Page 18 of Off with Her Head
I want to argue, but exhaustion is catching up to me. Blood loss, magical expenditure—my body is reaching its limits, no matter what my determination demands. And Scarlett's right. Collapsing on the road to Darkmore would serve no one.
"One night," I concede. "But we leave at dawn, regardless of my condition."
She nods, seeming to understand that this is a point I won't bend on. "Dawn it is. I'll have everything prepared."
An awkward silence falls between us as we both become aware of our situation. I'm in her bed, wounded but stable. Protocol would dictate that I be moved to my own chambers, that propriety be maintained. We are, after all, queens of separate kingdoms, our alliance new and fragile.
But the thought of moving, of losing the comfort of her presence, is almost nauseating.
"You should rest too," I say, attempting to address the unspoken question. "It's been a long day."
"I'll have a cot brought in," she begins, but I cut her off.
"Don't be ridiculous." I pat the space beside me, ignoring the way my heart races at my own boldness. "Your bed is big enough for both of us, and I'm not going to make you sleep on a cot in your own chambers."
She seems surprised by the suggestion, those green eyes widening slightly. "Are you sure? You're hurt, and I wouldn't want to—"
"I'm sure." And I am, with a certainty that would be alarming if I had the energy to examine it properly. "Unless you're afraid?"
"Of you? Please." She slips under the covers beside me, careful to maintain a distance. "I could have you executed, you know."
"Mm, but you won't." My voice is growing heavy with sleep, the events of the day finally taking their toll. "You like me too much."
I hear her shift slightly beside me. "Perhaps I do."
The confession, soft as it is, follows me into dreams of odd Underland creatures.
But as sleep claims me fully, my mind offers one last image:Scarlett and I in a garden where red and black rosesgrow together, our magics intertwined, our futures no longer separate but shared.
It should be a nightmare, the loss of independence, the vulnerability to another.
Instead, it feels like cominghome.
Chapter
Seven
SCARLETT
I've heard stories about sharing a bed with a witch. That their magic seeps into your dreams, that their power leaves marks on your skin, and that you wake changed in subtle but irreversible ways. I always dismissed such tales as superstitions.
Now, lying beside Ravenna in my own bed, I'm not so sure those stories were entirely false.
She sleeps deeply, exhausted by blood loss and magical exertion. The corruption from the crystal blade seems to have stopped spreading, contained by our combined magic, but faint black veins are still visible beneath the bandages wrapped around her torso. In sleep, her face loses its careful composure, revealing a vulnerability I suspect few have ever been permitted to see. Her black hair spills across my crimson pillows like ink.
I should be sleeping too. Dawn comes early, but rest eludes me, my mind racing with everything we've seen and learned. Mara's corrupted blood magic. The crystal-controlled soldiers. The mysterious pool beneath Ironwood. And that final vision from the mirror—myself lying motionless on a battlefield, surrounded by carnage.
Is that my fate? To die in this coming conflict? The thought should terrify me, but strangely, it doesn't. What terrifies me isthe idea of Ravenna facing Mara alone, without me at her side. The idea of what we've discovered together being lost before it can fully develop.
The idea of never knowing what might have happened if I'd closed the distance between us, if I'd pressed my lips to hers during those charged moments we've shared.
Beside me, Ravenna stirs, a small sound of distress escaping her lips. Her brow furrows, and her hands clench in the silk sheets. A nightmare. Given what she's endured, I'm not surprised.
Without thinking, I reach out, placing my hand over hers. Our energies connect immediately, flowing together in a circuit. Where our skin touches, a faint glow emanates.
The contact seems to soothe her. The tension in her face eases, and her breathing steadies. Whatever darkness pursued her through dreams retreats, at least for now. I should remove my hand, and return to a respectful distance. But I can't find it in me to break the connection. The flow of our combined magic is addictive, a heady sensation unlike anything I've felt before.
Eventually, I too succumb to exhaustion, slipping into dreams filled with black roses and crimson shadows, with pools of mysterious liquid and crystal armies. But through it all, a constant remains—Ravenna at my side.
