Page 26 of The Withering Wood

“Cerise!” Oberon shouted, feet sifting through the snow as he wound his way to her. His dazzling eyes were wide with concern, and fog tufted from his firm, open mouth. “Are you injured?”

“No. You?” She looked him up and down and, besides the terror on his face, he seemed fine.

“No, thank Mirvadel.”

Cerise cringed. “We have nothing to thank her for.” She turned her back on the prince, reorienting to the direction they needed to travel and estimating the remaining length of daylight.

He sucked in a harsh breath. “Cerise. Stop.”

“What?”

“Don’t. Move.” The command in his voice, which dropped to a low rumble in its seriousness, pinned her to the spot. He approached her from behind and Cerise sensed when he was near, the warmth of him emanating through the air.

“What are you doing?”

He gave a rough, thoughtful grumble. A moment later, Cerise felt a tug, like he’d pulled on her clothes. Before she whipped around to snap at him, he extended his arm, hand open.

In his gloved palm lay a gleaming bone shard as long as a finger. Her heart jumped into her throat, and she slapped his arm away, the bone twirling through the air. As soon as it landed, the sick hex brightened the snow. Panic raked through her skin and she twisted her arm to her back, fingers rummaging over her clothes, looking for where the bone cut. Her fingers tore through the shorn fabric, closer to her skin, searching for torn flesh and oozing blood. For all she knew, there was a numbing agent within the bones and the curse was eating her from the inside out as they stood.

The bone stuck in the thick leather hide closest to her body but didn’t touch her skin. Heaving a sigh of relief, she whirled on the prince. “What’s wrong with you? Never, ever touch those.”

“I was worried it touched you. Did it?”

“No. And do not even think about thanking Mirvadel.”

His eyes twitched with amusement. Cerise was sure there was a faint smirk beneath his scarf. She raked a hand through her hair, pushing it out of her face. As she did, a chilly wind seeped through the ripped layers, biting against the sliver of exposed skin. She shivered at the sudden cold and the prince’s gaze flicked down.

“How many layers did it get through?” the prince’s hand shot outward, as if to grab her layers of clothes and assess the damage. He stopped himself, hand paused in the air before bunching into a fist.

“All, except my actual flesh. The leather stopped it.”

“We need to repair your clothes, or at least the leather, before moving on.”

“No, we don’t. I can fix it tonight. But we should make as much progress during the day as we can. And get as far away from this,” Cerise nodded her head in the direction of the expanded curse, “as possible.”

“Listen. The more you aggravate the tears, the worse they’ll get. The worse they get, the more thread it’ll take to fix. The more resources wasted. Plus, you’ll be colder. If you’re colder, you’re slower. And in more pain, correct? It’s a stupid risk to take, Cerise.”

She clenched and unclenched her jaw, wondering if he’d imprison her if she punched him. “I’m not going to strip naked in the middle of this forsaken, freezing wood to sew. Now that is a stupid risk to take.”

“If it makes you more comfortable, we could make camp now. Sunset is not too long away. We can eat dinner, relax our bodies and minds from what we witnessed. Discuss what it means. And we can fix your clothes before they get worse.”

“You and your schemes.” Cerise scoffed. “It’ll take much more cunning than that to get me naked in a tent with you.”

An amused chuckle rumbled through the prince, sending unwelcome heat through Cerise’s body. “As much as I may enjoy you without clothes, there’s no need for that. I can sew it, if you wish.”

Cerise barked a laugh and the prince’s brow pinched together with confusion.

“I’m serious.”

“Even if I believed you, it’s a ridiculous idea.”

“Why?”

“Because…” Cerise trailed off, mind rushing to find a good reason. He was a prince. Why would he know how to sew? How much experience could he have doing so when he had royal tailors and maids to take care of such trivialities?

But he had a point that it would be better to address the tear now rather than risk it worsening. If she was alone, she might’ve set up the absorber to create a warm bubble for herself while stripping and fixing it. But she wasn’t alone. She could make him wait outside while she stitched it in the tent. But even the thought of being nude in the tent while he sat outside felt too exposed. With the dim light of the absorber, he’d still see her silhouette. Could still imagine what her body looked like.

Her muscles also ached. The twist to protect herself from the exploding bone combined with the extra walking without Eirwen’s magic caused a deep, tender agony in her leg that was becoming more difficult to stand on.