside him on the edge of the mattress and carefully smoothed the first handful of salve onto the scars that began at his hip, spreading it slowly upwards over the rippling contours of his stomach. With each sweep of her hand, with each shared breath, her compassion for him deepened. She pushed away the memory of the last time she’d seen him like this—the last time she’d touched him like this. A creeping blush mimicked the heat from his skin on her fingers as it spread up her neck and across her cheeks.

She began working it higher then, towards his chest. The scars there were more pronounced, a deeper shade of red and warm enough to melt the salve away almost instantly. Kael shifted uncomfortably, tensing beneath her touch, pain etched obviouslyinto his features. The scarring that mottled his chest was nearly as bad as that on his face and neck. Aisling halted her progress. She was nervous.

“I’ll be gentle,” she promised. She wasn’t sure who she was trying to reassure, herself or the formidable Unseelie King who was now lying vulnerable beside her.

“Just do it,” he hissed through gritted teeth. Aisling twisted her hair out of the way and tucked it into the neck of her sweatshirt before she leaned over him, holding herself up with her free hand on the outside of his opposite shoulder. His eyes were squeezed shut; she was thankful that he couldn’t see the apprehension in her own.

She could feel the heat radiating off of his chest before her fingers even met his skin and half-expected the salve to sizzle on contact. A low growl emanated from deep in Kael’s throat, and Aisling flinched when he pulled away sharply. Knowing that she was only adding to his pain made her unexpectedly nauseous. She had to remind herself, over and over again, that it would make things better.

“Be still,” she murmured. Working as quickly as she could with one hand, she massaged the salve into his wounds.

As her fingers moved deftly across his collarbone and up his neck, Kael’s eyes flew open and he sucked in a sharp gasp. Those silver eyes had all the wildness of a trapped animal, caught between the desire to escape the pain and the knowledge that it had to be faced. His right hand shot up to grip Aisling’s wrist beside his shoulder. His long, slender fingers encircled it completely and he squeezed until his knuckles blanched white. With his left hand, he found the material of her sweatshirt beside his hip and clenched it tightly in his fist. Aisling paused to let him readjust around her. The pressure onher wrist was enough to make her wince, but she wouldn’t dare ask him to loosen his grip.

“We’re nearly there, catch your breath.” She held in place for several seconds, offering him a moment of respite and waiting for his unspoken signal that he was ready for her to continue. She took a deep breath, too, and concentrated on stilling her trembling hand.

Kael turned his head to the side to give her better access to his injuries and to hide his face as it twisted in agony. He was losing what little control he had left; a tremor wracked his body as a guttural sob escaped his lips.

“Breathe,” she urged again softly. She pressed on, ensuring the salve was spread across every divot, every exposed muscle fiber, every raw edge. Kael could no longer stop himself from crying out, and his breaths came in short, ragged bursts as sweat beaded on his forehead. Aisling spoke to him quietly as she worked, her words a steady stream of encouragement and calm.

Finally, she set the jar aside. She wiped the last of the salve off on the leg of her pants and laid her palm gently on the uninjured side of Kael’s heaving chest. She willed her pounding heart to slow and swallowed back the bile that had crept insistently up the back of her throat. He kept his face turned away, still gripping onto her with both hands.

“Settle down,” Aisling said. “Let yourself relax. You’re alright.” Minute by minute, Kael’s breathing deepened and his grip loosened. His body gradually sank into the mattress and the waves of feverish heat that had been rolling off his bodyeased.

She guessed that by now,surelyby now, Kael would have gathered his thoughts and regained his composure enough to challenge her return to the Undercastle. To banish her once more, or to order her locked back in the dungeon. And because hearing him say it a second time may have even hurt worse than the first, Aisling decided it would be best for them both if she left before he could try.

“Rest now,” she whispered as she rose from the bed, voice already thick with the tears she knew would fall the moment she exited his chamber. But his grip on her wrist, which had only just begun to ease, tightened again suddenly.

“Do not leave,” Kael demanded urgently, almost pleading. He turned his head to look at her, unmasked desperation coloring his eyes.

Stunned by the stark difference between his request and what she’d imagined he would say instead, Aisling stilled. His panic tugged at her heart more than she was prepared for.

“Okay,” she whispered. She reached down and pushed a few damp strands of hair out of his face. “I’ll stay.”

Still, he didn’t release his grip. He let his eyes fall closed, and Aisling thought that for the very first time since she’d seen him speaking from the dais on Nocturne, his face clearly showed the weight of the lifetimes he had lived—longer than she could fathom.

Once he’d calmed enough to let her slip from his grasp, Aisling pulled a chair around from his desk and sat as close to his bedside as she could manage. He still trembled, and his breathing, though slower, was harsh and labored. She reached out to him once more.When he felt her hand come to rest on his arm, he took it in his own and held it tightly against the scars that carved canyons over his heart.

Kael had let himself imagine, only once, what he might say if Aisling ever returned. The angry words he’d hurl at this human girl who had fooled him—who hadusedhim—not once, but twice. He thought he’d let her go too quickly, too easily. He’d considered it on the second day’s ride toward Ilindor, letting different scripted scenarios unfurl in his mind, but none satisfied him. Not one of his imagined insults were biting enough, nor were his invented punishments harsh enough. He’d welcomed the distraction during the ride, but each version had felt hollow and trivial.

It mattered very little, though. He would never see her again, or if he did, it would be from across the battlefield as she marched alongside the Seelie Court in keeping with her prophesied destiny to destroy him.

But when he heard her voice behind him in the darkness of his chamber, the anger he had deliberately stoked inside his heart didn’t surge as he expected it would. Then, when she said his name so softly, it dissipated entirely.

Aisling had come back. She’d come backfor him.

Once around midday, he awoke with a start, sure it had been a dream. Sureshehad been a dream. So at the sound of quiet breathing by his bedside, his body reacted before his brain registered what he was doing, shadows leaching out painfully through his ruined skin and finding their way towards her exposed throat. But Aisling didn’t flinch, didn’t startle. She only took a slow breath and in an instant Kael was filled with that overwhelming calm she was somehow able to force into his being. This time, she did it without even touching him. Maybe she’d sent it through the shadows that slid silently from her neck, almost apologetic in their retreat. The raw red circle they left behind was glaring even in the pitch dark.

A part of him still expected her to recoil in disgust after that; longed for her to pull away and leave him be. But she didn’t. And instead of becoming angry or fleeing afraid, she just gently replaced her hand on his chest, tracing soothing circles there with her thumb.

Her touch, her voice, her very presence beside him was the lifeline Kael so desperately needed to haul himself out of the darkness. His pain began to recede, slow as the tide. He came back into himself, bit by grueling bit, guided by the press of her palm.

Aisling was still beside him the next time he woke. Fast asleep, her head was cocked to rest against the side of the chair and her features were relaxed save for a tiny furrow between her brows. He reachedout to her. With the tip of his finger just a hair’s breadth from her skin, he traced the outline of her arm. Her shoulder. Her collarbone. Bolder still, her forehead. Her cheekbone. Her nose. He could have counted every freckle if the room had been brighter. Then, the bow of her lips. His stomach twisted with want.

Before he could break, Kael slid from his bed and retreated silently into his washroom to bathe and change—something he hadn’t managed to do for some time.

In the candlelight, he reached out into the magic that hummed always in the air, manipulating and molding it before letting the glamour settle back over his body. It came to rest gently atop his scars, filling and smoothing and concealing. It was imperfect, and thinner than that which he could typically cast and maintain, but it was a significant improvement. Neither the water in the bath nor the fibers of his fresh tunic brought the same chafing, searing pain they had since his collapse. Now, their contact with his skin felt more akin to running a finger through a flame than being bathed in molten heat.

Aisling still hadn’t stirred by the time he reemerged, so Kael busied himself quietly disposing of the rotting food and lighting enough candles to illuminate the room with a warm, golden glow. He made his bed. Fluffed and straightened the pillows. Anything to keep his focus off the nervous energy buzzing through him, turning his movements frenetic and graceless.

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