“The silver doesn’t appear to be against the bone,” he murmurs. “But I don’t think prying it out is the answer. Perhaps it would be easier if we simply push it through.”
“Easier for whom?” I say in an acerbic tone.
“Don’t be a child,” Arjun says, and tsks at me. “It’s unbecoming of an immortal prince. Once the silver is out, your body will heal on its own, though not as quickly as usual.” He raises a brow. “Now you know what it feels like to be me. Not as strong. Not as fast. But mad as hell.” He rips off the rest of my shirtsleeve. “Do you find that you heal rather quickly from injuries?” he asks Celine. “Because I’ve never truly been sick or horribly injured in my entire life.”
“Oh,” Celine realizes with a start. “You’re an ethereal, like me. Forgive me for not making the connection sooner.”
He snorts. “Alas, I am not like you, princess. I am not the direct descendant of the Lady of the Vale, nor can I claim to possess a drop of fey royalty in my blood.”
She frowns, then takes hold of my wounded arm as Arjun prepares to shove the arrowhead through to the other side. “I haven’t really been injured before the events of several months ago.” Her frown deepens as she looks at me. “And I can’t remember feeling horribly ill as a child.”
Arjun grins. “I’d wager that makes you feel even guiltier,” he says to me.
“Were you always such a prick, or—” My insult is swallowed by a howl of pain as Arjun pushes the silver arrowhead through my biceps.
“Relax, beta,” he croons in an accent I’ve never heard him use before. “Or it will leave a scar.” A moment later, the entire arrowhead plinks to the ground, drops of bright blood trickling in its wake. Celine sets to work wrapping the wound in remnants of my shirtsleeve.
“Why doesn’t silver seem to bother us as it does Bastien?” Celine asks Arjun while she works.
“Silver is the Vale’s weapon against the creatures of the night,” Arjun explains. “Those of the Wyld use iron to fend off attacks from the Vale, though neither silver nor iron will cause an ethereal harm, on account of our mortal blood.”
Celine nods, her expression pensive. “And what would happen if fey royalty of the Vale were to . . . fall in love with fey royalty of the Wyld?”
Though Arjun is taken aback by her question, he takes pains not to show it. “It doesn’t happen,” he replies gently. “It would never be allowed. Ordinary gentry are exiled forever for such a crime. Branded blood traitors.”
With a curt nod, Celine finishes tying the last of the bandages. Not once has she looked at me during this exchange. It is a bitter comfort to know she understands the full weight of the situation. The daughter of Lady Silla of the Vale would never be permitted to form an attachment to the immortal heir of Nicodemus Saint Germain.
I brace myself before I take to my feet. Then I reach for Celine’s palm to help her stand.
“We should keep moving before the twig creatures return,” I say.
“Yes,” Celine agrees, her voice soft. Tinged with sadness.
Arjun rolls his eyes as he washes the blood off his fingers with a handful of snow. “I said that ten minutes ago.”
Celine quirks a brow at him. “No wonder Pippa dislikes you so. You really are an insufferable know-it-all, Arjun Desai.”
“Who will die happy with the knowledge that Philippa Montrose talks about me behind my back,” Arjun teases.
She laughs. “Bite your tongue and lead the way.”
ARJUN
They were close. Arjun knew it. He’d heard tell of this part of the Wyld. It was how he knew to direct them toward the silent, ice-capped mountain at the heart of the wintry land. The same mountain that, years ago, had provided those of the Wyld with such untold wealth.
Still Arjun was unprepared for the sight.
The Ice Palace rose from a large clearing deep in the forest of skeletal trees. Its blue turrets reflected the moonlight, causing the entire structure to glow. Ghostly fey roamed beneath its parapets in tattered rags, many of them hoping to beg for scraps from whatever warlord currently ruled the roost.
As the trio neared the edifice, details began to emerge. Many of the castle’s crenellated walls were chipped near the top from where birds with beaks of solid ice had pecked at them. No one stood guard outside the lowered drawbridge, positioned over