42. Chapter 42

forty-two

N evander's eyelids fluttered as a blinding golden light pierced his eyes. He groaned, turning over, pain reverberating through his skull. Why did his head hurt so badly? As he inhaled the lavender scent of the soft cotton sheets, it came back to him in a rush. He snapped his head up, his gaze darting around the opulent bedchamber, taking in the rich furnishings and ornate decor.

A torso of a stout man in a tailored black uniform with intricate silver embroidery swam into focus. Nevander’s gaze traveled up to the face of who he thought it must be. Sure enough, it was Castor, his stinking brother’s valet, his droopy mustache and kindly eyes unmistakable.

“My lord,” Castor’s soothing voice washed over him. “I’ve been waiting for you to awaken.”

Nevander flipped over, his body aching with every movement. The valet smiled gently at him. “I’m so sorry. You’ve had a rough time of it?”

That was the understatement of the century. But Nevander actually liked Castor. The valet had a warm, affable manner that put him at ease. He was the only one who could handle Tarrick’s drunken antics with unflappable calm and grace. Castor was always ready to serve, and knew just how to deal with surly, hungover princes in a way that soothed rather than aggravated .

“Hi Castor,” Nevander croaked, his voice thick with sleep. He gingerly touched his right eye, wincing as his fingers grazed the swollen lid. Damn Tarrick.

“I’m afraid you have a bit of a shiner there, my lord,” the valet said, his face impassive though his eyes twinkled. “But I hear the ladies love that kind of roguish look.”

A reluctant chuckle escaped Nevander’s lips. Trust Castor to find humor in the situation.

“Shall I have a bath heated for you?” the valet continued. “And while you wait, I will send Penny up with some food.”

Nevander’s stomach rumbled loudly at the mention of food. “That sounds wonderful, Castor. Thank you.”

Castor moved to the door, then reappeared moments later with a glass of water and a white powder wrapped in translucent paper. He laid it on the nightstand next to the bed. “For your head, and whatever else aches. Shaydn sent it in last night before she retired.”

Nevander froze, the healer’s name ringing in his ears. Last night? A twinge of unease prickled at the back of his neck. “Castor, what time is it?”

“I believe it’s close to eleven in the morning, my lord.”

Nevander’s mind reeled. How long had he been out? “And... what day would it be?”

Castor’s expression remained impassive. “If you’re asking how long you’ve been asleep, my lord, that would be since yesterday afternoon.”

Nevander’s jaw dropped. So much time lost. What about Kallessa? His heart raced, fear clawing at his throat.

Before he could voice his panic, Castor’s gentle smile appeared, as if he’d read Nevander’s mind. “The young lady’s fever has broken.”

Nevander’s muscles ached as he strode towards Kallessa’s room, his heart pounding with each step. He paused at the doorway, drinking in the sight of her laying peacefully, her cheeks and lips a soft pink. Her chest rose and fell with deep, even breaths—a stark contrast to the lifeless figure he’d rescued from that wretched cell. He wanted to haul her into his arms. But he forced his steps to retreat from the room. He had something else to deal with.

He clenched his jaw, and the dull ache around his eye stabbed like a dagger. He forced his face to relax. What, now he couldn’t even clench his jaw without his eye hurting?

He found Tarrick lounging in one of the estate’s sitting rooms, sprawled across a chaise longue with a crystal glass of amber liquid in hand. The familiar sight made Nevander’s blood boil.

“Good morning, little brother,” Tarrick drawled, raising his glass in a mocking salute. His eyes glinted with amusement. “Sleep well?”

Nevander wanted to clench his jaw, could imagine his teeth grinding in frustration. Instead, he asked, “Why did Mother send you?”

Tarrick merely shrugged, taking a casual sip from his crystal glass. “Oh, she didn’t.”

“Then why are you here?”

“I was bored,” Tarrick replied .

“Go be bored somewhere else,” Nevander growled, fighting to keep his temper in check. Tarrick had always known exactly which buttons to push.

Tarrick’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “And miss out on your latest folly?”

The implication stung more than Nevander cared to admit. “Kallessa isn’t a whim or a distraction.”

“No?” Tarrick’s eyes narrowed, skepticism etched across his face.

Nevander held his brother’s stare, refusing to rise to the bait this time. Now that he’d gotten enough sleep to think clearly.

Yet his words tumbled out, raw and unguarded. “I’m a bloody liar and a screwup. I don’t deserve her, but I want her like a man dying of thirst craves water. She’s everything pure and good, and I’ve no right to taint that with my damaged soul. But I can’t stay away. I’ll fight everyone in my path, even if it’s my undoing.”

Silence stretched, as every unspoken word between them lived and died behind their stubborn lips.

Then, to Nevander’s shock, Tarrick’s mocking smile softened into something genuine. Warmth filled his dark eyes, a glimpse of the brother he’d once known shining through. “Good for you, Van. Don’t you bloody well let go of her.”

Before Nevander could respond, light footsteps drew his attention to the doorway. Dovina glided in, resplendent in a pale blue gown that accentuated her delicate features. Her golden hair cascaded down her back in gentle waves.

Nevander retreated to a far corner, out of her line of sight. He had no desire to explain his black eye or hear Tarrick’s version of events .

“Good morning, my lord,” Dovina greeted, dipping into an elegant curtsy before Tarrick.

Tarrick’s eyes raked over her appreciatively, his mask of cynicism firmly back in place. “Well, good morning to you, my dear.” His voice dipped lower, taking on a sultry tone that made Nevander’s skin crawl. “You are a vision of loveliness this fine day.”

Nevander’s stomach churned as he watched the flirtatious exchange unfold. He knew all too well how quickly Tarrick’s interests could turn inappropriate. That’s precisely why he’d assigned Risal to watch over Dovina.

As if summoned by Nevander’s thoughts, the gruff old guard’s heavy boots thudded on the marble floor behind Dovina. Relief washed over Nevander—until Tarrick looked from Risal to him and burst into uproarious laughter.

“Get over here and have a drink with me, you old bastard,” Tarrick called out, beckoning Risal over.

To Nevander’s horror, the seasoned guard ambled across the room and accepted a generous pour from Tarrick’s crystal decanter.

In that moment, the bitter truth settled in Nevander’s gut like a lead weight. He was no longer in control of anything at Wynlar Estate.

Nevander’s nostrils flared at the earthy scent wafting from the large stone kitchen. He found Shaydn and Matilda huddled over a steaming pot, the healer dropping in herbs while the cook stirred in a reddish powder that puffed up in a cloud .

Shaydn turned, her attempt at a smile faltering as her gaze landed on Nevander’s black eye. “I have a poultice for that,” she said, reaching for her bag.

“Just sit down and talk to me,” he said gently.

As Shaydn perched on a wooden stool, Nevander studied her. Dark circles shadowed her eyes, worry lines etched deep in her brow. An unasked question seemed to hover on her lips.

Without warning, he pulled her into a crushing embrace. She stiffened at first, but gradually relaxed into the hug before he pulled back and released her.

“Thank you,” he murmured, his throat tight. “You’ve saved two people I care about.”

She stood silently, rubbing her arms as if to ward off a chill, her gaze averted.

“Now, ask me,” Nevander urged gently. He saw it in her eyes, the unspoken questions.

Shaydn’s eyes flickered, a war of emotions playing across her face. “How is Castien?” she whispered.

“Better, I think. There’s a new determination in him.” His thoughts flickered back to Castien before he’d left Ravenbluff, stuffing his bruised and battered face, a glint in his eyes.

Her fingers twisted together. “Does he—does he remember me?”

The hope in her eyes was a fragile thing. Nevander’s stomach clenched, knowing he had to crush it.

“No,” he said softly.

The healer’s throat bobbed as she gave a slight nod. “Good,” she murmured, averting her gaze out the kitchen window. A flicker of something indecipherable passed across her face, gone as quickly as it had appeared .

Castien had been deliriously ill while Shaydn had ministered to him, the poison keeping him teetering on the brink of death for months. Who knew what had transpired between healer and patient during that long, dark time, but it had left an indelible mark on her. Even in the throes of delirium, Castien had probably been bloody charming, the roguish prince captivating her despite his dire condition. But this was one person the prince of Krithadea didn’t need to know about. Shaydn Zhakrova was Nevander’s best kept secret, her identity only known to the two of them.

“It’s for the best,” he said, the words feeling leaden on his tongue.

Her cool eyes rested on his face, the afternoon light filtering through the window, rendering them as translucent as the frosty sky outside. She nodded once more before her face became impassible, her thoughts closed off to him.

He felt like a cad saying such a thing. But it was true. If Castien remembered her, it could only end in disaster. He’d either pursue her out of misplaced gratitude or use his considerable resources to uncover every detail of her past.

Then he might feel obligated to kill her.

Dovina, it seemed, had found her backbone, standing up to her parents in Nevander’s name. He hated to admit it, but the silly girl had won over some of his affections. It was hard to stay angry with her when she carried around so much enthusiasm for the world. Perhaps there was hope for her yet .

As night fell, he paused at Kallessa’s door, his hand hesitating on the handle before he pushed it open.

The sight that greeted him made him blink in surprise. Dovina lay slumped in a chair beside Kallessa’s bed, her fingers still tangled in the strings of her harp. Her head lolled back at an uncomfortable angle, her blonde curls in disarray. Nevander shook his head. One of these days, she would break some poor sod’s heart.

“Penny,” he called softly, beckoning the maid. “See Lady Dovina to her chambers, please.”

As Penny ushered the groggy girl away, Nevander gazed at Kallessa. Thankfully, she was doing well enough that Shaydn could rest. That left him alone with her for the first time in what seemed forever. The firelight cast a warm glow on her skin, no longer deathly pale but flushed with life. His throat tightened. She looked so small, so fragile, swallowed up by the blankets.

Nevander gently brushed a stray lock from her face, his fingertips grazing her soft skin.

Shaydn had said Kallessa could wake at any moment. His heart raced at the thought. What would he say? How could he explain everything that had happened?

Nevander sank into the chair Dovina had vacated, his eyes never leaving Kallessa’s face. The steady rise and fall of her chest hypnotized him, a reminder of how close he’d come to losing her.

He was not the same man who’d removed his mask at the ball, revealing only a fraction of his true self. Now, as he watched over her, Nevander felt stripped bare, all his defenses crumbling.

“I’ll tell you everything,” he whispered. “Who I am, what I’ve done... all of it. And if you decide you want nothing to do with me, I’ll respect that. ”

The words tasted bitter on his tongue, but he knew they were true. If Kallessa rejected him, he would walk away. The thought sent a physical pain through his chest, but he pushed on, allowing himself to imagine a life without her.

“Maybe I’ll build an orphanage,” he mused. “Or design ships for wounded soldiers. I don’t know. But I do know that whatever happens, you’ve changed me, Kallessa. And I can never go back to who I was before.”

Nevander leaned forward, taking her small hand in his. “Just wake up,” he pleaded softly. “Wake up and let me explain. That’s all I ask.”

As if in response, Kallessa’s fingers twitched in his grasp.