Page 45 of Wicked Prince of Shadows
Then, just as swiftly as the quake started, it finished. Vetle turned to the balcony, ran to the edge, and leaped into the air. His wings caught the current as he shot up, and then he banked hard to the east. He hovered there, his hands clenched into fists. “Maker’s blood!”
The curse sent a chill down my spine. I'd never heard such raw fury in his voice, not even when he'd destroyed his study. Even worse, I heard fear. The guard who stood in the doorway watched, terror in his eyes as he gripped the halberd tight.
Vetle wheeled back almost immediately, diving toward the balcony with enough speed that I stumbled backward. He landed hard, his boots striking stone with a crack that made me flinch. His wings folded tight against his back, the smoky skeletal frames trembling.
"How bad?" I asked. Fear warred with my curiosity to see the truth. I edged toward the balcony railing and then drew back.
His jaw worked, the stitches pulling taut. "The chasm has expanded toward the palace. Significantly." He turned to stare back toward the east, one hand gripping the balcony rail so hard his claws scraped against the stone. “If it expands again, we will start losing part of the palace. The eastern watchtower. The armory. The outer walks at a minimum.” He snapped his fingers at the guard and pointed toward the door. “Have everyone in the southern half of the palace move to the northern. Convert any of the rooms needed. Cordon it off. Move out all the supplies and weaponry as well. Have Advisor Maltric and Doctor Rasoul meet us in the Queen’s Garden. Everyone else should assist in the moving.”
The guard bowed and left, his heavy boots striking the marble.
I gripped the railing beside him, forcing myself to look out. I couldn’t make out the chasm from this angle, but I imagined it, jagged black maw that swallowed the pale morning light, always hungry, always watching. Dread pooled within me, choking and sickening me. "How many more earthquakes will there be?" I tried to keep my voice steady. Something about that chasm unnerved me, deeply even just imagining it. "Do the earthquakes continue? Does it expand each time?"
“Do you want me to fly you up so you can see?” His hand dropped onto the stone railing and gripped it until his grey knuckles turned white, his gaze focused on the courtyard below as if calculating something.
I shuddered. “No. How bad will it get?”
“There will be at least one big one. Easily a couple smaller quakes throughout the day. They don’t expand the chasm usually. But…” His jaw worked as he turned to face me, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “The situation is certain to worsen until the curse is ended or we fail. At which point…there will be nowhere we can flee.”
A knot formed in my throat. “There’s no guarantee that it won’t expand too far before we end the curse, is there?”
He shook his head. “None except the hope that the eidon magic that remains has some mercy or recognizes us in some way. That’s a fool’s hope though. Dead eidons have no will or consciousness. They’re almost as bad as desperate or vengeful eidons, except that there is no way to reason with them. It’s just the remnants, and Chaori’s curse that set all this into motion taps into her death.” He released the railing and stalked back into his chambers, his movements sharp and controlled.
I followed him inside, my legs unsteady. The reformed study looked almost normal now, a little emptier and a little colder. The mirror gleamed whole on the wall, reflecting our disheveled forms. I paused, realizing once more that I was wrapped in his robe, the heavy embroidered fabric warm against my skin. I must have drifted off as he spoke, and then he had kept holding me until he fell asleep too. My gaze shifted to him, and I stilled.
He stood before the wardrobe in tight black trousers that left little to the imagination and a fitted tunic that clung to his broad shoulders and tapered waist. The sleeves had been rolled up past his elbows, revealing those scarred forearms and the fresh stitches I'd sewn just hours ago.
Without the elegant robe, his form was even more strikingly handsome—all lean muscle and sharp angles, moving with a predator's grace. The morning light caught the planes of his face, softening the severity of the stitches. In the chaos of the earthquake and realizing we had fallen asleep against one another, I hadn’t noticed the difference.
I looked away quickly, heat flooding my cheeks. Now was not the time to be noticing such things. Not when his kingdom was literally crumbling around us.
But wearing his clothing was so intimate. Fumbling with the robe, I pulled it off my shoulders and offered it to him. "Here—you should take this back." My voice came out smaller than I intended, almost shy as I offered it back to him, suddenly becoming quite aware of the coolness in the air.
He turned, his amber eyes flicking to me and then the robe. He crossed the room in three strides and took it from my hands, his fingers brushing mine. "Are you not still cold?"
"I—no, I'm fine." Even as I said it, the chill of the morning air bit through the thin fabric of my dress. I wrapped my arms around myself.
His eyes narrowed. He turned back to the wardrobe. The doors swung open with a soft creak, revealing rows of dark clothing—some formal, heavy with embroidery and embossing while others were plain. He pushed past the elaborate garments, digging toward the back until he grunted with satisfaction.
When he turned back, he held a simple wool wrap in his hands, charcoal grey and soft-looking despite its plainness. He crossed to me again, and before I could protest, he draped it around my shoulders. His fingers lingered as he adjusted it, pulling it snug across my breasts and tucking the edges so it wouldn’t slide off.
"Better," he said, his voice quieter now. His hands dropped away, but he remained close enough that I could smell the cloves and myrrh that clung to him.
I swallowed, suddenly very aware of how gentle his touch had been and the heat that blossomed through me in response. "Thank you."
He stepped back, his expression unreadable as he retrieved his robe and shrugged it on. "We need to get down to your garden. The rest of this plan must be set in action, but it needs to be handled as much as possible on the north side of the palace to compensate for any threats or loss."
My breath caught. "My garden?" Candice had said he had said it was up to me what happened in it, but to hear him call it mine startled me. The warmth in my chest intensified, my heart squeezing.
He paused in fastening the clasp at his throat, one eyebrow arching. "Did I misspeak?"
"It's the Queen's Garden," I said, though warmth bloomed in my chest at his words. Hearing him call it mine—it made something in me ache. Even with that pretentious way he just asked if he’d misspoken.
His gaze held mine unblinking. “You’re the one who agreed to marry me. That would make you a queen. The little matter of you not being coronated will be remedied. Besides, you brought the garden to life. It’s only fitting it’s yours.” He turned away, fastening the final clasp with decisive movements. "Now come. We're wasting time."
I followed him through the winding corridors, the wool wrap clutched tight around me. The palace was already in motion—servants and guards hurrying past with armfuls of supplies, their faces drawn with tension. No one questioned us as we passed. A few bowed quickly to Vetle before continuing their work.
We descended the grand staircase to the landing, and my steps faltered.
