The Sleeping Prince - Melinda Salisbury Page 0,103

do we do now?” Nia calls to Silas.

“We’ll meet tomorrow after breakfast. I’ll form a training schedule.” He sounds sure, nodding firmly at them, his lip twitching when they solemnly return the gesture.

When they withdraw, he turns to me and smiles, and it’s like a lightning bolt. There is no warning: one moment his eyes are hazy and the next they’re blazing, his grin taking over his whole face. I can’t help but smile back.

The sound of heavy fabric brushing against the stone makes us turn to see the curtain swinging. Twylla has gone.

We don’t speak, instead turning to follow her, catching up with her in the corridor.

“Forgive me. I have a headache,” she says in a flat, empty voice. “I’d like to lie down.”

“Of course,” Silas says. “I’ll take you to a room where you can rest, if you like?”

She nods, but doesn’t turn around. Silas raises his eyebrows at me and I shake my head, puzzled by the sudden change in her.

The passageways seem endless as he takes us to our sleeping quarters, corridor after corridor, until I’m sure we’re walking in circles. I try to count the sconces on the walls on the way through the passageways: one, two, three, left turn, narrow, five sconces, another left turn, a slight descent, right turn … but it soon becomes too much. Twylla walks a little ahead of us the whole way, her head down, and Silas and I stay quiet, not touching as we trail behind her.

Finally, Silas calls on her to stop, reaching for a torch from the wall and throwing back a curtain to reveal a cavern with two beds resting as best they can against the uneven stone walls, a small table between them. In one corner is a washstand with a ewer and basin. I can see a water closet behind a screen in the second corner, and a large cow-skin rug in the centre of the room. The beds are made up with furs and woollen blankets; on each lumpy-looking pillow is a nightgown.

“I’m a few rooms down. If you call me, I’ll hear,” he says, looking at Twylla, then back to me. When he leaves the room I follow.

He walks a little further along the passageway and stops, leaning against the wall. In the light from the torches his hair looks translucent, like a halo. When I stand in front of him, I see the flames reflected in his eyes, turning his gaze to fire. His eyes meet mine and he flushes. My body feels warm and heavy. I’m too aware of how close we’re standing, of the rhythm of his breathing. Of how alone we are. Then he raises a hand tentatively and touches the ends of my hair, and I have to fight not to lean into his touch, not to frighten him away. “I like this, by the way.” He allows a few strands to trail through his fingers before lowering his hand. “When did you do it?”

I smile. “Did you stop in a cottage outside Tyrwhitt, the night after we last saw each other?”

“Yes. I was trying to catch up to you. I saw hoof prints in the mud and followed, but you’d gone.”

“Actually, I was on the roof. I heard you at the window.”

“You were there? Why were you on the roof?”

“Not long before you came I was robbed. Two refugees broke into the cottage, so I hid there. If you’d stayed five more minutes you could have watched me fall flat on my back.”

His eyes widen. “Gods… If I’d known.” He reaches out and takes my shoulders in his hands, as though to pull me to him, then freezes, looking at me carefully.

“Well,” I say slowly. “I did it after that.”

“Why? Because of me?”

I think of the mercenaries, then the soldiers. “No. I’ll tell you one day. But not now.”

“All right.” Then his gaze moves to my lips and I lick them self-consciously.

“Gods,” he murmurs, his fingers tightening on me. My stomach clenches in response, leaving a strange ache behind.

Then Nia walks past us, huffing loudly. “Goodnight.” She spits the “t” at the end.

Silas snatches his hand from my shoulder and we both glower after her. When he turns back to me he looks thoughtful. “What made you decide to fight?” he says quietly. “I thought you wanted to stay safe, and hidden.”

I shrug. “I did. But it won’t work. I saw the camp at Tyrwhitt. All those people, caged like animals. And the way it