Winter (The Lunar Chronicles #4) - Marissa Meyer Page 0,49

to return it, but willing to accept the comfort. She buried herself in the security of him.

“Take a breath,” he commanded.

She did, though the air was clouded with death.

She was glad to let it out again.

“It’s all in your head, Princess. You know that. Say it now.”

“It’s all in my head,” she murmured.

“Are the walls bleeding?”

She shook her head, feeling the press of his ranking pin against her temple. “No. They don’t bleed. It’s all in my head.”

His hold tightened. “You’re all right. It will pass. Just keep breathing.”

She did. Again and again and again, his voice coaxing her through each breath until the smell of blood gradually subsided.

She felt dizzy and exhausted and sick to her stomach, but glad her breakfast hadn’t come up. “It’s better now. It’s gone.”

Jacin exhaled, like he’d been forgetting to breathe himself. Then, in a strange moment of vulnerability, he craned his head and kissed her on the shoulder, right where the nonexistent drop of blood had fallen before. “That wasn’t so bad,” he said, with a new lightness. “No windows at least.”

Winter cringed, remembering the first time she saw the castle walls bleeding. She’d been so distraught and desperate to get away she tried to throw herself from the second-floor balcony—Jacin barely got to her in time to pull her back.

“Or sharp utensils,” she said, carrying it off as a joke. The time she’d stabbed a dozen holes into her drapes trying to kill the spiders that were crawling over them, once stabbing her own hand in the process. It had not been a deep wound, but Jacin took care to keep sharp objects away from her ever since.

He pushed to arm’s length, inspecting her. She forced a smile, then realized it wasn’t forced after all. “It’s over. I’m all right.”

His eyes warmed and for the briefest of moments she thought—this is it, this is when he will kiss me—

There was a cough from the doorway.

Jacin recoiled.

Winter spun around, heart thundering.

Aimery stood in the open door, his expression dark. “Your Highness.”

Catching her breath, Winter tucked a curl behind her ear—it must have fallen loose from the braid. She was warm all over. Flustered and nervous and aware that she should be embarrassed, but she was more annoyed at the interruption than anything else.

“Thaumaturge Park,” she said with a cordial nod. “I was having one of my nightmares. Sir Clay was assisting me.”

“I see,” said Aimery. “If the nightmare has receded, I suggest he return to his post.”

Jacin clicked his heels and left wordlessly, though it was impossible to tell if it was by his own volition or if Aimery was controlling him.

Still trying to compose herself, Winter fluttered a smile at the thaumaturge. “It must be time to leave for the docks?”

“Nearly,” he said, and, to her surprise, he turned and shut the door to the corridor. Her fingers twitched defensively, but not out of concern for herself. Poor Jacin would hate to be left stranded on the other side, unable to protect her should anything happen.

Which was an inane thought. Even if Jacin was present, he could do nothing against a thaumaturge. Winter often thought this was a weakness in their security. She never trusted the thaumaturges, yet they were given so much power within the palace.

After all, a thaumaturge killed her father, and she never got over this fact. To this day, a long sleeve caught from the corner of her eye too often made her startle.

“Was there something you needed?” she asked, trying to appear unconcerned. She was still recovering from the vision. Her stomach was in knots and warm sweat clung to the back of her neck. She wanted to lie down for a minute, but she didn’t want to appear any weaker than she already did. Than she already was.

“I have come to pose a rather interesting proposition, Your Highness,” said Aimery. “One I have been thinking on for some time, and that I hope you will agree is beneficial to us both. I have already suggested the idea to Her Majesty, and she has voiced her approval, on the condition of your consent.”

His voice was both slippery and kind. Always when she was in Aimery’s presence Winter wished to both cower away and curl up sleepily beneath his steady timbre.

“Forgive me, Aimery, my brain is still muddled from the hallucination and I’m having difficulties understanding you.”

His gaze slipped over her, lingering on her scars and on her curves, and Winter was glad she didn’t involuntarily shudder.

“Princess Winter