Page 40 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
An uncomfortable sensation rippled along my spine, and bile crept up my throat. “King Eulalio. He was…he was injuredbefore the escape and the journey to what became our kingdom. He nearly died.” Our depictions of the two of them had always shown a couple who cherished one another.
“Ahhh.” A cold smile played across his face, his eyes mirthless. “I knew there was someone else who actually had her heart. She played the part too well for someone who had never known love. Who was he then exactly? Do your tales say?”
I gestured toward his hand and arm. “Let me stitch up the wounds?—”
“Tell me.” His gaze hardened. “Who was he?”
My shoulders sagged, but I forced the words out. “He—he was one of her personal guards, and he was injured while defending her. A manticore stung him in the hip. It paralyzed him and shriveled his left leg.”
“But it did nothing to their love.” Bitterness tinged his words. He shook his head as his eyelids slid shut. “I suppose that is why she did not wish to wed me. Condemning my kingdom to save hers and her love was the easier choice rather than giving it up for a loveless marriage to the weak and wicked prince who thought himself worthy of her.” A low sigh escaped his lips.
“I’m sorry—I can only imagine how—” I wasn’t sure how to even put it into words. “To know?—”
“I don’t love her anymore,” he said quietly. “Love faded to something far more raw and then bitter when I realized her deception and betrayal.” He turned back to face me. “But it is important that you answer this…did she truly love Eulalio?”
I nodded. My favorite depiction of the pair was of the two at the deep fountain in the Love Garden with the winged jaguars fountain. Eulalio sat on the edge of the fountain, his back braced against a carved marble half wall and his head tilted so that his sleek black hair shielded half his face as his gaze was focused on her. And she lay on her back with her head in his lap as she stared up at him.
The look of adoration in their eyes was one I’d longed to know myself. The artist had captured tenderness as much as intimacy in that moment. He’d also made no effort to hide Eulalio’s scars or his twisted leg as some did. In the painting, the crowns sat on the edge of the fountain, nestled against one another with both Eulalio and Tanith were bareheaded and focused entirely on one another amidst the beauty of the lush garden.
I took his hand in mine and began to stitch the wound shut. He didn’t flinch, though the blood welled around each new bite of the needle. His gaze remained fixed on the horizon. “I’m sorry.” The phrase had never felt so empty as it did now. I swallowed hard, trying to bite back the tears.
“And I have squandered our one chance at freedom by taking someone who isnota descendant of Tanith.” He rested his chin against his good hand and propped his elbow on the arm of the chair. “You really did just happen to be wearing the princess’s clothing and her rings on the first night of the blood moon in the royal garden.” His eyes narrowed, and a dark smile twitched at his lips. “The Maker must hate me.” His expression went somber. “Why did you not offer to give me the princess in your place?"
"Enola is my friend. You terrified me. I wouldn't betray her to such a fate," I whispered.
"Then you are a better and kinder person than Tanith and her."
"Enola is a good person," I said firmly, continuing to stitch him up. "Yes, she is a royal, and yes, she can be selfish. But she believes in right and wrong and justice. And while it took us time to become close, she stuck with me when everyone else fell away. She's maybe the one true friend I have and a decent warrior as well. One day she will make an excellent queen."
He didn't seem impressed. "And you’re certain you aren’t related to Tanith at all? No bastards in that family line?”
I shook my head. “I’m sorry.”
He scoffed, aching despair and dark amusement in his voice. “The one time there is a royal family line and there are no bastards. Or at least not the one I snatched.”
I continued to stitch with care. “Even if there are, they wouldn’t be mine. My family on both sides were outsiders. Enola being my friend was seen as a great violation of protocol and etiquette. But she is the only child, and she always gets what she wants. So fortunately, she uses it for good.” Steadying my hands, I formed another stitch. “When is the next blood moon cycle? Does the portal open for each of these cycles?”
“Yes, so long as the blood moon cycle itself is seven days or more, but the portal won’t open after this.” His gaze drifted from me to the moon. “This is our last cycle. After this one, the Witheringlands will be obliterated.”
My needle slipped, and the stitch snagged on his skin with a tug that made him flinch. “What? Why? And why did you wait so long to take a bride then?”
He cut his gaze to me. “Because I didn't know how long we had and I have no control over where the portal opens. The curse itself requires only that it opens within kingdoms where a suitable royal or innocent may be found. But I refused to be the same as that which condemned us to this place.”
“That is…noble of you.” A knot formed in my throat. “I didn’t mean to sound so harsh.”
He scoffed again, but his voice gentled. “I won’t lie. As much as I hate her, some part of me understands now what Tanith did. I don’t know how long she and her people were trapped here. But being in this place makes one desperate.”
“After all you and your people have endured, I am amazed at how kind and warm everyone has been.” I tugged the thread again to form another stitch.
“They’re good people,” he said softly. “Not flawless. Not perfect. But…all we have to hold on to is who we choose to be in these dark times. And…they believe you’re the princess. They believe there is hope and an end.” His good hand curled around my cheek and then my chin, tilting my gaze up to his.
My skin tingled beneath his touch, but I met his gaze, struggling to find a solution. “So you can’t wait another cycle, but…if we go back to the portal, maybe I can explain this to Enola. If you swore not to hurt her, maybe she will be willing?—”
“No,” he said softly. “The portal is weaker this cycle more so than any other. Though it will open again, it will only do so in the final hours of the cycle. Likely the last two or even half hour if past patterns hold true. The ceremony itself to conclude the curse must be started as soon as the sun sets. The chasm cannot take too much magic at once, or the tablets warn there may be a collapse. It must be drained slowly and steadily.”
I squeezed his fingers as I stared up at him. And an idea flashed into my mind as I remembered what Doctor Rasoul had said. “What if you made me a royal before we were married?”
CHAPTER TWELVE
