All's Fair in Revenge

Chapter 44: The Courtyard

I wished I could say bringing Mabel back to life and then knocking her out again was the worst part of that evening. But it was not even close.

Sometime after the incident in the bathroom, I found myself escorted by Thorne through the beveled corridors as far away from the prince's quarters as non-humanly possible. We moved with such haste the candles flickered behind their sconces, every step allowing me another breath out from under the prince's touch.

At the end of the hall, we slowed. Within the protection of distance, I gasped for air.

Thorne pushed the loose waves from my face. "You're well," he said, wiping tears from my cheeks. They only poured harder. "You're all right," he insisted, pulling me into his chest, tucking me there. The smell of a burnt wood fire overtook me, and I focused on it entering my nose, filling my lungs to their brink. I watched how each exhale ruffled his shirt, focused on his warmth, on his hands. The same ones that smoothed my hair, their callouses tenderly tugging. His tangible thoughts dragged me from my own as I pressed into him, waited for him to give life to words I knew he desperately wanted to speak. Words I desperately wanted to hear.

Thorne gathered peace in his breathes waiting for me to calm alongside him. "Better?" he whispered into my hair. The nod I offered was shaky at best. So, he guided me through a loggia onto a massive marble terrace perched high above the sea. A sky of stars and wisps of auroras danced in the smooth glass waters of a fountain presenting three divine women tipping pitchers of water that spilled into the pool: the goddess sisters, presumably. The fresh air soothed my nerves. I'm not sure how he knew it was what I needed, but he did. He always did.

"How can the sky be so calm when everything else is such a mess?" I stepped toward the thick cement balustrade. "I wish the clouds wept with us more. The ocean is the only one who seems to understand its part in all this." I waved wildly at everything and nothing, at the rolling waves, at the air, and the too-full sky.

Thorne took his place next to mine. "What is there to worry about when you have no feet with which to touch the burning ground?"

I cocked a brow at him. "Aren't you philosophical."

A wry grin punctuated his left smile line. "You started it." He paused. He faced me. "I have no say in your choices," he began, a fist working through each word as if the order mattered, as if it had to be perfect, "and I'd never tell you what to do, but I'd regret it all my life if I didn't ask you to change your mind." With what happened after leaving Brix at the prince's door, he actually had every right. Good Eyr, even the damn servants had a right.

Most of the staff had cleared out upon my reentry to the main chamber of Prince Enric's quarters leaving a couple footmen, the musicians, and Thorne to stand far away enough for privacy but close enough to pander. I, myself, found the prince where I had left him, a custard-like desert with what looked like a scoop of snow balancing atop the confectionary. Settling next to him, I looked on as he ate, noting how many lip-smacking bites he enjoyed before he considered I might want a taste. Were Enric smart, he might've grasped the opportunity to flirt over the most sensual of meals. Instead, he chose to indulge himself.

No doubt like he did every night.

For all his slurping and moans as he ate his deserts, if you give me credit for nothing else, let it be my restraint in that moment. For I'd have loved to carve out his tongue with his own spoon after each offensive hmm. But I did not.

Once satiated, the prince washed down his dessert with a carafe of wine and not much else. We talked but of nothing important. Soon his speech slurred. He beckoned for another. Queries about my home, about my food, and my people dripped like drool from his open mouth; one question and then a long pause, a second, followed by another long pause. Then he spoke of his mating hounds with the enthusiasm of someone with something very specific on their mind. He also spoke of duty and its hardships and marital obligations. His fingers rubbed my knuckles. His foot rubbed my leg. And his wanton glances rubbed me the wrong way.