My breath died in my lungs at his words, as he leaned in close. My lips parted, anticipating another moment like the one we’d shared in the Fairy Glen, but he pressed his kiss to my forehead instead. The soft, tender touch lingered, and my eyes finally slipped shut as my flare of panic and grief faded into a sense of surety. A tranquil understanding. An acceptance.
I’d never go home, but this, here, this was right.
I wrapped my fingers gently around Idris’ wrist, leaning into his touch. When he straightened, when his hands fell away from my face, his fingers wound through mine. Our entwined hands rested between us.
“You need a hospital,” I observed. His burns, raw and shiny, were healing, but there was always the risk of infection. He should be in dressings, at the very least, though the formation of new skin suggested he’d narrowly avoided a skin graft, at least. This cave was probably riddled with bacteria, and I couldn’t remember the last time I’d washed my hands.
I tried to extract my fingers from his, but he tightened his grip, refusing to allow it. “I’m fine,” he insisted gently. “I’ll be as good as new by morning.”
Morning? Impossible. I opened my mouth to argue, but he added, “I’m fae, remember? Most of my burns have already healed. My hands are taking longer because they got the worst of it, but I’m alright. I promise.”
My eyes flickered over the flawless skin of his face, and lower to his torso. I tried not to let my gaze linger on those scandalous muscles, choosing instead to focus on the cuts and slices peppering his body. They were undoubtedly healing, but if his burns had already given way to beautiful, fair skin, why had the cuts remained? “What about those?”
“Vampire venom,” he gave me a wry smirk, “hinders the process.”
My free hand shot to my neck as another memory slotted into place. My fingers found no evidence of the stinging puncture wounds.
“You have an advantage,” Idris said, but his tone suggested condolences rather than congratulations. He dropped his eyes to my chest, to the new mark that hadn’t been eradicated by budding immortality. “Does it hurt?”
I glanced down at the oddly beautiful mark. “No. What is it?”
His throat bobbed before he answered. “It’s a lightning scar.”
“A–what?”
“I was too late,” he murmured, his eyes never leaving the fern-like mark. “I used Rhodd Anfarwol, and you changed, you healed perfectly, but you were still…” Another gulp. “I had to strike you to bring you back.”
Did he mean a lightning strike? Had my heart stopped? I didn’t know much about lightning, but I did know that those little fronds of light that had charged my phone couldn’t possibly carry enough voltage to restart a human heart.
Not human anymore…
I shoved the thought away. What did it matter what I was, as long as I was alive?
But how? It wasn’t possible. Only Anwir could summon that sort of lightning power. It was why the witches had fought so hard to break the curse. Only he could fight the shades. Only the eldest prince…
A glittering rain of realisation settled over my skin, like stardust drifting from the sky as I stared at my prince.
When he’d charged my phone, Idris asked me not to tell anyone. To protect his image as the brooding prince, or to protect his image as the youngest prince? Now, he continued to study my scar, avoiding my gaze.
My fingers tightened around his. Hardly daring to voice my suspicions, I whispered, “You. You’re the king, aren’t you?”
Idris looked up at last. The confirmation was written in his wide, wary eyes even as he said, “No.”
“But…” I racked my brain, sifting through my early lessons. “But the witches said it was the eldest twin who had lightning magic.” Anwir had said he never used it, that it was too dangerous. He’d never shown me any evidence, but I’d accepted his story, because why wouldn’t I? I knew better now. I knew him to be a liar. I knew Idris could charge my phone and light up the dark with shimmering, electric light. What else could he do?
I touched a hand to the mark on my chest. My heart thudded beneath my fingertips, true and strong. Idris had struck me to save my life. Idris had the lightning. Idris was the king.
“Ever since I crossed the rift, I’ve been kept in the dark. I’ve been used and manipulated and lied to. You’re not like the others, Idris.” My bad-mannered, stand-offish prince had become one of the few people I trusted. The only person who’d helped me simply because he could. “Please, don’t lie to me.”
“I’m not the king,” he said, and my heart fell at his bare-faced lie. I knew. I knew I was right about this. The evidence was stacked in favour of my conclusion, and none of the alternatives made the slightest sense. “You’re correct, though. I am the eldest.”
I opened my mouth, primed to present my argument the moment it occurred to me, but Idris smiled sadly. “I abdicated, many years ago. Not formally, of course, because my father was still alive, but…”
“You swapped places with Anwir,” I supplied, and Idris nodded. “Why?”
His voice was bitter as he replied, “Because I watched my brother, younger by minutes, enjoy the freedom that I would never have. From the moment of my birth, I was a servant of the throne. I never asked for it, never wanted it. Did you know that an heir apparent cannot join a drift? It’s considered too dangerous, but I wanted to fly. I wanted the freedom to sleep under the stars and marry whomever I chose, rather than some prim young female with excellent bloodlines chosen for me.”
Something twisted into an ugly knot inside my chest at the thought of Idris choosing Jane, of him marrying her for love, but I willed my face to remain neutral as he continued his story.
“Anwir, on the other hand, loved life at court. He was as jealous of me as I was of him. We were barely twenty years old when we traded places. He cut his hair short like mine so nobody, not even our mother, could tell us apart, and kept it that way for decades. We made a deal never to use our magic, the last tell. I’ve broken the terms of that deal twice now. First, when I charged your phone, and then this morning.”
His eyes dropped to the scar again, his face paling. “They all saw me. They witnessed my power.”
He lapsed into silence, which stretched between us. Beyond the cave mouth, rain pounded against the rock. It was grim and dark out there. Not nighttime dark, but the blanket of thick grey clouds robbed the world of light. Where had this rain been when Maelgwyn had ordered the flames lit?
“You still don’t want to be king?” I asked at length.
He shook his head fervently, setting his hair swaying across his forehead. My spirits sapped slightly. Idris, quiet, kind, thoughtful Idris would make a better king than Anwir ever would. Not that it was any of my business. Or was it? Maelgwyn believed the throne had passed to me the moment I broke the curse. Could I abdicate, as Idris had, and if I did, who was next in line?
What did any of it mean for me? For… us?
Was it even true?
Maelgwyn wouldn’t have thrown me the lifeline of marriage if it wasn’t. My stomach churned. I would think about it later, when I had time to stew over every possible outcome. If there was one thing I had in abundance now, it was time.
“And did you announce your name when you swept in to save the day?”
“I… no?”
