DRAMA NOVEL ONLINE Prince of Then: Chapter 5
Gade
the same as last time I was here, only covered in several more layers of dust. It’s dark and claustrophobic, the very opposite of the light-filled palace overlooking the wild Emerald Sea that I’m known to prowl around, seeking rare shadows to hide in.
In truth, this desolate hut perfectly matches my soul’s dark yearnings.
I wonder what type of living quarters the witch is accustomed to?
Whether it be a forest cave or a fiery pit, I shouldn’t waste my energy thinking about her. If the mortal species is as far beneath faeries as I’ve been told, then this girl is like a rat in a cellar compared to a prince accustomed to reigning on a throne of gold.
Gazing around the hut, her teeth worry her bottom lip, then she squares her shoulders and turns to me. “Lie down. I’ll start the fire.”
I stumble toward the bed, then collapse onto it, grateful to be reclining again. She watches me pant, pity etched on her broad, even features. Longing pangs in my chest for my magic to be as it once was—powerful and unconquerable.
I despise being weak in anyone’s presence, and for unknown reasons, more so in hers. I guess because she is only a lowly human, it grates me, a prince, to be at her mercy.
“There’s a freshwater well behind the hut and dried meat in the larder. It will soon be dark. Do not waste the last of the light.”
With a brief nod, she sweeps a shrewd yellow gaze over me, and then hurries through the door, a wooden pail swinging from her fingers. I close my eyes and release the groan I’ve been suppressing. A few days’ rest is all I need to restore my powers to their base level, which unfortunately while I’m curse-affected, isn’t very impressive.
I refuse to die in this hut.
I cannot.
And I won’t.
I must live to save my kingdom.
As a reward for tending me, I won’t take the little witch’s life until after the Court of Five has assessed her. This is fair, but since she might also be my only hope for survival, it’s the wisest course of action. I’ll curb my desire to wring her fragile neck and watch her closely in case she breaks her vows and tries to finish me off at the first opportunity.
The witch makes three trips to the well for water, followed by a lengthy expedition to gather plants and grasses, then returns and starts a fire in the hearth. Since I can’t raise even a tiny Elemental spark, I resign myself to lie still, grateful for the warmth.
I roll onto my side and stare at the flames dancing across her body as night’s fingers creep over the floor and shadow the hut’s rendered walls. With each breath I draw, the fire transforms her from a shadowy wraith to a demon with her hellish eyes ablaze. It is unsettling, and although I long to look elsewhere, I cannot tear my gaze from the feverish vision.
“Lie on your back so you don’t strain your wound,” she orders.
I obey, then turn my head and watch as she boils water in the pots that hang over the flames.
She takes tubers from deep pockets in the apron tied over her skirts, peels and slices them quickly with a herb-cutting knife produced from one of her poor-quality boots, and places them in the larger vessel before tossing the grasses and herbs into the smaller pot.
While she works, she keeps her back turned and gaze fixed on her tasks. “Tell me about your people’s magic,” she murmurs. “How does it work? Will you turn into a beast at any moment and rip me to shreds? Before you waste what little energy you have, know this: first, nothing you do will make me cower. And second, the last thing you’ll see is me crying in front of you.”
“I wouldn’t be so certain of that. Anyway, I’m not interested in your tears at present. Perhaps when I’m feeling better.”
For a moment, I consider telling her as little as possible about my magic, then decide it doesn’t matter. Knowledge won’t help her overcome me. I am still a prince of the Land of Five. For now, while I’m injured, she has the advantage. But soon, I’ll heal, and then the witch will be at my mercy.
“In my land, we have Elemental magic. Most fae control only one element, but I can manipulate all four at will and sometimes even the fifth, which is spirit.”
She waits for me to elaborate—but there are two things I cannot tell her. I control the elements because I am the heir to the Throne of Five. And as a result of the curse’s progression, my control of them weakens daily. These things are none of her business.
After washing a wooden mug, she fills it with herbs then boiling water. A pungent smell fills the room, watering my eyes.
“But you can’t perform this magic while you’re injured, am I right?” She passes me the brew. “Drink this. It will ease your pain, ward off infection, and help you sleep.”
Sleep? I do not wish to sleep while in her company. This human sorceress will likely smother me.
The first few sips of the potion are hot and bitter, then warmth seeps into my muscles and settles my body’s tremors.
While I drink, she searches through the larder followed by every drawer in the hut. I could point out where certain items are stored, but I don’t. I prefer to watch her grow frustrated, huff, and click her tongue. It provides me with a much-needed, albeit petty, form of entertainment.
Finally, she finds strips of dried meat and adds them to the pot of tubers, allowing the mix to simmer. After a time, she wakes me from a doze by holding a steaming bowl of food under my nose.
“Here. Eat.” She helps me sit against the bed’s headboard, then takes a seat at the rectangular table in the center of the room and sips from her own bowl.
“I’m not hungry.” My words are thick and slurred, likely the effect of the herbal potion. After drinking a whole mug of it, I cannot stomach a full meal as well.
“Human bodies require food to heal properly,” she says. “Surely this is true for fae or whatever mythical species you claim to belong to. If you wish to recover quickly, I recommend you swallow every mouthful.”
I sigh and begin to eat, wincing at the bland flavor. Rather than doing what she bids, I’d prefer to argue the point, but my thoughts move through my mind like sludge, and I can’t think of one comment to annoy her with. I am tired, and my energy wanes with each labored breath.
To prevent my eyelids from closing, I concentrate on the firelight flickering over my odd companion. Writhing flames turn her locks blood red and twist her generous lips into a sneer. As I swallow my last mouthful of food, my lids defeat my will and close.
I drag them open. “Tell me, sorceress…” My words trail off as smoke clouds my head.
“Good,” I hear her say. “The herbs have done their job.”
Then her words run together, sounding like an incantation, a dark spell, barely audible over the spit and crackle of the fire.
“Don’t kill me until I wake,” I slur as sleep drags me into the abyss.