Page 71 of The Maleficent Faerie
“Shit,” I whisper, holding Malec’s hand to my cheek.
Andras re-enters the room, carrying a tray with a plate and a goblet. “It’s not much, Your Highness, but—” He hesitates, noting my position on the floor by the bed, eyeing the King’s hand clasped in mine.
He and the healer exchange a glance, and then Andras gives me a sympathetic look. “I suspected something like this. It’s beautiful, and godsdamn tragic.” He sets the tray on the bedside table. “Will the King be all right?”
The healer reassures him, but I barely listen. My mind is growing slow and sleepy.
Andras takes up a post in the open door of the chamber, and from there he berates me until I grudgingly nibble at the food. After the first few bites, my hunger roars to the surface, and I devour everything, emptying the goblet as well. Reluctant though I am to leave Malec’s side, I yield to Andras’s insistence that I bathe in the adjoining room. The water is delightful, but though I want to linger, my need to be near Malec is stronger. Fear gnaws at me, fear that his condition will revert and he’ll fade if I’m not there. So I rush back to the bed, skin still damp and hair bundled into a sopping golden braid. I wear a simple dress someone brought or conjured for me—creamy white, with a lace-up front and a skirt wide enough for kicking and fighting.
Again I kneel by the bed and clasp Malec’s hand in mine. He’s still the right color, though he hasn’t yet regained consciousness.
My own consciousness is barely intact. My eyelids droop, weighed by the ponderous bulk of everything I’ve had to bear these past few days. I’m not sure when my head drops onto the mattress and my body slumps beside the bed. But I’m vaguely aware of low voices—Ember and Vandel, I think—and of hands grasping me cautiously. I’m too sodden with sleep to react, and when the hands place me on something soft, I sink into dreams again.
26
I’m awakened by a light peck on my cheek. Not human lips, but a bird’s beak. A raven.
Opening my eyes, I recognize one of my most faithful birds, Roanna, a female with more intelligence, courage, and cunning than the rest. I’ve permanently enhanced her with greater speed than the others—a difficult spell to perform, one that requires Void magic. Even with that extra speed, she must have strained herself to reach me this quickly if she came here from the battlefront.
Two of her tail feathers have a purple tint—a subtle mark of mine, to identify her to my people.
“She was insistent,” says a voice at the door of my chamber. “So we let her in.”
I lift my head from the pillows and glimpse Kyan standing there, arms crossed. His olive skin is a shade paler than normal, and his heavy brows are lowered in a somber expression, but he looks well. Healed. Thank the goddess.
“You did well to admit her,” I say.
“Andras let the other one in.” Kyan nods to the bed. Confused, I look down, suddenly conscious of a warm pressure on my right side.
Aura is nestled against my ribs and hip, her hair loosely bound in a golden braid and her cheeks pink with sleep. Her lids are faintly lavender along the edges, and purple shadows paint the delicate skin beneath her eyes.
“The healer says her presence helped you recover, that you only responded to the curative spell when the Princess arrived and spoke to you.” Kyan’s voice carries a hint of reproach.
“Ask the question,” I say stiffly. “Go on.”
Kyan puckers his lips. “Reehan was wrong about many things, including the way he addressed you when he spoke of this. But I must know, my Lord—can you do what must be done? Can you perform the ritual, despite what is between you and the Princess?”
“What do you think is between us?” I shift my arm so I can stroke my raven’s wing.
“You know best, Sire.”
“I don’t, though. I only know that I’m drawn to her, that I like her as much as I lust for her. That her absence would wound me and her death would destroy me.”
Kyan clears his throat. “I believe that’s called love, my King.”
“It’s terribly inconvenient.”
“Love usually is.” He flares his wings slightly. “On that subject, Sire—would it be a difficulty if two knights were to—join in a sort of relationship that—well—”
“You and Andras.” I nod.
“It has been growing for a while,” he says quietly.
“I have nothing against it, as long as the two of you maintain your loyalty to me and your fellow knights, protecting us with as much devotion as you protect each other.”
“Of course.” He clasps a fist against his heart and bows. “Always, Sire.”
“Then you have my blessing, if you need it. Wait here a moment, and let me see what Roanna has to say. Then you may run and tell Andras the good news.”
