Bloodguard

chapter 19

Leith

Light flickers over my closed eyes, nudging me awake. Slowly, I blink them open. I’m in a bedroom somewhere near Maeve’s garden. The scent of herbs is heavy in the air. There’s a circular window above me where the sun’s rays peek through the branches of a fairy elm. Its branches are overgrown now, only the topmost limbs reaching the light, while lower branches are shaded and barely blooming. In the forest, a good fire would take this tree out, and its thick bark would weather the flames to bloom richer and healthier again.

A raven squawks somewhere in the garden. And a cluster of gnome cardinals swoops up and down, back and forth, round and round, showing off the aerial acrobatics they’re known for.

But the best thing here is the sound of Maeve’s voice.

“Leith?”

Her gorgeous face comes into view, skin flushed and eyes bright as she examines my face. She’s in a white dress—no, a white nightgown—with a plunging neckline, exposing the last trail of scar just above the swell of her right breast. She reaches for a robe at the foot of the bed and slips it on, hiding a body I wish I didn’t want to see.

The long braid I remember is gone. Her mountain of hair is tied up at the top of her head. “For someone who wants to become a Bloodguard, you’re trying really hard to die.”

I laugh as she intends, though it hurts. “Believe it or not, I want to live.”

She winks. “Well, then, it’s a good thing you made a blood oath with a healer of exceptional skill.” She reaches for a pitcher of water and pours some into a goblet.

I ease upward to drink, and as I shift, the soft sheet skims along my bare skin. The moment she passes the water to me, I gulp it down. Pain continues to throb and stab at me in various places, but the intense burning has abated.

With my bandaged hands, I lift the covers and have a look at what remains of me. I’m clean, and except for the dressings covering multiple parts of my body, I’m naked.

“Well now, Princess. You’ve been busy,” I say. I let the covers drop. “Did you have fun …cleaning me up?”

She blushes and yanks the goblet from my grasp, considering, most likely, whether to cave my skull in with it. She fills the goblet instead, so the water skims along the rim. She doesn’t offer it right away. Instead, she smirks, and I swear to the moon, I’ve never seen a sweeter sight.

“Who’s Dahlia?” she asks as she hands me the water. “You spoke of her while you slept, and something about a rose.”

I take several long gulps, giving myself time to decide what to tell her. “Someone special,” I say.

Maeve’s features dissolve into blankness, although I don’t immediately understand why. She glances down. “I see,” she says, forcing a laugh. “As a gladiator, you probably have lots of…fans?”

Is that what we’re calling them?

“Yes. I have fans. Most of us do.” Not all of them are sexual, as Maeve’s implying. Some of the wealthier attendants genuinely want to reward us for our efforts. A dwarf named Wilestu treats the victors to a feast once a month. I think he does it more for the inside track on who to bet for or against, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is generous and friendly.

“So, she is one of your fans, then…”

Wariness keeps me from explaining, even to her. Any information someone has about my family is information they could use against me. I didn’t survive these years in Arrow by pretending that ulterior motives don’t exist among the aristocracy.

Maeve passes me the goblet once more, her gaze lowered after my blatant non-reply. “Don’t drink too much, though,” she warns. “Pasha is preparing supper now.”

I adjust my position to better sit, and she hurries to help me. She props the pillows behind me, trying to make me comfortable. She’s strong, and although I can manage on my own, I allow it. I feel like I owe her for, I don’t know, letting her think Dahlia and maybe Rose are more than my sweet little sisters? I’m not trying to vex her—she just saved my life. Again. But I’m more interested in why she’s so curious. She’s a princess of Arrow. She can have anyone and anything.

“How long have I been asleep?” I ask.

“Almost three days,” she replies, her voice oddly hesitant.

“Did anyone collect my winnings?” I ask.

“Father did the day following your last match.” She falls perfectly still. “You want your earnings to go to Dahlia?”

My voice lowers to a murmur. “I do.”

Her cheeks flush. She reaches for the pitcher again, then must remember she told me not to have more. She shoves her hands into the pockets of her nightrobe as if unsure what to do with them.

“Where or how should I get your winnings to her?” Maeve asks.

“There are messenger hawks trained to travel abroad and to specific realms. It’s a service we pay for.”

“I’ve never heard of that service,” Maeve replies. “The only messenger hawks I’m familiar with are the ones that drop the weapons into the arena.”

Why would she be? Arrow’s royals have everything. They don’t share with other realms, and they certainly don’t send their own mail.

“All right,” she says. “I’ll make arrangements to send your earnings to Grey.”

The unbending discipline I pride myself on evaporates the more I take her in.

Shadows ring her eyes from lack of sleep. In the recesses of my mind, I recall her voice—whispers of encouragement and maybe some light swearing. Her nightgown and bare feet suggest she’s slept here and…possibly never left my side.

A section of hair drifts slowly down and falls against her cheek. I hook my finger around it and gently bring it behind her ear, my hand lingering there.

“I don’t think Dahlia would like us this close,” she whispers.

I caress her face, her entire body stiffening as my knuckles glide over her soft cheek. “Dahlia won’t mind, and neither will Rose,” I say. “Trust me.”

If there was ever a time she was going to punch me in the skull, this is it.

Regret darkens her face, and I sense her disappointment in both of us.

It doesn’t sit right with me. Caution be damned.

“Maeve, Dahlia is my sister. She’s almost eleven. And Rose, my other sister, should be fourteen by now. They and my mother are the only ones my winnings go to.”

“Oh,” Maeve says. She smiles at me playfully. “You’re not such a prick after all.”

“Now you’ve gone too far, Princess.”

Her laugh is as refreshing as the first rains after a season of drought. My gaze fastens on hers. Maeve is different. And this…whatever this is, could become something more.

Shit. What am I doing ?

No, what am I doing with her ?

Maeve tucks the thick covers around me, then sits beside me, her hand next to mine, just barely touching, but I feel that connection down to my bones. We’re quiet for several minutes. Maybe she’s thinking she’s lucky I didn’t die, that she’d have to find herself another gladiator about to be Bloodguard. Outside of me and Sullivan, only Luther was close. I wonder if he made it through the night. If her medicine was enough to help him survive.

“Thank you,” I say, “for healing me.”

She had her motives, but I’m grateful all the same.

Her expression softens with concern and something more. I let the sensation between us simmer. An excitement thrums through my blood that’s much like the anticipation of a match in the arena—I smile inwardly—just without the threat of being mauled by some vicious beast.

Speaking of… “There was an animal here,” I say. “The night you treated me.”

“There wasn’t an animal.” Maeve puckers her brow. “All right, maybe not an animal, but…” Her voice trails off as she frowns.

“A shifter,” I say. “That’s it, isn’t it?”

“Sure.” She shrugs, all too casually. “Anyway, if there’s something special you’d like for supper, I can send word.”

She’s nervous, but I don’t get why. Shifters are plentiful, and some high-ranking members of the royal court are shifters if I’m not mistaken. “Maeve, what is it?”

Sadness creeps along her features, but I can’t assess why. It doesn’t sit well with me. “Maeve?” I say, keeping my tone soft.

Impending tears glisten in her eyes, but not a single one falls. “It’s just that as much as I want to, there are some things I’ll never be able to change. Even if I become queen.”

“Do you mean freeing your papa?”

“No. Papa is getting out no matter what I must do.”

The determination in her tone is tinged with grief. “Then is it all the lives lost in the arena?” I ask.

Maeve presses her lips together. “Yes, and more.”

Had I met Maeve sooner, perhaps she, we , could have spared those lives…including Sullivan’s.

Sullivan .

I grimace when the muscle in my upper leg painfully spasms as I try to edge off the bed.

“Is something wrong?” she asks. “Do you need to adjust your position?”

“No,” I say, shaking off the pain. I press my palms into the mattress, the cool cotton sheet begging me to return to its comfort. “Just been in bed too long.” I glance at the oval window above, where the gnome cardinals continue to circle and play. “Is it nice out?” I ask.

“It’s beautiful,” she answers cautiously.

She backs away in the direction of the wall and presses a brick. With a squeak, the wall opens…revealing Maeve’s workstation. I’m in a hidden room within the cottage.

“Do you mean to tell me that there was a real bedroom, with a real bed, and you had me sleep on some old cot?”

I don’t admit that the cot was rather comfortable. It’s the principle, damn it.

“It’s not really a cot. It’s more like an old dog bed,” Maeve replies. She sighs dramatically. “Poor old Speckles. He likely rolled over in his grave, knowing you got fleas on it.”

I chuckle, but damn does it hurt. “Don’t make me laugh.”

I reach toward the small, cushioned chair to my right, where a clean pair of breeches lies folded. It shouldn’t be such a task, but it is, despite how I attempt to mask it.

“Leith, you’re too weak to leave your bed.”

Somehow, call it will or absolute stubbornness, I manage to pull on the breeches. I tie the drawstring—a hell of an accomplishment, considering how much the tight bandages along my hands restrict my movements.

I deal with the pain stabbing its way to my groin well enough, but it’s those pesky spots dancing across my line of sight that warn me any position other than supine is a bad idea. I tell the spots to fuck off and force myself to my feet.

Thank the phoenix that Maeve’s breasts are there to catch me when I fall forward.

All right. That’s not entirely true. Her hands shoot out to catch me and clasp my shoulders. My face lands against her generous bosom because gravity is a real thing, and sometimes, the stars do align in my favor.

Maeve gasps, but she doesn’t shove me away like I expect. No, rather than shove me off her, she holds me close. I close my eyes as the whole room spins.

We fall still, both of us taking our time to remember how to breathe. My cheek rests against the last few scars along her sternum, and my nose presses into the swell of her…yeah. Those .

Future kings don’t lick their way up a future queen’s throat to claim her mouth and probably everything else.

Despite how badly a future king may want to.

“Ah, Leith?” the future queen stammers.

“Mm?”

“D-did you…pass out?”

“Mm-hmm.”

She strangles out a laugh as I ease away from her, ignoring the insistence of my face to return to Maeve’s chest and to let my mouth linger there and then lower still.

I set my gaze on the wall and roll my shoulder, trying to gain a semblance of control.

“Fuck,” I say, clamping my jaw shut when what feels like shards of glass pierce through my arm. That damn shark and that equally wretched barb at the end of its tail must have shredded the muscle. It’s healing, and the bandage Maeve set holds tight, but it pinches like the stitches might split or the wound hasn’t fully closed.

The pain…it’s not so different from what’s weighed on me since Sullivan died. But for my sake, and Maeve’s, I must move forward in spite of how the dull pound along my skull increases in severity.

Maeve’s steady hold lessens as I straighten further. My feet bear my weight well enough, but it’s impossible not to favor one side.

“Leith, I don’t know what you think you’re doing, but you’re not ready to go anywhere.”

Pain pinches my features into a grimace I can feel. “If I don’t start to move, I won’t move enough when it matters.” I breathe in and out slowly, trying to fight through that next wave.

Maeve sighs. “This isn’t a good idea,” she says.

“Never said it was.” I lift my head. “Take me into the forest.”

Her eyes travel up and down my body. “To die ?”

“No,” I rumble, wondering what I look like to make her say that. “Just…take me someplace pretty.”

“Pretty?” she repeats.

“Yes,” I answer quietly. Some place that’s the equivalent of you .

“Please,” I add when she keeps still. “There’s something I’ve waited far too long to do…”