Page 41 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
The Hollow King’s eyebrow arched up with surprise. “You’re still willing to wed me?” He angled toward me, sitting crooked in his chair.
I pursed my lips and then mirrored his expression as I continued to work on his hand. It wasn’t nearly as messy as other stitchwork, reminding me more of stitching up a mannequin than a human or fae. “Oh? I have a choice now? I thought I remembered someone saying that it really didn’t matter and there could be a funeral after the wedding.”
He opened his mouth to respond, then snapped it shut. His eyes narrowed. “That was when I thought you were the princess. If you were actually a royal and of the line of Tanith, you would not necessarily be harmed. Just…inconvenienced and perturbed and possibly a candidate for some form of termination.”
I snipped the thread, then prepared to stitch his arm. The slick dark thread was easier to work with than I expected. “Not necessarily, hmm?”
His mouth pinched as I made the first stitch.
There was no denying it, and truthfully, I knew he couldn’t. The silence stretched taut between us.
Descendants of Tanith were not innocents in his mind. Though I cared for Enola deeply, I couldn’t pretend I didn’t understand why he blamed them. I had blamed Enola’s family for the tower crushing my family. She hadn’t been directly involved though her father had been the one who ordered the tower be built on such unstable land, and I knew that the only reason we started becoming friends was because initially she felt guilty for that.
It would have been so easy to lash out at her and pretend she was the one who was guilty. Ironically, she had turned out to be the one friend who stuck with me in her own strange way.
The Hollow King continued to stare at me, probably trying to guess my thoughts and being incredibly wrong.
“You could be obliterated, Sabine,” he said after a few moments of awkward silence. “You aren’t a royal descended from Tanith, and I can’t protect you from fate if we’re wrong. This isn’t a joking matter.”
“Do I sound like I’m joking?” I cut my eyes up at him. “It seems like a reasonable chance for us to take if there’s no other alternative.”
He fixed me with his stern gaze. “Sabine, I swore I would not sacrifice an innocent?—”
“I’m not offering to die. But I can’t abandon all of you here. It feels…wrong.” I jerked free and shot him a glare as I adjusted my grip on the needle. “Now stop arguing with me. You were all excited to drag me here by my hair, and now that I’m willing to help you, you’re giving me lip?” There were just a couple more stitches left to go.
His eyes narrowed to fiery slits. “You have little concern about mouthing off to royals. For that reason alone, I’d assumed you had to be one.”
I smirked at him as I resumed stitching. The thread slipped through the flesh with ease, forming bold Xs across his forearm.“I’m an outsider. Always have been. My family on both sides lived in the forest and on scraps. Enola and I are friends because I can be a defiant little thorn, and she likes people who have their own thoughts. But let’s get back to whatwewere talking about. Are you really telling me that you would rather have no chance of saving your people and you?”
Warmth flared through me that he would even consider the cost to me now that he knew I wasn’t a princess. He wasn’t nearly so heartless as I had thought. It almost made me laugh how we had swapped sides in this matter. “Besides, how is it that you concluded I wasn’t royal now? I already told you that many times, so I know it’s not just because you suddenly believed me.”
He leaned back in the chair and sighed, then gestured toward the smashed table. The black pomegranate lay smashed on the floor amid the shattered glass. “That.”
“That?” I clipped the thread, wiped my hands clean with the astringent, and then crossed over to the fruit. Picking it up, I examined it. It had the white membrane inside as well as the glistening seeds, though they were all black as wet ink. I brought it over. My stomach grumbled again at the scent of the fresh fruit, the tea not really cutting it. “What about it? Aside from the fact it’s black.”
“That’s exactly it. When royals give their blood in plant magic, the fruit or plants exhibit other shades. Dull tones or at least very deep. It can be difficult to spot. But the fruit and plants that grew from your blood…” He hesitated, then shook his head.
“It’s all right. Say that I’m common or ordinary.” I found myself smiling at his odd show of sensibilities. My mind flashed back to how he held my thigh in the garden, and my core heated. “I know what I am.”
“I’m not certain you do.” His gaze drifted over me and lingered on my lips. “But now you tell me why you have changedyour perspective? You weren’t particularly amenable to the idea before.”
“Because before I thought you were an asshole. You kidnapped me, you threatened me, you didn’t believe me. You were accusing Queen Tanith, someone my people revere, of horrific things. And frankly your kingdom is terrifying, and youthrewme from a very high place.”
“You have vomited on me or near me…twice.”
“That’s what you get for terrifying women.”
His gaze narrowed as he studied me. “Defiant little thorn, hmm?”
I shrugged, then checked my hands to make sure the astringent had actually cleaned them. “It fits.”
“It does.” The smile that tugged at his mouth was almost affectionate. “But I do find your transformation intriguing. You're truly serious about this?”
“I’m going to show you how serious I am about helping you.” I dug out six of the pomegranate gems and popped them in my mouth, trying not to think about the fact that my blood had nourished them. The tart, sweet flavor burst across my tongue, so intense after days of nothing that I nearly gasped. The juice was dark as inky wine, staining my lips and fingers. I chewed deliberately, swallowing as the Hollow King watched me with an expression caught between horror and disbelief.
“What are you doing?” he demanded, leaning forward so sharply he nearly knocked the medical supplies from the table.
I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, leaving a dark smear. "Proving that I'm not afraid of this place or its food. If eating here binds me to you and the doctor, then so be it. Now you and the doctor have both told me that this isn’t going to bind me here, so maybe it’s a moot point. But my intent stands.”
