It wasn’t until Teddy walked over to her, grabbed the discarded towel from her head, and began to pat the ends of her hair dry that she realized she’d created her own small puddle on the floor behind her.
He knelt in front of her. “May I?”
She stared at him blankly.
“Wipe your face.”
“There’s blood on my face?” Stella’s voice was a breathless whisper. Panic surged through her body. She wanted it off—wanted to rid herself of every reminder of what she’d done.
Teddy wiped the damp towel across her cheek and jaw, following the rag with the brush of his thumb. “There you are. Though I admit the blood was kind of sexy.”
Stella stared at him, waiting to feel anything other than a bone-deep cold.
He placed a cup in her hands, keeping his palm beneath itwhen he realized how badly her hands were trembling. “Drink some water. It’s not a good idea to make a fire now, so I can’t make tea. This is the next best thing. Now, drink up and give me your hands.”
For once, she didn’t want to argue with him. She still felt half-dazed, but she was happy for his calm, commanding tone. Trying to process what had just happened felt impossible, but she could follow instructions.
She drank the entire cup of water as Teddy rifled around in his bag and returned a moment later with a clean pillowcase from one of the bunks and one of the small wooden stakes that she’d used to cook mushrooms over the fire earlier that day.
Teddy sat down in front of her and took her right hand in his. He flipped her palms face-down with shocking tenderness. To her horror, she realized that, though the rain had washed the blood from her skin, it lingered beneath her short fingernails.
He carefully went to work, using the pointed tip of the stake to scrape her nail beds clean.
“Look at my face, not what I’m doing,” he said.
Stella frowned at him. “I don’t want to look at your face.”
“Why not? You’re always telling me how handsome it is.”
She gasped out a laugh. “It is. It’s irritating.”
He arched a brow but kept his gaze on his work. “Is it?”
“Yes. It’s distracting. Especially that scar on your lower lip.”
He met her eyes, then his gaze dropped to her lips. “Well, then, it sounds like we’re even, because I also find your mouth very distracting. That little bow on your upper lip. Can’t stop staring at it.”
Warmth spread through Stella’s cheeks, the first she’d felt since she’d come in from the rain.
He continued his ministrations, stroking a thumb over the top of her hand as he worked. “I was sixteen,” he murmured. “The first time I killed someone.”
Stella stared at him, dumbfounded. “Why?”
She meant why because the war was over. Why? Because he was a prince and had people to do his dirty work for him. Why? BecauseXander and Jessamin had always seemed regal but warm, parents who would do anything to protect their children.
Teddy sighed and licked his lips. “I was very young and so cocky. You know how it is—your parents are warriors, you think that it will be easy. As if it passes down through blood and it will be as simple as the swipe of a blade.”
Stella knew exactly what he meant. When violence was theoretical, or just for the fun of knocking Leo on his ass and getting bragging rights, it was easy. But when faced with the bloody reality, she felt wholly unprepared.
Teddy paused for a moment, wiping the tip of the stake on the towel. The lantern light guttered, sending shadows scattering across Teddy’s face. The wind whistled through cracks in the treehouse walls.
“I suppose it is easier when it’s necessary,” he said softly.
Teddy was cleaning up the remnants so she wouldn’t see them later and relive it, and he was telling her this story—this very private story—to distract her. He was doing everything possible to make this easier for her.
A lump formed in Stella’s throat, and the shocking numbness in her chest started to dissipate.
“In Novum it’s a rite of passage,” Teddy continued. “My mother, Isla, and Aunt Maren were all entered into tournaments where they were expected to get their first kill at sixteen.” He shook his head and moved on to cleaning the nails of her other hand. “My father hated the idea. It is one of the few fights I’ve ever seen my parents have, and it was bad. In the end, my mother won, as she always does. Having Isla’s support sealed my fate, I think.”
