“I’m sorry.” I mumbled the apology, though I meant it.
She gave me a few more whacks over the head with my pillow, then sighed and collapsed into my nearby chaise.
“I know. You always are.”
That stung a bit, too.
“Do you even remember last night?” Her cheeks were pale, her tone flat.
I reached backward in my mind, trying to grasp onto any clues to what I’d been up to last night other than drinking myself into oblivion, but I came up short.
I remembered nothing.
And as much as that had been the point, there was something unsettling about it, too. Losing that much time.
It was one thing to lose time as I slept. At least then, I could be fairly confident I wasn’t up and about making a mess of my life or the lives of others.
“Didn’t think so,” Blaise said.
For a moment, I thought Blaise would hop up from the chaise lounge and leave, that she’d finally decided she was done with me. She scooted forward like she meant to, and even braced her hands on the armrests of the chaise, her pale knuckles bulging.
But in the end, she just slumped back into the soft material and rubbed her temples.
“Did I rope you into the drinking too?” I teased, hoping to lighten her mood.
“No.”
Obviously, my efforts were ineffective.
“I’m sorry, Blaise.”
“Sorry for what? You don’t know what you did.”
I sighed, pushing myself up against the backboard of my bed. When I did, I sucked in a gasp, pain rippling through the muscles of my back. Blaise opened her eyes and took a passing glance at my abdomen, where the remnants of welts were starting to heal.
I shuffled uncomfortably, more careful with how I moved my back this time.
They must have beaten me fairly badly if the wounds hadn’t completely healed overnight.
Fae wounds were like that. If I cut my hand, it would likely heal within the hour. If I cut my hand twice, it might take a handful of hours to heal. Cut my hand a thousand times…
Well, there was only so much the fae healing magic could do at once.
“They look better now than they did last night,” Blaise said, her gaze averting to a portrait of Jerad that hung on my wall.
I squirmed a bit, immediately regretting doing so as a storm of sharp pricks ricocheted through my muscles. My wounds had been cleaned—the ones where the skin had clearly been broken the night before. I pulled up my blankets slightly to peer underneath, and to my relief, I wore the same pants as I’d donned last night.
Blaise must have caught the subtle movement, because she let out a cruel laugh. “Oh, so you can’t be bothered with how you ended up left for dead last night, but you’d be embarrassed if it was me who changed your trousers so I could clean your wounds.”
I opened my mouth, but she wasn’t done.
“You know, maybe if you don’t want me dragging you back to the castle, all of your weight supported on my shoulders, which are much tinier that yours by the way, then maybe don’t drink yourself into a stupor and get yourself mugged and beaten and left for dead all over some random girl you danced with at a ball for a handful of minutes.”
I went silent, and so did she, crossing her arms.
“I’m sorry,” I said, though I’d lost count of how many times I’d said it at this point.
“For what?”
“You’re going to make me list all the reasons?”
“Yes, I am.”
“I’m sorry I went off and got drunk and got myself in a bad spot with whoever did this to me.” I gestured at the welts on my body. “And I’m sorry you probably have a crick in your neck from supporting my massive weight. And I’m sorry you had to find me like that.” That last one, a tad more genuine.
Blaise glanced back and forth from the floor to me.
“Okay. I accept your apology.”
“Thank you.”
“But you’re not doing this anymore. I forbid it.”
“You forbid it?”
“Yes, I do.”
I sighed, leaning my head back against the backboard. It was worse having this argument, because she was right. Blaise was undeniably right. It wouldn’t have been a good decision for a peasant to make, to get themselves plastered and mugged and left for dead. But I was the prince, sole heir to my father’s throne.
