Page 19 of Between Smoke and Shadow
Out of fear, I know.
I don’t blame them. But Wyhel, looking at Rune now, I wish this wasn’t rare at all. I almost feel like, if I just look hard enough, I might see into her mind. Like every thought she’s ever had, good and bad, is hidden within that endless blue.
I wish she would actuallylookat me. Instead, her gaze is fixed on my nose and her shoulders are tight.
“I will not harm you,” I repeat. “If I was going to hurt you, it would already be done.”
Rune still doesn’t meet my eyes, but she nods. It’s a stilted gesture, like she doesn’t believe me.
“I’m going to take you back to your quarters. It won’t be safe for you to return alone, especially without a mask.”
Her eyebrows scrunch, creating a crease between them. I inexplicably want to smooth the wrinkle, but I don’t try. Instead, I let my eyes roam her face. Everything about her is pale and sickly: her limp brown hair, her translucent skin, her cracked lips and unsteady breaths. Even so, she’s fucking beautiful—somuch more beautiful than I remembered. It’s not just her eyes, either. It’s all of her: high cheekbones, full lips, delicate nose.
I want to touch her, to wipe her drying tears, to cradle her against my chest. I can’t explain the feeling that tugs beneath my ribcage, unlike anything I’ve felt before. It’s an uncomfortable mixture of protective instincts and blatant attraction, like I want to hide her where no one will ever hurt her again—and then ravish her body any way she’ll allow.
I swallow. Force my attention to the handkerchief in her grasp. I can’t help Rune. I know all too well what happens when I try…and the thought of the Architect doing to her what he did to Quil is enough to squash my urges.
“Put the mask on,” I tell her, trying to memorize the colors in her eyes, one last time.
She does as I say and then stands, legs shaking from fear or maybe pure exhaustion. She turns toward me, wordlessly, unmoving. I press my hand to her shoulder, pretending I don’t notice the way she flinches.
“I’m in 51 CC,” she says, voice soft. She tilts her palm toward me to show her thumbprint. I shouldn’t be surprised at the lingering blister on her skin. She’s too malnourished to be a long-time elite servant.
“You’re newly-promoted,” I say as we leave the bathroom.
“Yes, my prince.” She doesn’t offer anything more, and I force myself not to ask.
Instead, I lead her down the corridor, distracted by the tightness of her shoulders and the trembling of her hands. She’s radiating fear in everything, from her clenched body to her soft but unsteady breathing. When we reach a corner, her foot slides, nearly sending her to the floor. I wrap an arm around her, steadying her by the elbow. She jerks out of my hold immediately.
“Sorry, my prince,” she says. As if she’d leaned into me, and not the other way around.
Don’t be, I want to say. Instead, I look at her feet. “Your shoes are wet.”
She doesn’t respond, but her mouth bobs again. Somehow, that's all the answer I need. Viana and Saskia are somehow behind it, and she’s going to lie for them. Because she’s scared to tell the truth? Because she thinks I won’t believe her?
“I will send for new ones,” I say, sparing her from having to answer.
“They will dry, my prince,” she says. Her voice is hurried, ashamed.
“Yes,” I agree. Then, “The new pair will arrive tomorrow.”
She thanks me, tacking the samemy princeonto the end. I want to tell her to call me Harrick, but I don’t. We’ll likely never see each other again anyway. I ignore the way my stomach sours at that thought, and as we stop in front of 51 CC, I find my gaze devouring her. As if committing her to memory, as if I’m afraid to forget her.
You did, once, I think. Nother, exactly, but the details. Her eyes are bluer. She’s prettier. Her voice is rougher. She’s just…more, and I don’t want to forget this time.
I don’t want to lie and convince myself her life gets better once I’m gone.
“My prince?” Rune asks.
I startle, realizing we’ve stopped and I haven’t explained why.
“Apologies,” I say. The word brings a rush of pretty blush to her cheeks. I wonder if she’s ever been apologized to, and I know, without a doubt, she hasn’t. Especially not from someone of my rank. “We’ve arrived at your quarters, Rune.”
She blindly steps forward, patting at her door until she finds the keypad. A spark of magic zaps between her thumb and the pad, and Rune flinches. Her door clicks open, and she releasesa heavy breath. I wonder, if until this moment, Rune doubted I was bringing her where I promised.
“Thank you, my prince,” she says. Her breath is heavy, unstable. She faces me, keeping her foot against her opened door. “Truly.”
“It was my pleasure,” I tell her, wishing she knew how much of an understatement that was.
