Scorn and Devotion

Chapter 34

warnings - mentions of abuse, mentions of hangover, mentions of promiscuity, mentions of poor parenting, mentions of trauma, mentions of injury, mentions of puke

Back in our cell, I fell to the floor, relishing the cold feeling against my head. I knew soon I would be freezing again, but for the moment, the cool stone felt deliciously soothing to my aching head. I dozed off, falling in and out of sleep.

When I finally felt fit enough to sit up, I realized Timothée was watching me. He'd shredded most of his shirt into strips, to bind up my leg. I could see his pale skin was tinted ever so slightly blue from the cold of the cell, and goosebumps ran along his bare skin. He approached me with the makeshift bandages. Feeling dazed I ran my fingers down his exposed skin. He shuddered, closing his eyes, and I wondered if I'd brushed past a bruise from the way he was acting. When his eyes flickered open they were dark, pupils consuming most of the green. The way he was looking at me felt too intense, and I looked away.

Unfortunately, the gauzy Fae clothing was almost too slippery to stay tied as he wrapped up my, now swollen, ankle. He moved so carefully, long, nimble fingers trying their best not to hurt me any further. It was only then that I realized, I was still only in my sheer top, having ripped up my own top to mark our way through the Labyrinth.

"How did you even get your reputation?" I asked suddenly. Timothée jerked ever so slightly in surprise at the break in silence. I supposed he'd been sitting in silence the whole time while I'd been sleeping.

"What do you mean?" He asked, tightening the fabric against my ankle.

"You made quite the name for yourself while I was away," I said with a wry smile. I saw his cheeks color a bit as he continued his work.

"If I listened to the stories they all told, I would have thought it would have been you waking up majorly hungover from Fae wine. Not only that, but you'd never let a half-dressed girl get away without charming her first." Timothée huffed a laugh and shook his head, curls swinging.

"And the smell of vomit would never deter a true ladies man like me," He said with a cheeky grin. I stuck my tongue out at him.

"Instead, you, the Prince of Ensorcila, is kneeling before me, and wrapping my leg with fabric from your own shirt," My voice got lower as I spoke. I tried desperately to fight the emotion rising in my throat. "You are not so different from how you used to be, not so very different at all."

"Well, when one comes with negative expectations, it often means they will desperately try to squeeze a circular peg into a square hole."

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked with caution. I had intended this moment to be sweet, and to thank him for his kindness in the maze.

"You so desperately wanted me to be cruel, to be different than how I truly am."

"I didn't want that," I said with minor disgust.

"Yes you did, so badly, I could see it in your eyes, I could read it in your tone of voice," Timothée ran a hand through his curls. They'd grown longer since we'd been here, and to be honest, I'd always preferred him with longer hair. I thought of how his curls always bounced when we ran together on sunny days. I thought of how he'd pushed them out of his face in frustration when we studied. I thought of how hard I'd laughed once, when the feast we'd gone to had served noodles, and he could barely keep them from getting stuck in his hair as he ate. We'd both been reprimanded harshly for laughing, but with him by my side, smiling from the corner of his mouth, as our parents raged, it hadn't seemed so bad.

"Maybe you are right, I didn't want to admit what I had lost. I wanted to change it so badly that I started to pretend I had not lost anything of consequence. I pretended what I had lost was a cruel prince, with foul intentions, bad habits, and no loyalty."