Chapter 32

Noora

“What did you do?” Raphael came storming into the healer’s wing, his armour clicking painfully loud. Noora winced at the sound as she sat up on the bed, trying not to inhale too deeply and irritate her broken ribs.

“What did I do?” she snapped as Raphael came to a halt in front of her, his gaze blazing, fingers twitching.

“I have two broken ribs and a concussion, thank you for asking.” She swung her legs over to get up but Raphael stopped her from doing so by blocking her way.

“You might think you can do what you want but you will carry the consequences for this. He is the king and I swear if something happens to him again, because of you, I will make sure to be the last thing you see before you take your last breath on this world.”

Noora shot up from the bed with a narrowed gaze. Apparently, her concussion was worse than the healer told her. She tipped to the side. Her hand shot out to grip the wood frame of the cot.

“Raphael, don’t be an asshole,” a lazy voice spoke up and both Noora and Raphael turned to the brittle beside Noora’s, where the king was lying, now awake.

They didn’t even need to stitch his side, they only cleaned it and wrapped gauze around his torso. It turned out that the king only went unconscious because of his enormous intake of liquor.

“Your Majesty, how are you feeling?” Raphael was at his side in an instant.

“Of course, he asks him how he feels,” Noora grumbled but was ignored by the royal guard. Despite her grumpiness, she sat back down, her vision turning blurry again. A painful throb started to itch at the back of her head, slowly spreading down her body. Usually, she was wary of the participants but it turned out the king and a sword was a much greater threat.

“I am feeling splendid, why thank you.” The prince sat up and grabbed his peacoat, his hair smushed to his face and a soft tint painted the highs of his cheekbones.

“At least one of us does.”

“Don’t be that way, darling, no one likes a sore loser.”

Noora blanched. “Loser? As far as I know, I won the fight.”

“As far as I know, I was the one on top in the end.” He raised a brow at her and her cheeks flushed rapidly.

This time when she got up she did it slowly before she stalked over, past a glaring Raphael, and halted right in front of Nikolai.

“You had to be carried away like an infant because you can’t hold your liquor. Because of you, every breath hurts and my head feels like it’s going to explode!”

“Dear, I wasn’t aware how strongly you felt about me.”

“I’m going to choke you to death.” Noora lunged at him but Raphael was there in an instant, his grip like iron shackles around her wrists. Nikolai’s gaze darkened instantly. “Raphael.”

Raphael retreated immediately. Like a lapdog scolded by its owner.

“Give us a minute.”

“Are you certain?”

“Yes.”

Raphael nodded and bowed before leaving the chamber. When passing the doorframe he turned back to throw Noora a warning glance.

“It’s very brave to send your personal guard away when I’m seconds away from killing you,” Noora said ready to go into another round of fighting, it seemed like it was their thing.

“I am sorry.”

“No, you—what?” She blinked at him and jumped when his hand gently took hold of the back of her thighs pulling her in closer to the prince.

“What-t—“ she breathed but Nikolai was faster.

“I never intended for you to get hurt. I was feeling reckless and I was drunk—,” Noora raised a brow, “—I am drunk. I cannot forgive myself for hurting you in the process, it was just a jest, I wanted to goat you but never hurt you. Noora, I swear by my life.”

She huffed out a breath. “Well, your life isn’t as important to you if you drink so much that you pass out.”

He looked up at her, his gaze burning. When his hands softly squeezed the back of her thighs, the last bit of anger dissipated from inside her.

Before she could tell him though that she was not seriously angry, besides her usual annoyance, he hung his head, pressing his forehead against her stomach. Noora inhaled sharply.

“I am deeply sorry, this will not happen again, forgive me, please.”

Noora didn’t know if it was her concussion that made her feel like the room was spinning or if something monumental happened at that moment. Here he was, a king, begging an orphan, a half-blood whore, for forgiveness.

She swallowed when he looked up at her, his hands shackling her thighs like he was a drowning man, trying to cling to the cliffs. His irises shined like Chrysoberyls in the bright candlelight and she swore she could see something shift in him.

“I forgive you.” The words passed her lips in a whisper and he nodded one, two, three times.

“Thank you.”

His hands let go of her and she inhaled a much-needed breath as he got up and towered over her. She forgot how tall he was as she tipped her head slightly and looked at him.

His hand raised and slowly drove into her hair and the cool leather soothed the constant thumping in her head.

“How is your head?” He asked gently. His fingers massaged her scalp and she felt her knees turn wobbly.

“I don’t know,“ she mumbled, trying to get a grip on herself.

“Does it hurt?”

“Like a bitch.”

Nikolai laughed softly at that and Noora’s lips twitched. “The next time you want to do something reckless, keep me out of it.”

His gaze turned worried again. “I am genuinely sorry, it was irresponsible of me and I behaved like an absolute idiot.”

“At least we agree on that.”

He let go of her head and she almost grumbled in dissatisfaction but instead, she clamped her mouth shut as he continued to watch her.

“I am so—“

“Kai, if you apologise again I might reconsider that thought of strangling you.”

His lips turned into a sheepish grin, his cheeks turning red again. “That concussion mustn’t be so bad if you can still insult and threaten me.”

Noora shrugged. “What can I say, it comes naturally to me.”

Nikolai’s smile deepened and Noora furrowed her brows at him. She had to realise, with great horror, that Nikolai was beautiful.

Even now, after a sword fight, he passed out and lay smushed against a pillow, he looked ethereal. The way his hair curled so stubbornly into golden locks, falling around his sharply molded face. Rosy lips, high cheekbones like the one gods rumored to have, and soft kind eyes.

His eyes were one of his best features, so light and hopeful so different to Lukas. While Nikolai did glare at her in anger, sadness, or happiness he never looked at her like Lukas did when he was disgusted or berating her.

Noora halted. Why was she even comparing the two?

“What?” Nikolai asked, tilting his head to the side.

“You look awful.” It was the only thing she could say and Nikolai raised both his brows.

“I am incapable of looking awful, Noora.”

Despite his words, he drove his hand through his hair, trying to fix it self-consciously. They dove back into tense silence—or maybe it just felt that way for Noora— now that she realised he was beautiful it felt strange.

As if the gods had heard her cry for help they sent her a way out of her misery.

“Kai!”

Nikolai

His sister rushed into the room, her cheeks flushed in worry as she slipped between him and Noora to make sure that he was all right.

“Heavens, they said you passed out but that has been a lie. What happened?” she asked, her eyes scanning him for any visible injuries and just now he noticed the second person standing in the doorframe. Marid Winter, his mother’s oldest friend, was eyeing him with concern. Hovering in the doorframe, she looked like she did not know if she should step into the chamber or not.

“Everything is fine, I overestimated my fighting skills. It was entirely my fault,“ he spoke to both women, wishing that they would just leave.

He could not stop his eyes from flicking over to Noora every few seconds. She suddenly looked very uncomfortable to be present in the room, even if she had every right to be there.

Heavens, she looked beautiful. He always knew that Noora was objectively an attractive girl but having her fight with him with that familiar fire blazing in her eyes was striking him to his bones. Her body moved elegantly, so effortlessly as she attacked with every strike. It was world-changing, to say the least.

“I cannot believe that I got worried over nothing!” Tyra exclaimed as Marid finally stepped into the room.

“Your mother sent me to make sure you did not get yourself killed,” she said.

Nikolai raised one brow. “Wouldn’t that play right into her cards?”

Marid rolled her eyes gently. “Do not speak of such things, Kai.” She walked over and pulled him into a gentle embrace. Marid Winter was by far the most advanced hugger at the royal court. Even when he was little and fell off his horse one time, scraping his knees open in the process, she was the one to find him with tear-stained cheeks. She consoled him until the ever-flowing waterfall stopped and wove her hand through his hair.

She was one to advocate crying, showing emotion was not a weakness in her opinion. She was quite the opposite of both his parents.

Despite her surname, Marid was the gentlest and warmest person Nikolai had come across.

Even now he found himself enjoying her hug, she always smelled like pine and burnt logs.

“Do not coddle him, Marid, or else he will turn unbearable,” Tyra exclaimed and let herself fall onto the unoccupied bed of Noora—who was suddenly gone, Nikolai noticed—with a sigh.

“I do need coddling.” Nikolai could not keep the disappointed tone out of his voice at the loss of Noora′s presence.

Marid drew back, her cold hands cradling his cheeks. Small wrinkles had formed at the sides of her eyes but it did nothing to her beauty. Marid Winter was always a beautiful woman and age only advanced on that fact. Nikolai often found himself wondering if Amalie would have looked the same when she turned thirty, smiling at him with gentle crow’s feet as she held his hand over the throne chairs.

“My poor son, you look like death has its grasp on you,” Marid said, her hands pushing his blonde strands out of his eyes.

He certainly felt like death took hold of him. His limbs were aching, especially his stitched-up side, his eyes burned and his throat felt raw and dry.

“Are you saying I am not handsome?”

Marid’s lips turned into a small smile, shaking her head. “You are as handsome as ever.”

She let go of him and sat down at the edge of his brittle, folding her hands neatly over her pale gown.

“Tyra?”

His sister looked at him expectantly and though he knew her concern was genuine he wanted to talk to Marid on his own. He indeed did need coddling today, he felt miserable and to bathe in one’s misery was not something his sister should be burdened to see.

“Would you look after Noora for me? She was hurt in the process of our sparring and I still feel bad for being so thoughtless.”

Tyra rolled her eyes but got up dramatically. “One day you’re going to get yourself killed over your stupidity.”

Nikolai had to smile at her words as he watched her saunter out of the room. “I am glad you are alive, brother.” Her last words.

Marid was left in the room and they hovered in silence, the air growing stale with the lack of words exchanged.

“Say it,” Nikolai said.

Marid turned her head to him, small crinkles forming around her kind eyes. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I am too old for you to fool me anymore.” He tilted his head at her and Marid’s shoulders sunk, revealing her true emotions. It was a rare sight to see her smiling nowadays, she was always surrounded by a melancholy gray cloud as if it was knitted to her soul.

“When I first saw her during the announcement in town, I thought she was Amalie.”

Nikolai nodded.

“I did too.”

They had the same pale hair, the same hair Marid had, long and shiny, a face so dainty, drawn into cruel lines. Though it was common for the northern witches to have white or generally special hair.

“But it is not her,” Nikolai added.

“Are you sure?” Marid sounded hopeful and he couldn’t blame her. He imagined if he lost a child, he would never stop hoping for it to appear out of thin air again.

He looked down at his pinky which was adorned with the small gold ring, the aventurine embedded in the metal.

“They do not have the same eyes, besides, Noora is different from her. Noora is fierce and courageous, she fights for the people she loves and she is an advocate for justice but she is not kind nor gentle.”

Marid nodded. “I suppose you are right. If she were Amalie, I would feel it.”

She twisted her fingers in her lap and Nikolai did not hesitate in putting one gloved hand over hers.

Ice blue met his gaze. “She might not be Amalie, though she deserves to win.”

“You like her,” she stated.

“I tolerate her.”

Marid’s lips twitched slightly and for a moment a sparkle shone in her eyes, so familiar, Nikolai feared his heart could not bear it.

He was old enough to remember Marid’s daughter and he was aware that children at that age could not experience love to the extent adults could. However, since she was gone it felt like someone had ripped a part from his being and burned it to the ground. Amalie was his best friend.

“I am glad you like her, we all know it is time for you to move on.”

Nikolai’s body grew tense. “I am not moving on.”

Marid frowned. “It is no shame that you do. Amalie would not want you to blame yourself and refuse to live your life. You are a young man. A king. It is your right to fall in love.”

“The only thing I am in love with is my kingdom, Marid, you know that.”

The woman let out a soft laugh. “You sound like Euphemia.”

His blood froze. There was no more horrifying thing to say than that one resembled the parents one tried so hard to avoid becoming.

She sighed and slipped her hands out of his.

“Well, we better make haste before your mother drags us to dinner by our ears. Do you feel strong enough to walk?”

“Of course.”

It was not the walking that made his face contort in pain but rather the words Marid confronted him with. He just hoped that whatever made his heart constrict every time someone mentioned Noora would go away. Soon.

His thumb drove over the aventurine before he finally got up.