by Frost Kay
Tehl nodded. He knew the feeling. Forgiveness could be an elusive thing.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Sage
Sage’s eyes sprung open. She blinked at the unfamiliar ceiling. Where was she? Something warm shifted against her side. Sage turned her head to the side and stilled. There was a man in the bed. A half-naked man. She blinked a couple times and then let loose an earth-shattering scream.
As soon as she did so, his eyes flew open and he bolted upright. Sage scrambled backward on her hands, kicking at him as she tried to escape. One of her kicks clipped him on the chin, clacking his teeth together and sending him off the bed. Her whole body trembled as she scrambled to find a weapon of any sort and figure out what was going on. Burning pain seared her hand as she clumsily grabbed the blade of the dagger hidden under the pillow. Ignoring the pain and blood, Sage rolled off the bed and fell into a defensive crouch. How did she end up here? She darted a glance around the room searching for an easy exit. Blast. The only door was on the other side of the bed.
“Stars above, what are you doing, woman?” a familiar voice demanded.
A large hand gripped the edge of the bed and irritated dark blue eyes peeked at her over its edge.
“What was that for?”
After a second, recognition dawned. Tehl. The crown prince. Her husband. Sage pushed her unruly hair out of her face and tried to calm her heart as it tried its best to beat right out of her chest. She scowled at the bed then looked at her abandoned nest on the floor. “Why did you move me?”
A snort pulled her attention back to her husband as he hauled himself from the floor, attempting to untangle himself from the bedding. “Do you not remember?”
Sage stared blankly at his naked chest for a beat before shifting her focus back to the rumpled bed, her brows furrowed. She remembered talking a bath, slipping into bed, and then—suddenly it came crashing back. Muddy-brown eyes, traipsing hands, and pain. Nightmares. She’d had a nightmare. Sage’s jaw tightened when she remembered how she had lain in Tehl’s arms, crying like a pathetic victim. How scornfully weak he must think her.
Sage’s eyes snapped up to find Tehl regarding her evenly. She scrutinized his face, searching for any hint of condescension or pity, but, miraculously, she found none. His eyes wandered down her arm and paused, a flicker of concern on his face. Sage followed his gaze to her crimson stained hand. She blinked. She’d forgotten she’d even done that.
Tehl grabbed the sheet and ripped a strip off, moving around the bed toward her. He halted in front of her and held his hand out. Sage eyed it before unclenching her hand and carefully placed the bloody dagger onto the side table, and, immediately, she felt the pain begin to pulse from the wound. Reluctantly, she laid her hand in his. It had already bled quite a bit, making it look worse than it was, but fortunately it wasn’t deep enough to require stitching, however, it would prove to be annoying in the coming weeks.
As he examined her hand, palm up, his calloused hands were surprisingly gentle. Sage winced when he used his fingers to probe the cut, ascertaining its depth, and focused on a soot mark marring the fireplace. An uncomfortable silence filled the room as he wrapped the cloth and bound it. After what seemed like an eternity of awkwardness, he finally said, “All done.”
Sage pulled her hand from his grasp and shifted backward, clearing her throat. “Um, sorry about kicking you off the bed.”
He took a step back as well and leaned a bare shoulder on a bed poster, crossing his muscular arms against his very bare chest. It irked her that he cut such a nice figure. Sage was no stranger to the male physique; she did, after all, grow up with two brothers and had spent plenty of time training with men. For some reason, however, she was discomfited by it when it came to the crown prince.
“Would you put a shirt on?” she snapped.
“No, I won’t. I have slept without a shirt for as long as I can remember and that’s not going to change just because I have a wife. If it makes you uncomfortable, don’t look.” The crown prince turned on his heel and left, entering the bathing room. Just before slamming the door, he called out, “You’re lucky I wore pants.”
Sage glared at the door a moment but soon left that to examine the room. The bed looked like a wild beast had been let loose on it. Blankets and pillows were strewn about the room, the sheets ripped and blood stained. Feathers decorated the bed, its side-table, and the floor. When did that happen? And how?
A sharp knock at the door had Sage scrambling. She rushed to pick up her nest of blankets and threw them on the bed. No one could know they weren’t actually together. She plucked a pillow up and lobbed it at the bed.
No doubt hearing her scrambling around, Tehl yanked open the door, frowning. “What?”
“There’s someone at the door!” Sage hissed.
Tehl’s eyes widened. “Put a robe on over your clothes.”
She dashed into the closet and tugged on the first robe she found. “One moment,” she heard the crown prince call out. It was so large the sleeves covered her hands and it dragged on the floor, but it would do.
Sage stepped out of the closet just as Tehl placed the bloody dagger into a drawer. He turned to her and nodded. “Good. My robe is a nice touch.”
That’s why it was so big. She was an idiot sometimes. He moved to her side and reached for her braid. “What are you doing?” Sage barked, batting his hand away.
“Making it appear like you have been tumbled all night,” he growled.
“I can do it!” Speedily, she unwound her braid and ran her fingers through her locks. Sage bent forward and flipped her hair back, tousling it. “How’s that?”
The crown prince stepped into her space and speared his fingers through her hair, ruffling it. “There. Now you look tumbled.”
She jerked away from him with narrowed eyes and opened her mouth to retort.
“Enter,” Tehl called, plopping into a nearby chair, yanking her with him. She fell with a grunt into his lap. Annoyed, she stiffened and tried to get right back up.
“Sit back and relax,” his deep voice whispered into her ear. “They are bringing breakfast to a newly married couple. What do they expect to see?”
Sage had no choice but to curl into him as the door opened, admitting one of her ladies-in-waiting and a few servants. A large hand settled on her thigh, and she couldn’t help the blush that crept up her cheeks.
“How are you today, my lady?” Lera, a plump serving woman, asked while spreading a feast before them.
“I am well, Lera. Thank you.”
Tittering drew her attention to her ladies-in-waiting that she avoided since they had a tendency to gossip and she had no interest in such things. They were glancing from the bed to one another, whispering furtively. Sage’s brows furrowed as she tried to figure out what they could possibly find that interesting. One of their gazes flickered again to the bed, curiosity evident on their face. Sage glanced to the bed, but she noted nothing worth commenting on. Dismissing it she was about to turn away when her eyes snapped back to the bed in horror.
The blood.
That’s why they were staring.
Her cheeks burned at what they must be thinking. Lera noted her preoccupation and looked to the bed, stilling for only a moment. The sweet servant smiled softly, kindness on her face. “Would you like me to draw you a bath? I have lavender. It is wonderful for soothing all sorts of aches and pains.”
“Please do,” Tehl responded, “for the lady and I.”
Humiliation burned her at the knowing glint in Lera’s eyes. “Of course, my lord.”
Sage blocked out everything and everyone in the room and instead focused on simply appearing comfortable and relaxed. What was she doing here? She rubbed her wrist and blanched. What did she do with her cuffs? She scanned the room frantically, attempting to be subtle in her search. Her heart banged against her ribs when she caught sight of them under the bed. A rough shake pulled her out of her stupor. She blinked and turned to stare at narrowed
dark blue eyes. “What?”
“You can get off of me.”
Her own eyes narrowed at his tone. “Excuse me?”
“They’re gone, you can drop the act.”
Sage leapt from his lap and tugged off his robe, tossing it onto the bed with disgust. Her new husband remained seated, relaxed in the chair slouching with his legs splayed in front of him, still without a damn shirt. His blue eyes were thoughtful as he rubbed at his chin, musing.
“I think that went well.”
She snorted. “Hmph. What part?”
“All of it,” the prince gestured to the bed. “I couldn’t have planned it any better. In an hour the whole palace will know what ardent lovers we are.”
Sage sniggered. “Ardent lovers?” she asked, her nose scrunched.
Tehl’s lips turned up. “Yes. Ardent lovers.”
Sage rolled her eyes and swiped her cuffs from under the bed, plopping down on it. “What do we do now?”
“Our court already knows we aren’t leaving for a bonding period like some do, so they’ll be expecting us to be holed up here instead for a while.”
She stared at him in horror. How long would she have to stay in the same room as him? She didn’t think they could survive; one of them would surely murder the other. “How long?”
“Two weeks.”
“No.”
“Yes.”
“I will not be trapped in this room for two weeks. Who will run Aermia?”
“Sam, I imagine.”
“You can not be serious.”
“What would you have me do?”
“One week. I will stay here one week and one week only, not a moment more,” she said severely.
“We could get away with one week, I suppose. That would be ideal since I don’t relish being stuck in here either.”
Sage blew out a breath. “One week.”
“One week,” Tehl echoed.
***
The week wasn’t as horrid as Sage had imagined. She discovered, to her delight, her new husband felt the need to avoid her as much as she did him. The worst part was being cooped up in a single suite. She read books, practiced, and lounged in the sun on the terrace to pass the time. At one point, she’d become so bored that she convinced Mira to bring her a sewing basket. After hours of trying, and nothing but knotted thread, a wounded finger, and jabs from Tehl to show for it, she finally just threw the blasted thing over the balcony.
Sam popped in a few times with updates on her assassin, or rather, the lack thereof. They could find nothing so far. They had a body but no names or connections. So many times she wished she could go and investigate herself but was always politely reminded that Rafe was looking into it as well and that it was more important that she stayed where she was.
She also missed her family. It was lonely being stuck with just the prince. Gavriel stopped by for a few games of chess but never for very long nor frequently enough to fill her need for company. Sage grew so desperate she even attempted to converse with her husband but he was dense. He couldn’t hold a conversation to save his life.
Husband.
She’d never be comfortable with him wearing that title.
Her biggest issue, however, was every night. The crown prince dropped into a deep sleep as soon as his head touched the pillow, whereas Sage would curl up by the fire, staring at the ceiling for hours until she finally succumbed to sleep. She envied his soundless sleep night after night for, inevitably, she would have a nightmare. Thus, every morning, she woke up, not only exhausted, but irritable because the stubborn man wouldn’t leave her in the nest on the floor. She hated that every morning she awoke plastered to his warm side.
When Sage woke on the eighth day, she couldn’t hold back her excitement. She was free. She shoved her feet into boots and snatched her daggers from their various hiding places. Tehl rolled from the bed and watched her.
“You’re chipper this morning.” His voice sounded like two rocks being rubbed together.
“We are free of each other.” Sage grinned at him in the mirror while she quickly braided her hair.
The crown prince pushed up from the bed and plucked something from her side-table. Sage turned to him when he stopped behind her. Her lips pinched when she saw what he was holding. Her cuffs. Sage held her wrists out to him, keeping her face neutral. She hated them. She shivered when the cold metal kissed her skin. Tehl ran his thumb over one cuff and released her. Sage plastered a bland smile on her face and slipped out the door with a quick goodbye.
The surge of excitement she felt at her newfound freedom added a skip to her step. She ignored the Elite following her and lengthened her stride. Finally, she burst through the doors leading to the practice ring and tilted her face to the sun, basking in its warm embrace.
“You appear mighty satisfied.” Sam teased.
Sage’s lips twitched. “I am indeed.”
“Oh?”
She opened her eyes and peeked at Sam who was lounging against the castle wall. “Married life suits me well.”
Sam smiled widely at her with twinkling eyes. “I am inclined to believe you. You’re ravishing this morning.”
“Always the flatterer,” Sage replied, a hand on her hip. “How many women have you said that to?”
Sam clasped his hands over his heart. “You wound me.”
“I doubt that. There’d have to be a heart in that chest before I could wound it.” Sage left him sputtering.
“I have a heart full of love.”
“You love too much,” she called over her shoulder.
“There’s no such thing!” he insisted.
His feet marched behind hers, chasing her toward the practice courtyard. “It’s not so much about quantity as it is quality.”
“So you’re saying one woman is better than many?”
Sam tugged on her braid and threw his arm over her shoulder.
Sage elbowed him in the stomach and shrugged off his arm. “Better be careful or you might have a horde of women thinking you love them.”
Sam’s face blanched and she giggled. After patting his arm, she attempted a sympathetic expression. “Don’t fret, I’m sure you’ll figure out some way to thwart them. After all, I’ve heard you’re an excellent liar.”
“Says the pot to the kettle,” he mumbled.
“You and I are going to be great friends.”
He smiled down at her. “Yes, we are.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Sage
The crown prince was in so much trouble.
She’d kill him.
Without so much as a word she blew passed the two guards holding the dungeon doors open. Her footsteps echoed on the stone walls as she descended the steps leading to the dungeon, her jaw clenched.
She had to be wrong. When she had stumbled across a pair of Elite speaking about a woman in the dungeon, Sage had frozen, hardly able to believe her ears. There was another woman being held captive? There was no way Sam and Gav would keep this from her, she had to have heard wrong. Jeffry’s head jerked up as she slammed into his office, halting just before his desk.
The old man blinked and steepled his fingers beneath his chin. “Yes?” He leveled an assessing gaze at her. To many, his silver eyes would be off-putting and intimidating, but she’d already known him for quite some time. She was not deterred.
“Where is she?” Sage growled.
“Who?”
So he was going to play dumb. How original. “The woman!” she spat.
Pity filled Jeffry’s face. “She’s been well taken care of.”
A stone settled in her stomach. It was true. Stars above. “That’s not what I asked.”
He glanced to a soldier stationed in the corner of the room. “Jacque, show the princess to cell nine-twelve.”
Dismissing the Keeper, she followed Jacque’s wiry form into the labyrinth of hallways which made up the dungeon. How could they keep this from her? She rubbed her arms as chills ran up and down them. The wall
s seemed to inch closer, the deeper they descended. How she hated this place!
A dirty prisoner caught her eye when he held a limp hand out to her. Old insecurities rose. What did these people do to deserve their sentence? Were they all guilty?
Lost in thought, Sage failed to pay attention to her footing and stumbled, stiffening as a hand wrapped around her bicep. She glanced up into Jacque’s angular face with a frown.
“Be careful, my lady. That one is in here for crimes you couldn’t imagine. Preys on women and children alike.”
All her pity disappeared. Children were to be protected, not preyed upon. Sage bared her teeth at the man and continued to follow Jacque. They turned a final corner and the soldier stopped at a cell at the very end of the hallway.
Her heart fell to the floor when she made out the sleeping prisoner on the other side of the bars.
A woman.
How could they do this?
Sage pushed closer and grasped the bars. She scoured the woman for injuries, but, apart from being loosely shackled to the cell, she looked thus far unharmed. Beneath the dirt, the woman was stunning. Her mocha skin was perfectly smooth, faint swirling patterns somehow etched or painted on it. She had hair so dark it seemed to soak up any surrounding light.
“How long has she been here?” Sage croaked. She wet her lips waiting for the guard’s answer.
“I would say almost three months. They brought her in about the time you were taken to the healer.”
Bile crept up her throat.
Three months.
They had kept her in here for three bloody months. Sage pulled in a deep breath through her nose, trying to keep from heaving. All she could see was herself hanging above the grate, bleeding. The pain. The terror. The iron bit into her palms, but she didn’t feel it. The sensation was lost in the memory.