Perhaps Rafe expected me to fight, because when his men pulled me from the bed and flung me to the floor, he watched, as though waiting for something. But as soon as the first punch landed, I stopped watching his face and focused on protecting mine.
The first punch was always the worst, and the second was less so. And by the third, I'd withdrawn into my own mind.
The blows kept coming, and the prince watched it all, stoic and unflinching. Or so I thought, but at some point, he turned away and moved toward the window. A little blood stained his pearly-white cloak.
My blood, I supposed.
Thick hands gripped my neck and pinned me to my bedside. Everything burned—my chest, my stomach.
My head lolled, vision blurring, then sharpened to Rafe on one knee, peering into my eyes. Whatever he was searching for, his frown suggested he hadn't found it.
"Why didn't you fight?" he asked, his voice soft now. I preferred this softer, less sneery version.
I smiled and licked blood from my lips. "If you hit me, we both might enjoy it."
His slap landed hard, splitting the inside of my cheek. I hadn't expected him to do it. But now he had, I might have won this little battle of ours. His face suggested I wasn't the only one surprised by the slap.
I tongued the cut in my cheek, spat blood to the side, and smirked up at the Prince of Love. "What use is there in fighting when I cannot win?"
His lips ticked, almost smiling. "You're not even sorry, are you?" He straightened, looming over me.
"And what am I supposed to be sorry for?" I dabbed at my lip, wiping more blood away. If he'd thought to hurt me, a beating was not the way to go about it.
"You have my father seduced, and the rest of my court under your spell, but not me. This is the least you deserve."
I dabbed at my tender cheek, struck by a guard and now a prince. I really must have been special to warrant such attention. "Nothing I say will convince you I'm innocent, will it?"
He turned away and swept toward the door. Something had snagged on his cloak's fluffy, white hem. A twig of some sort, with tiny green leaves. I'd seen its like before, but I couldn't remember where.
"Answer me one thing," I croaked. "Just one?" He paused but didn't deign to look back.
"Did you keep my letters, the ones I slipped under your door?"
He didn't move, didn't breathe. He paused for so long, I may have earned a second beating.
"Why did you leave them?" he asked.
"Why?" I shifted against the bed. Sharp heat poured down my right side, probably a broken rib or two. Dancing would be difficult for a few weeks. But the pain felt good, felt real, reminded me who I was and where I'd come from. "I don't know. Fleeting moments of insanity?" The real reason was far more complicated, and considering the prince's punishment, I had no wish to reveal it.
"I burned them all." In three strides, he flung open the door and left with his brutal guards trailing behind him.
"But did you read them?!" I called.
No reply came. The door hung open for anyone to peer in and see the results of his visit.
A second wave of fire ignited my side. I gritted my teeth, tried to keep each breath shallow, and waited for the agony to pass.
At least, with the palace in mourning, and considering my apparent relationship with the queen, I might take the opportunity to withdraw to my room for a few days. Jubilant songs and sleight of hand were unlikely to be in high demand at Henrietta's passing ceremony.
I dragged my battered body off the floor, kicked the door closed, and collapsed back onto the bed.
Bruises would heal, the pain would fade, and the drama of the queen's death would pass. Everything would be controllable once more. Everything, except that prince.
In four years, he might have been the only real challenge I'd encountered. And I'd felt the sting of his sweet wrath. I smiled and licked blood from the cut again. Yes, Rafe was going to be a problem, one I couldn't wait to sink my teeth into.
But first, I'd close my eyes and drift…
***
A banging on the door dragged me back to semi-wakefulness, where everything ached. I stayed quiet, hoping whoever they were would assume I wasn't in my room and head off in search of me.
When I next opened my eyes, Ellyn was at my bedside, hands on her hips, face stern. "Lord Quinton was attacked. Nobody had seen you. I thought—" Biting off her own words, she looked away.
"I'd been tossed in the dungeons again?" I croaked and tried to lever myself up. Rafe's many gifted bruises sparked alive again, reminding me of his recent visit. I'd slept, but I wasn't sure for how long. All the days and nights had blurred together.
Chills shivered through my body.
"No, I thought you'd been hurt too. And you have! Look at you!"
"Ah, yes, well." I clutched my side and dropped back against the wall. "I had nothing to do with Quinton, and this is… tough love, I think…" Some dislodged part of my chest jabbed against a lung. I gasped and winced at the mercy of Ellyn's glare.
"You've been like this all day?" she demanded. Day, night? What day even was it?
"I have no idea."
"Remove your damn shirt." She caught the gleam of mischief in my eyes. "Do not jest, Levi, this is no laughing matter. Your breaths are rattling. I want to see how bad a state you're in."
I struggled with my shirt while she clanged through my sparse cupboards.
"Where are your basic supplies? Bandages, iodine? At least some henbane to numb the pain."
I winced, tugging on my shirt sleeve. "I rarely sleep here. Everything I need, I borrow from others."
She turned, about to plow into another round of chastising me, when her voice failed and her mouth fell open. I could pretend it was the bruises that had stolen her voice, or perhaps my handsome physique, but she'd seen the scars on my chest, hundreds of them. They weren't deep, but there were many. In soft candlelight, they disappeared. But cruel daylight was pouring through my window, making the scars shine. Ellyn saw it all.
"Who did that to you?" She knelt.
I huffed and brushed her reaching hand away. "They're old."
The bruises weren't though, and those caught fire again, wrenching the air from my lungs.
She shouldn't have asked. We'd made a pact, not long after I'd arrived. I'd helped her out of a difficult situation. She owed me. And my only request was that she never ask about my past. As far as she was concerned, my life began four years ago, the day I'd walked into the Court of Love.
Nobody asked about the scars, ever.
Remembering her promise, she blinked away. "Some salts, and warm water, a little henbane for the pain. Hm… This will be easier at the bathing house. Can you make it there?"
"Leave me here, I'll be fine."
"No." She slammed a cold hand to my forehead. "You have a fever. Where's your coat?" She scooped it off the hook and made it clear she wasn't going to leave until I obeyed. Perhaps I did need some help.
"Levi, don't mess with me. This is serious."
"Fine." She helped me into my coat, then together we shuffled down the staff corridors, passing the second kitchens and laundry, toward the bathhouse.
As we approached the echoing baths, voices rang from inside, rolling toward us on warm, damp air. My stride faltered. "Ellyn, I can't be seen." The scars, the bruises… "Not in this light."
"Don't be silly. It will be fine." She laughed it off. "They won't mind. It's late in the morning, the palace guests are all occupied with lunch. It'll just be a few lords—"
Panic fluttered my heart, making my lungs ache. "No, you don't understand. I cannot be seen like this."
"Levi—"
I dug my heels into the polished tiled floor. "No."
How could I tell her that my power came from the fantasy, the act, the lies? If people saw me broken and battered, I'd lose my luster, my desire. They didn't want to see their fool limping, broken, in need of sympathy.
If they saw that, they'd know I was just a man. And a weak one, at that. I
didn't exist in that world. My world, and the world I spun for them, must always be a desirable dream.
Ellyn must have seen something close to panic on my face. "Very well." She glanced around us and spotted a side room. "In there."
The door opened into a small, enclosed pool room with mosaic-tiled steps leading down into deep, steaming turquoise water. "Get comfortable. I'll be right back with supplies." She was gone before I could protest.
The sooner I got this over with, the sooner Ellyn would patch me up and leave me alone to stew in self-pity.
I tugged off the coat, laid it over the bench, propped myself on a stool, and plucked off my trousers. Then, slowly, deliberately, I stepped into warm water.
The baths were fed from hot springs. The hot, lapping water felt divine around my legs, and when submerged, the heat drew the aches from my muscles. I draped both arms along the cool sides of the pool and rested my head back.
Dripping water and my steady heartbeat lulled my frayed, feverish mind. Ellyn had been right. I'd needed this. A little pennywort might take the edge off the pain. Some pain, I liked, but the bruises were tiresome.
"Do not be alarmed."
I jolted against the side of the pool and looked up. Alarmed was an understatement.
A strange little smirk tugged at Prince Rafe's lips, one I hadn't seen from him before. He plucked his white cloak from his neck and hung it on the rack of hooks above the bench.
"I met the serving girl you are known to be familiar with and asked after your whereabouts," he explained.
My thoughts raced, my chest heaved, and heart thumped so loudly he surely heard it. "Your Highness."
"Ah, now the fool is respectful. It only took a beating to bring it out of you."
He was alone. Why was he alone? And he was here. Searching for me?
Hadn't he already punished me enough?
What was this?