Ve'Rah Daa (The Ephemeral: Book 3)

Chapter 24

That night, Will and I headed back to Reese's cabin, and when we stopped in front of the royal's designated bedroom, I was shocked to see that he'd rearranged the furniture since receiving his stitches. He'd pushed the bed up against the far corner of the room, and he'd dragged the chairs, dressers, and bedside table to form a crescent around it, like some kind of hasty barricade. 

I shot him a quizzical look. 

"I don't like sleeping out in the open," he explained, avoiding eye contact. "It doesn't feel safe."

The nature of his strange sleeping habits wasn't news to me—he'd literally slept in a tree the first night of our journey together—but he'd been using a mattress or a sleeping pad for well over a month with no complaints. "Then how come you sleep like a normal person when I'm around?" 

"Because you're around," he said, and I barely caught the shadow of his smirk as he entered the room.

Propping his crutch against the dresser, he limped over to his bed, wincing as he sat down on the edge of the mattress. It hurt to see him like this, but it also pleased me that he was comfortable expressing pain in my presence now. We'd come a long way since I'd stitched up his bicep at Nova's, back when he pretended he was immune to infectious diseases. 

I followed him into the room and crouched to untie his boots, assuming he wouldn't be able to reach them even if he tried. "That bad, huh?"

He let out a weary sigh as he shed his winter coat. "The soreness really kicked in today." 

"Crazy. It's almost like you fought against seven skilled warriors or something." I slid off his boots, and his amused, grateful smile set my heart aflame. 

I still wasn't used to him sharing his joy and affection with me so freely, so casually. Every upward quirk of his lips turned my bones to mush, and I didn't think I'd ever get over the sight of it—a content and unburdened William Sterling.

I rose to my feet, watching him unbutton his sleeve cuffs. The dim lamplight painted his features a honey yellow, and I wasn't sure if it was just the stress he'd endured over the past few days or the fact that he'd stepped into a new leadership role, but his edges looked a little sharper, his chin a little stronger, and he no longer resembled the lonely teenager who hid his emotions.

He looked...grown.

Smiling, I cupped his face and kissed the top of his head. "Get some good sleep, Will." 

"Yeah, you too."

I was almost out the door when I heard him spit a string of curses. Alarmed, I spun around, only to slap my hand over my mouth to keep the laughter in.  

The prince was halfway out of his shirt, cringing at the strain it put on his muscles and bruised arms. Eventually, he noticed me standing there watching him and ceased his struggle, hanging his head in defeat. "...I'm stuck."

"I can see that."

Closing the door, I stomped back over to the idiot and helped him out of the shirt, doing my best to free him from his self-inflicted entanglement. But as I pulled the garment over his head, my gaze lingered on his protruding collarbone, the bare skin of his chest and abdomen, and the Order's gruesome artwork on his torso.

Surprisingly, the scar didn't really faze me anymore. It was nauseating to think of its origin and the tragic memory behind it, but the sight of raised flesh no longer affected me the way it used to. Like his face tattoo, the design was simply a piece of the Will I'd come to know. Another fascinating feature on a prince of ink and blemishes. 

I tore my eyes away from his chest and threw his shirt aside. "Pants?"

His lips parted to release an answer, but no sound came out, and I couldn't tell if he was embarrassed or ashamed or what. We'd grown up in the same town; it wasn't like I'd never seen his skinny, pale legs before. What was the big deal?