Page 19 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
Somehow being here with him terrified me more than the beasts moments earlier. At least if they had killed me or if I’d fallen into the chasm, my soul would have torn free. Probably. But if he took me back, I had no chance at all. I wasn’t a princess.
The thought of being destroyed in darkness and condemned to it for all of the remnant of time terrified me beyond words. More than heights. More than the ocean.
My adrenaline was starting to crash though, and my head swam. Nausea churned stronger.
The eels coiled around him and then fanned out. “I warned you how dangerous this place is. But you didn’t listen, you selfish little wretch.”
I glared up at him with as much venom as I could. Then I lurched forward, choking on my blood before I threw up on his boots. I gagged again, my stomach clenching hard enough to make my vision go white. Bitter vomit and blood splattered the dry earth, and I swayed, trying to drag air back into my lungs. My bitten leg trembled violently, muscles clenching and then going weak. Black edged my vision, creeping inward.
A large, cool hand clamped onto the back of my neck before I could pitch forward. “You’re lucky I found you when I did,” he growled. “Any longer and the chitter hound would have dragged you back to its stone crabs where you would have been dissected and used for adornments.”
Most of that last sentence made no sense.
“Why would you be so stupid?” He pushed me back onto the ground, and his shadow engulfed me.
“M—my thoul,” I gagged again.
He rolled up his sleeves as he cast his eyes heavenward in annoyance. “Your soul will be fine, you foolish woman. You aren’t going to die because you’re the princess. It will just be uncomfortable and embarrassing. Now stay awake. This magic works better if you’re conscious.”
I tried to protest, but all that came out was a garbled mass of words. He ignored my attempt at language, eyes flicking over my injuries with a cold precision. His fingers shifted to my jaw, forcing my chin up.
“You’re in shock.” His tone was matter-of-fact, like he was announcing the weather. “Your pulse is too fast. Skin clammy. Pupils dilated. Blood loss. Trauma.”
I tried to jerk back, but my head lolled. “Thtop?—”
“Quiet.” His other hand slid to my ankle, pressing hard above the puncture marks where the hound had bitten deep. I shrieked, the sound hoarse and broken as I shuddered violently, nails scraping weakly at his shoulder.
His amber eyes flicked to mine, unblinking. “That’s enough,” he said flatly. “You aren’t going to die. After all, you belong to me whether you want to or not. Death isn’t going to save you from your duty. I don’t tolerate disobedience, princess.”
“Thabine.” I grimaced, unable to even say my own name. “I’m Thabine.”
“Fine.” His shadows wrapped tight around me. The heat in my leg vanished into an uncomfortable frigid intensity.
I gasped, stiffening and trying to pull away as another wave of nausea rolled through me. If I threw up again, I prayed I could do it on his robe.
“Stop struggling. It won’t do you any good. I’d threaten to punish you, but the reality is that healing you is about as painful as torturing you, so well done on that point. I’m going to seal the worst of these before we leave. We’ll handle the rest and sort out your punishment when we get back to the palace.”
A howl cut through the night. He tilted his head, then rolled his eyes. His sleek black hair glistened in the pale moonlight. “Wonderful. Come on then, wretched little trespasser.” His shadows wrapped tighter around me. The icy cold took on an oily sensation over each of the wounds, wrapping snug as any bandage.
Though my pulse still thundered, I could barely move. He lifted me into his arms, not tearing the remnants of my dress any further. A groan rasped through my throat as I cringed.
He was going to fly again. Of course he was.
His wings unfurled with a sound like bones snapping and cloth tearing. Vast, skeletal spars jutted outward, each joint sharp as a blade, shadowy smoke stretched between them liketorn sails. The first beat sent a shockwave through the air, and my stomach flipped.
I buried my face in his chest, fists knotted in his robe, trying to make myself small. “Quiet,” he ordered, his voice vibrating through me like thunder. His grip on me didn’t loosen as the wings swept again, lifting us in a jarring surge. “Don’t look down if it bothers you so much. It isn’t that bad. I’ve never dropped anyone…intentionally.”
“Bathtard,” I mumbled thickly, words muffled by his coat.
The wind knifed past us, tugging at my blood-stiffened hair until it whipped like brittle straw. My body trembled so hard my teeth chattered. The metallic tang of my blood clung to me, mixing with the faint myrrh and cedar scent of him. His shadows stayed hooked into my wounds, cold and alien under my skin, a reminder that he was holding me together as much as he was holding me aloft.
Every time his wings beat, my stomach dropped again. He banked once, hard, and the world tilted. Even with my eyes shut tight, I felt the motion and whimpered as I hated myself all the more.
I lost count of the wingbeats. Lost count of the minutes. It all bled together in a chilling, tumultuous cycle of nausea and pain. Curling in tighter, I pressed my face harder into his chest, trying not to hear the hiss of wind past those vast smoky sails, trying not to picture the black void below.
All at once, his wings tilted again. The rush of air changed pitch.
We were descending! The lurch of it made my stomach heave, then we slid into stillness.
