The boy’s shoulders squared. “I’m learning, sir. I can help.”
“There’s no one else,” an older female said, her arm curling around the boy’s shoulders. “But my son’s proven to be a quick learner. He’ll save Mealow’s boy.”
Ryder picked the child up in one strong arm before sailing back to the house. Mealow still wept over her dead husband, tears pouring down her cheeks.
Watching, I dried my eyes and struggled to compose myself as I waited for Mealow to shift her attention away from her dead husband to her unconscious son who still lay listless on the floor.
“Isn’t she worried about her boy?” I finally managed.
Haxil crossed his arms. “On some level, probably, but her reaction is typical in cases like this. Even though her husband’s dead, her concern lays with the abuser. Some fae become dependent on the abuser, and the toxic cycle that forms between them is like an addictive potion in itself. She’ll probably continue to mourn for him over the coming days instead of sitting at her son’s bedside.”
I wrapped my arms around myself, suddenly so chilled my entire body trembled. Haxil spoke as if he had experience with such matters. “Do you suppose she regrets going to the prince for help?”
“Probably.” Haxil eyed the crowd. Dozens of scornful, wary fae stared back at us. “Everyone thinks it’s a good idea to have the Death Master on their side until they see the absolute destruction that he’s capable of.”
CHAPTER 7
The young healer’s inexperience was apparent when he struggled to save Mealow’s son, but after minutes of trying and refusing to give up, the teenage boy was finally able to slow the bleeding.
It took another aching moment for the injured male to open his eyes, but when he did, his foggy gaze slid around the room. When he beheld the crown prince hovering above him and his mother weeping over his father’s dead frame, he sat up, wincing.
“Keep working on him,” the prince said to the young healer. “His wing’s broken from the looks of it, and that gash on his head probably means he sustained a concussion. And if your magic is deep enough, his mother also has a torn wing to tend to.”
The boy dipped his head. “Yes, Your Highness.”
I lurched back from the house when the prince burst through the front door. A thunderous expression scoured his features, and that look only strengthened when he saw me. I had no idea if he was angry that I’d tried to intervene, or if he was pissed off about having to deal with the attack, but fire burned in his eyes—a white-hot fire that turned them an icy blue.
I took a fearful step away from him as my breath quickened.
A low growl rumbled in the prince’s chest, and then his gaze cut to my neck, his attention fixating on the area where Vorl had choked me. With a tight clench of his jaw, he pivoted and strode back toward the path, not saying a word to anyone.
My heart pattered even faster. I felt like a trisilee on the verge of a heart attack and was certain everyone could hear my pulse. That belief only increased when Haxil ushered me after the prince, and all of the villagers’ stares shifted from Prince Norivun to me.
Their questioning assessment, confusion, and disgust hit me all at once. Unlike a pre-pubescent child, who one would expect to be wingless, I was a fully grown fairy, and their morbid interest made heat creep up my neck.
“She must be a strange sort of defective,” a female hissed to her friend.
“But defectives still have wings. Where are hers?” the friend replied.
“Maybe he shaved them off.” The first gestured toward the prince.
The other nodded. “He would do something like that. Evil, that one. Pure evil.”
The male standing behind them snorted. “She probably didn’t ride his cock hard enough, and he clipped her wings in punishment.”
His friend elbowed him, then snickered. “You think that’s why her clothes are so dirty too? Punishment? Or do you think he likes his whores filthy?”
The female in front sniffed. “Disgraceful, the lot of them.”
I shot them all a glare, but their sniggering continued. I didn’t know what was worse. The truth or their conclusion that I was the prince’s whore, and he’d shaved my wings in punishment for a poorly executed fuck session.
But obviously, the truth wasn’t even on their radar. The prince hadn’t shaved my wings. I’d just never developed them. That truth had made shame follow me my entire life, even though I tried to accept myself for who I was. But the truth still hurt. I was the only adult Solis fairy, as far as I knew, that had never grown wings. And considering my age, I never would.
I clamped my lips firmly shut as the mountain’s coldness sank into my bones. At least those villagers were completely wrong about me being a whore. I had that going for me. I would never touch the prince, not even if he offered me payment beyond my wildest imagination. I would rather die than let him touch me.
Despite knowing that, ice slithered through my veins. The villagers’ comments stung. Deeply. But I knew I’d have to get used to it, because comments like that would likely continue. If the prince was taking me to Solisarium, a city of a million fae, I would have many more watchful eyes and scathing remarks coming.
“Imbeciles,” I whispered under my breath.
Haxil grunted. “Couldn’t agree with you more.”
I gave him a small smile, at which he just patted my shoulder.
Ahead, the prince stormed toward the lodge, his movements as fierce as a gale roaring through a valley.
“Why is he so angry?” I asked Haxil.
The guard shrugged. “I suppose you’d have to ask the prince that.”
But there was something in Haxil’s expression that made me think he knew exactly why the crown prince was in such a foul mood.
As we trudged up the mountain, the prince’s expression was hard and unforgiving, and the energy rippling from him was enough to make my shoulders want to fold inward while keeping my chin tucked to my chest.
Thankfully, whatever the reason for his rage, he kept it inward, not turning his affinity on me or his guards.
The village fell behind us when we entered the trees, and soon, smoke appeared from our accommodation’s chimney. When we finally entered the lodge’s main room, fragrant scents of freshly baked bread and succulent stew drifted through the air.
“Right over here!” Milis called, gesturing to the table nearest the fire that she’d preset with the guards’ meals, hot and ready.
“See that Ilara gets to her chamber,” the prince called tersely to Haxil before he disappeared up the back stairs.
Nish, Ryder, and Sandus headed toward their dinner. Numbly, I followed Haxil, once again realizing how my life was now completely out of my control. I was a prisoner of the crown prince. I now ate, slept, traveled, and probably relieved myself when he told me to.
Scowling, I pulled out a chair by the fire as my stomach let out a rumble.
“Hungry?” Haxil scooted over, making room for me at the table.