The Immortal Prince ✔️

4

Word Count: 2158

~Vaela

Just as he's about to leave the room, I call for him to stop.

"I know you're immortal and all, but you don't have anything for me to tend to my wound?"

Both Hale and I's eyes drop to the wound. Frankly, it's disturbing, and if I don't disinfect and wrap it, the fire isn't going to end up being enough to save me.

"Follow me," he instructs grimly.

I scramble after him, surprised as the warmth of the fireplace follows me from the room. It still hasn't managed to get under my skin yet, to warm the deepest parts of me that are currently still glacial.

Staring at Hale's back as we walk, I'm surprised the hallway we have entered into isn't cold and constricted like the one's past the door. There's a subtle, earthy smell to everything that is rather pleasant, and the generous velvet rugs under foot almost have me forgetting I'm in a cave with a Pureblood.

Hale cuts around a corner, before shouldering a door open. It reveals a bathroom, like one I would find in my home. There's a bath, and granite countertops...There's even a mirror, which I merely glance at.

I don't need to see how dishevelled and miserable I look in front of Hale, who appears effortlessly perfect.

"This place is incredible, for a cave," I say.

"I had it built so I could stay away from people." There is a hint of amusement in his tone, although I get the feeling that there is plenty of truth to that.

"You must get tired of it..."

"No. Not really." He shrugs.

I watch him quietly. There's a sadness to him, that honestly makes my heart hurt, even though only minutes ago he was contemplating killing me. He may not like people, but the air of loneliness about him is hard to ignore.

He nods toward the counter. "Sit."

I follow his gaze. "On the counter?"

"Do you need help or something?" He questions.

"No...I'm fine," I say quickly, turning my back against the counter before hoisting myself up. Avoiding Hale's gaze, I press my back against the cold mirror, trying to avoid slipping into the sink.

My legs dangle, my wounded knee graphically on display. I look at that, instead of Hale, as he approaches me.

He grabs the thigh of my other leg, pushing it apart to make room for him to assess my injured one. I jump, biting down on my bottom lip, my leg burning from the weight of his borderline possessive touch, even if it's just through my clothes.

His silver gaze rises to mine, consumed by ulterior meaning. I look away.

He exhales, waving his hand to the left of him. A basket appears, seemingly out of nowhere, filled with bandages and other medical supplies.

"Woah," I marvel. "Magic."

"Mmm."

He pulls a small bottle out, twisting the cap before positioning it over my leg. Knowing what's coming, I manage not to flinch despite the overwhelming sting the liquid causes as it glides through my shredded skin.

Being mortal is rough.

Once the pain finally dissipates, Hale puts the bottle down and starts dabbing the area around the wound. The more he cleans away, the better it actually starts to look. From what I remember, this shouldn't take too long to heal.