Page 39 of The Dark Prince
An identical suite of rooms was just down the hall, but done in more feminine shades of dusty rose and gold. The fireplace was smaller and made of white stone, the first I’d seen of it in this dark castle. Everything else was mostly the same, except an extra room stood off to the side. I poked my head in, seeing a large tub laid into intricate tile work on a raised dais. I squealed and Tyr appeared, frowning.
“Why did Bessy bring me to your rooms when this was here?” I asked, tugging him down to sit on the tile in front of me. “Not that I mind, of course,” I hurriedly added, not wanting him to think I didn’t want to be near him.
“Great question,” he grumbled, sitting down on a settee. He winced as I peeled back the ripped shirt. The wound underneath leaked a dark puss, and he winced when I prodded it.
“Honestly, a bath wouldn’t hurt you,” I chastised him, taking my eyes from the worst of the damage. I thought of the poor tub, in pieces back in his rooms.
Tyr grunted. “Just clean it.”
I grabbed a fresh cloth, rolling my eyes at him as I filled a small pitcher with water. It was too cold for what I wanted.
“Don’t you have a healer in a castle this big?” I asked, hardly thinking I was the best choice for this.
“In the village. Or Arne. But I don’t. I’m fine.”
Clearly.
“I’ll just clean it the best I can and re-dress it. Promise me you’ll get hot water for it, and sterilize it at some point? Even if your men do it. The inflammation would go down if you just let the skin breathe. You needn’t wear your mask all the time.”
Tyr growled and bit back an oath as I squeezed along the inflamed bits, swiping away most of the pus until his blood ran clear.
“Quit being a baby,” I chastised him, and dabbed it with a few clean strips I tore from his shirt. “There. Take care of yourself, by the gods.”
I stepped back to admire my work. Unfortunately, this also had the side effect of me realizing I was gazing at his naked, muscled torso. His shoulders and arms were as thick as my waist, and the memory of them around my waist burned into my memory. His muscles continued down his chest and stomach, a fine swatch of hair as dark as his head running down to disappear under his breeches.
My mouth went dry.
“Isadora.”
The way he said my name made it sound like a cardinal sin. My gaze snapped back up to his, my lips parted.
“Some people have wounds you can’t see,” I started, not sure why I was delving into this topic. Maybe it was because I felt I owed him a small piece of me after he’d entrusted me with this large bit of himself. Or perhaps I wanted someone else to understand the relentless churn of my mind and how exhausted it could make me.
Maybe I just wanted someone else to talk to.
“I have lived my whole life scared of everything,” I admitted.
Tyr had the gall to snort at me. “You are not scared of everything. You aren’t scared of me. Something most grown men cannot boast about.”
My lips thinned. “I am scared you don’t like me. I am scared I’m being used as a pawn in a scheme between men and kings that I don’t understand, but I’m so thankful to have bettered my circumstances that I stay silent about it. I am scared that you need help with something, but won’t tell me what it is. I’m scared that a week ago I was mucking the stalls, and now there’s a princess somewhere here I have to take tea with.” I gave a short bark of laughter. “That is the most terrifying part, I think.”
Tyr sighed and stroked my jaw with his thumb. We leaned into each other, and he only flinched for a moment as my smooth cheek met his scarred one.
“You said you have an invisible wound. What is it?” he asked.
I grinned wryly. “You will think it foolish. I worry myself to death over everything. If cook said we were out of carrots, I would immediately start imaging every scenario that would occur once someone told my step-father. It was his favorite vegetable, but his response really depended on his mood at the time, so—”
I cut myself off when I realized he was staring at me. Heat crawled up the back of my neck. “Sorry. I worry about everything all the time. I am always anxious. I’m awful. ”
Tyr took my hands and placed them on the ruined side of his face. His eyes closed in obvious pleasure as I obediently ran my fingers over the scars, smiling at him. I hadn’t expected him to trust me so quickly.
“You aren’t awful, Isadora. You were abused in your past.”
I pulled back. “That’s … it was a better life than most,” I argued weakly, because it was true. How many others didn’t have clothes on their back, a roof over their heads, or hot meals from the kitchen? I was blessed!
“You don’t think your constant worry had anything to do with your welfare being reliant on your step-father’s moods?” He had drawn my fingers down to his lips, and was kissing them one at a time.
You can’t think when a man is kissing your fingers. His lips were soft and warm. My mind went pleasantly blank, for once quiet and not worrying about every tiny thing.
