Page 39 of A Touch of Shadows

It was beautiful in the way he was beautiful. There was something otherworldly about it, which made her uncomfortable. It was too beautiful and she feared if she looked beneath the surface there would be a reason for that. A dark and terrible reason.

‘First things first,’ he said with cheerful confidence. ‘Some food? Or would you rather bathe? We can replace your clothes, something more befitting your position, if you like?’

‘My clothes?’ True, they were caked in dirt and blood. She’d been wearing them for days since they fled Thirbridge. What must she look like to him? He was a prince.

Finn hadn’t cared, a stray thought reminded her. Finn hadn’t said a word. He’d been there with her, every step of the way.

Where was he? She didn’t want to ask if they’d found him, captured him or, worse, killed him. She also didn’t want to alert them to his presence in the forest, though she doubted they were unaware of it. To bring him up now felt like a betrayal and she couldn’t do that.

‘My dear Wren, I only want you to be comfortable. Come, a bath first and then food, and we’ll talk, you and I, about everything.’

A bath meant undressing, meant making herself vulnerable. She couldn’t do that. He must have read her doubt on her features. Lifting his hands, he took a step back, the picture of a man who wouldn’t think of doing her harm.

‘I’ll leave the pavilion. No one will disturb you. You have my word, my lady. Let me do this one thing for your comfort.’

She wasn’t sure why she agreed but the words came out anyway. ‘All—all right…’

The moment she said it, he turned away, making his way back to the door and barking out a string of commands. The pavilion was alive with people carrying water, oils, perfumes and soaps, preparing a corner where a large copper bath was filled and made ready for her. Leander stood beside her, watching every detail, occasionally correcting something or suggesting an alternative. He did so gently, politely and with respect to those who were his servants.

Again, not what she expected from a prince of Ilanthus.

When everything was ready he dismissed them all and turned to her. ‘Take your time. No one will disturb you. I’ll have their heads if they dare.’ Was he joking? He said it with a smile, but there was a hint of something else beneath the words, a threat, made of the sharpest steel. ‘When you’re ready, I will be outside, waiting for you. Just call.’

But before he left, he lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her fingers.

As if she was a lady indeed. It made her skin tingle unexpectedly and all the same she fought not to snatch her hand back. Part of her didn’t want to.

And then she was alone.

Trying to calm her breath, Wren hugged the book to her chest and looked around her again. It was clearly his pavilion. Who else could command such luxury? There was a divan strewn with silks, throws and furs. Heavy curtains hung in front of the bath on one side, and a huge bed on the other. She stared at that for longer than she should have and the image of him sprawled loose-limbed in those sheets sprang to her mind, far too clearly. She retreated hastily.

The edges of the pavilion were pinned down but she could see gaps. Outside people moved back and forth. She could hear voices rising and falling, no sense of excitement or panic. Just conversation, like they were wandering down a village street. But too many people to just sneak out that way.

Wren tried to weigh up her options. Exhaustion made her mind dull and her body ache. And oh, the temptation to just be clean again was strong. She didn’t have to take a long time.

It seemed such a shame to waste such an indulgence. Elodie had always abhorred waste, hadn’t she?

Elodie was going to kill her. So was Finn.

But she could either sit here in misery or she could take what was offered.

Wren stripped off, piling her clothes and the book carefully within reach of the bath, and sank into the warm and fragrant waters.

The effect was intoxicating. She knew this was stupid, and probably naïve, but suddenly she couldn’t bring herself to care. Everything had been awful for days and she was covered in filth. Her hair was matted and overlong, coming down to the small of her back. She worked it clean as quickly as she could, ignoring the dirt in the water. The soap was rich and lathered beautifully. Once she’d ducked herself under the surface a few times she couldn’t remember a time she felt so clean.

She surfaced the last time, blinking water from her eyes, pushing her black hair away from her face. It was like magic, the bath easing all her aching muscles.

‘Well you aren’t exactly in mortal peril, are you?’ Finn’s voice sounded almost amused, except for the bitter defeat that permeated it. He stood almost at the foot of the bath, his hands folded behind his back. Behind him the half-drawn curtain hung at an odd angle, as if hooked back, framing him there. He gazed out over her head, a stoic expression on his handsome face, as if he couldn’t bear to make eye contact. ‘Do you want me to come back for you after you’ve finished?’

‘Finn? What are you—what are you doing here?’ she spluttered, went to reach for her clothes but then realised how much of herself she’d expose and shrank back down. Her heart surged in her chest. He had come back for her, come to rescue her. The towels were closer. She scrabbled for one of them, trying to make her arm stretch further than it would. ‘How did you get in here?’

He gave a snort of bitter laughter and she winced. She didn’t know him. She didn’t know anything about him. This might have all been some kind of elaborate ruse and she was being unbearably stupid while they laughed at her behind her back.

But before Finn could give an actual answer, something slammed into the small of his back, sending him to his knees before her. Wren surged up, splashing water everywhere, and grabbed one of the large towels left beside the tub. She wrapped herself in it as she quickly stepped out onto the rug, dripping wet.

Leander stood there, sword in hand. Finn’s sword, she realised. And Finn’s hands weren’t just folded behind his back, they were securely tied. He caught himself jerkily as he went down, so he didn’t land on his face, and looked up at her. Blood was matting the hair on one side of his head, and his mouth looked swollen and raw, as if the whole side of his face would blossom into bruises soon.

Wren looked from him to the prince, panic making her heart pound so hard she was sure they could hear it even from there. ‘Please, don’t hurt him.’