Careful, not to touch him, Luci took the bread and stared at the gently flowing current. Her stomach immediately growled at the first bite of flaky bread. Whether in approval or anger at being denied for too long was hard to say. She was grateful for the sound of the water as it made its way downstream. It echoed off the walls and filled up some of the hollowness within her.
Ira was quiet as he ate as well. Two pieces of bread and three slices of cheese later, the grumbling in her stomach subsided, and her blood cooled enough that she didn't feel like she was an inferno beneath her skin.
The newfound quiet was a different kind of pain, though. It made her all too aware of the exact distance between her and Ira and the ever-encroaching walls of the cave. Nowhere to hide. No one to hide behind.
It began as an itch at the back of her neck. A thickening in her throat that she imagined narrowing her airways. It quickly delved into her eyes, and the burning began in earnest. Brielle used to say that it would take an act of magic to make Luci cry. No happy ending or broken hero could create even a hint of tears in her eyes.
The thing that Luci never told her was that she’d already seen the saddest things the world had to offer, and they weren’t pages in stories. They were starving children and broken women. They were crumbs on dirty streets and painful memories. They were an emptiness that filled her stomach with pain that felt a lot like death.
So the fact that she’d cried several times in several days seemed an unfair disposition. That tears now fell in the middle of a cave with an errant prince and magic glittering walls seemed more like an inconvenience. However, logic and the sense of justice could not hold them at bay. Stomach full and chest hollow, the tears flow freely. She tried to hide it, but there was no hope for it.
Knees pulled up, Ira rested his arms over them, fists clenched, and watched her. Face pale.
“How can I help?” he asked.
It was a terrible question. Probably the worst question anyone ever asked, and she very much wanted to throw something at him.
“You can’t,” she said through sharp breaths.
They were coming too quickly now. It felt like a lightning bolt was running down her chest, carving her from the outside, and darkness was seeping in. Clear vision gave way to images that merged into one, and no amount of cinnamon or determination could save her. She was dying. Crashing upon the shore over and over again with all the violence of a fate no longer to be outrun.
She knew she shouldn’t have. He was trying hard not to touch her with his clenched fist and tight jawline. Probably scared she would turn feral and run away. And so she would have if there was anywhere to run. There wasn’t. There wasn’t anywhere to go, and she never needed human touch as she did in that cave. So, despite the screaming in her head, she scooted over the empty cloth of crumbs and rested her head on his shoulder.
He didn’t hesitate, and it was just another reason for the tears to fall harder and her chest to burn with more intensity. He wrapped his arms around her, and she buried her face into his neck. Peppermint cemented into his skin regardless of the days of travel. In his arms, she cried as she’d done when she was an orphan lost on Picadilly street.
Except then she’d had no one and didn’t know what safety felt like. In a cave beneath a mountain, in a prince’s arms, Luci felt safe. Like he wouldn’t judge her for her tears, like it would all be all right as long as she stayed in his arms, he didn’t say anything, and it was better that way. A perfect cocoon created for a single moment in time.
Soon, she cried all the tears there were to cry. A lifetime of tears used up in one evening. Her breathing eased, and she’d felt like her body gave everything there was to give. She should have pulled away. Should have made herself forget what it meant to feel safe.
But the thing was, now that she knew what it felt like to have his arms around her and to feel the gentle pulse of his heartbeat in his neck, there was no strength left in her to pull away. And he didn’t ask her to.
So she stayed.
Safe and sound for just a moment in the arms of a prince in a cave under a mountain.
Chapter twenty-five
Of Confessions and Yearning
To love and be silent is no small feat. True love is loud and demanding. An impending snare despite the warmth of its embrace.
-Tales from Meridea, Volume II
There is no sleep like one that comes after a release of emotion. It is a deep sort of sleep that feels like armor rebuilding while the world goes still. The waking up after is another story entirely. It is a confusing series of detangling truth from dream. Trying to remember if the pain was real or rather avivid nightmare. Slowly, the pages turn and rearrange, and the reality cuts deep, but not as deeply as before.
This was how it was for Lucinda Blackthorn, except her pages were tangled beneath lean muscle and the gentle rise and fall of a warm chest. Blinking her eyes, she found herself tucked against Ira on the floor of the cave, right where she’d fallen asleep. His arm was around her, holding her close to him while her head rested on his chest.
A light blanket thrown over her shoulders. She knew she was wrong for it, but the sense of safety that lulled her to sleep still lingered over skin, so she slowly turned her head and rested her chin on him so that she could see him better.
The diamonds of the cave danced over his smooth skin like they longed to touch him as much as she did. Course stubble gathered over his cheeks and above his lips. It took some of his youth from him, but in a way that made her more handsome if such a thing was possible. Long eyelashes pressed together in sleep, his brown hair gathered over his eyes, hiding his forehead.
No kingdom needed saving. No burdens rested on his shoulders. In this moment, he was
merely a man, contentedly sleeping amidst gently rushing water. Luci reached up and brushed his hair to the side before tracing his face and feeling the stubble gathering on his cheek.
He was beautiful in the way the princes were in stories. Alone, without anyone to see, she let herself remember the first time she’d met him at the ball, how his easy laugh and awareness felt like a spell. How, for a minute, she would have followed him anywhere. How she did. Followed him right into a room made of Glass that changed everything.
Following him led her to laughter, adventure, chaos, and fear of death related to treason, but it was hard to make herself regret it. Even though she would indulge these feelings for a few more minutes due to lack of good judgment, she would soon burythem once more. He wasn’t hers to keep. These arms that held her and made her feel safe weren’t for her.