Daughter Of Lórien || Book 1||

Ch 17 ~ Meeting Again

I turn the corner of the hall, running down the length of it, and turning into the next one, my eyes searching wildly for any sign of the Prince. The sun has completed its descent along the sky, taking all the warmth and light with it, and creating shadows along the walls of the dimly lit halls. As night descends on the forest I find myself more desperate and anxious, scattered thoughts racing through my mind.

This is all my fault. If I had skipped the part about the duel in my story this could have all been avoided.

I turn the corner again, my footsteps near silent on the wooden floors, and almost cry in relief at the sight of the elf-prince I nearly run into head-on.

"Lady Celebríel," he says drily. "We must stop meeting like this."

I say nothing and just grab his hand, tugging him away and catching him by surprise as he loses his balance. I push him into a small alcove carved into the wall and then squeeze myself into it across from him.

"What's going on-"

I shoot him a glare. "Hush."

Peeking my head out of the alcove, I watch for any sign of potential trouble. My senses sharp and alert, I peer down the hall, keeping my ears open for any sound of approaching footsteps. Nothing but the empty, silent hall meets my assessment, but I wait like that for a couple more minutes before turning back to the Prince.

In the adrenaline of the moment I hadn't realized how tight the alcove is, barely more than a hands length between me and him. My eyes widen.

"Well, this is snug," I say, pushing myself against the wall, trying to put a little more distance between us with no luck.

He snorts. "Indeed."

His face is unimpressed as he looks down at me. "Is there a particular reason why you squeezed us in here or shall I just let my mind wander with assumptions?"

My cheeks flush bright red, and I turn my head from him. "Oh no, please no assumptions, I don't think I'd want to hear them."

"Well then?" His eyes twinkle with amusement at my embarrassment as he waits for an explanation.

"Let's just say that my brothers heard about our duel and they're very much determined to kill you for giving me this." I point an angry finger at the scar along my neck.

His eyebrows shoot up.

"However, as I recall," I continue, "I did a pretty number on you as well."

His mouth drops into an irritated frown.

"You mean this?" he says, tilting his head to the left, exposing a thin line of red marking the healing scar on his neck.

It is twin to mine, although much more raw, and bright red and irritated. I fix him with a calculating gaze.

"Yes, exactly that," I whisper furiously, as I slide a finger under his chin and tilt it higher to get a better look at the wound in the dim light of the alcove.

He hisses, his breath warm against my hand as the skin pulls taunt across the cut and splits. A thin line of blood pools along its edges and I quickly draw back my hand, grabbing a handkerchief from the pocket of my dress and pressing it against the wound.

"Why hasn't it healed more by now?" I ask, suspicion heavy in my voice.

He places his hand atop mine, holding the handkerchief, as blood begins to spot the other side of it. His hand is warm, his fingers callused from many years of wielding arrows, and I find myself holding my hand there for a moment longer before slipping it out from under his.

The lingering heat of his fingers fades from my hand and he glances at me.

Guilty blue eyes meet my horrified green ones as he admits, "I didn't get it checked by the healers."

My eyes widen, my healers instincts kicking in, and I slap him for his recklessness. If he is surprised by the blow, he doesn't show it. Grabbing his hand, I lower the handkerchief, assessing the wound again. It is swollen and hot to the touch, irregular behavior for a minor cut.

"It's infected, you idiot!" I hiss at him, my voice sharp.

His flinches at my harsh words but doesn't challenge them.

"An infection that close to the throat could be fatal," I scold coldly. "I should think a Prince would know better than this."

Grabbing his arm I drag him out of the alcove, any thought of my brothers and their threat gone from my head as I pull the Prince along, down the hall.

"We are going straight to the healers wing to get that cleaned up properly," I growl, shooting him a look.

He follows along, one hand still holding the handkerchief against the cut, his lips pressed into a firm line. "I don't think the healers would appreciate being woken up at this late hour, especially for a minor cut-"

My anger surges and I whirl around to face him.

"It is not a minor cut, it is infected!" I hiss as he pins me with a glare.

I take steady breaths, letting my temper cool before I continue, "And I'm not waking anyone up."

I watch his expression morph into one of confusion and then doubt as he registers my statement. He scrunches his eyebrows.

"You?"

Rolling my eyes, I grab his arm again and continue down the hall.

"You might forget it Princeling, but I am a practiced healer," I growl, the Prince in tow as I stride down the hall with brisk, authoritative steps. "And a rutting good one at that. If there's anyone here who can heal an infection like that, it's me."