Page 61 of Elf Prince

At the edge of the lake, he crashed to his knees and dropped his swords. His hands shook, and he could not yank off his belt, tunic, and shirt fast enough.

So dirty. So blood-spattered and filthy.

He plunged his hands and his shirt into the cold water of the lake. The cold should have steadied him, but he gasped for breath, his whole body shaking. He could not be sick. He could not lose it. Not now.

Yet he was breaking anyway. He was not strong enough to hold himself together.

“Farrendel? It’s me. Essie.”

No. He froze. No, Essie could not see him like this.

“Leave.” The word rasped out. Harsh. Desperate.

“Farrendel, I’m not leaving you.” Essie’s steps were slow and deliberate, telling him exactly where she was as she walked around the bushes even though he could not bring himself to look at her.

He clenched his shirt in his hands, a desperate paralysis gripping him. “Leave. Please.”

She had to go away. Any moment now, he would go back to breaking. And he could not let her see that. He could not let her see him likethis.

“I will go if you truly want me to. But please know you don’t have to be alone. I’m here for you.” Her voice was low and soothing.

He tried to steady his breathing as her words seeped into him. She was standing there, not leaving, even though he was hunched here, spattered with the blood of those he had killed. He had tried pushing her away, and yet she had not flinched.

He had intended to trust her with his secrets while they were here at Lethorel. It seemed he would be trusting her with far more than he had planned.

Hunching, he gave in to the shaking. With trembling hands, he scrubbed his shirt over his arms, trying to rinse the blood from his skin.

The pebbles of the beach shifted as Essie crept nearer, then knelt next to him.

Her nearness just made his skin crawl with how dirty he was. He scrubbed harder, trying to get the feel of blood and gore off his skin.

It did not matter how hard he scrubbed. He could still feel the blood. The filth. His breathing hitched, his brain whirling.

Essie’s hand rested on his, halting him.

He glanced at her, but she was a blur in the black tunnel closing around him. His breaths came faster, shuddering through his whole body. He opened his mouth, trying to explain but not sure if the words came out coherent. “I can’t…can’t get clean.”

“I know. I know.” Essie’s voice remained that soothing, steady tone. “Let me help.”

Her fingers gently pried his shirt from his grip. He shuddered and squeezed his eyes shut. It was all he could do to breathe in and out.

Water dripped, then Essie swiped the cold, damp shirt against his jaw. She scrubbed along his jaw, up his cheek, and then his ear. The cold of the damp shirt was a grounding shock, steadying him the longer she worked.

He wrangled his breathing under control, until he was able to open his eyes and glance at Essie. Her green eyes were wide but filled with a depth of concern that shook him and held him together at the same time.

Slowly, he reached up and rested his fingers over her hand where she had been dabbing at the blood on his neck. “I have been dreading the day you would see my magic. I did not know how you would react. My magic is not…” It was not beautiful. Not wonderful and magical like most elven power. “Most have magic that grows and creates. Mine destroys.”

Instead of flinching away from him, Essie held his gaze. “Your magic protects. There is no shame in that.”

Was there not? Here he was, covered in the blood of his enemies. Yet no hint of disgust crossed her face.

Still holding his gaze, she traced her thumb over his cheek. “I care about you, Farrendel Laesornysh. All of you. Your magic and all.”

His breath caught, his heart beating harder.

He could not embrace this acceptance from her. Not when she did not yet know the truth. He hung his head, staring at his hands. “You do not know everything about me. I…”

How could he explain? The words choked in his throat. This was not the right time and place for this conversation.

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