“Help! Somebody help!”
Charlock came rushing into the garden, a decanter in one hand and two glasses in the other. They fell to the ground with a crash when she saw the spring faery.
“What…how did…”
“He’s bleeding. Where’s Henbane?” Where was cloth to stop the bloodflow? I knelt and tore at the hem of my dress, ripping off strips of black material. Quickly, I wrapped the strips around his injured arm.
His eyelids fluttered, but he didn’t react otherwise.
Two guards weren’t far behind Charlock.
“Take him to Henbane’s quarters at once!”
As they lifted him up, more blood fell from his arm and left a trail on the stones. My heart sank. A faery’s magic would heal any wound no matter what realm they were from – unless the wound was mortal. Since this wound hadn’t healed…
Henbane’s quarters weren’t far from the garden. I shoved the door open, allowing the guards to rush inside with the spring faery,
“Put him here!” Henbane gestured towards a bed beside a table covered with flowers and herbs. Once he was lying on the bed, she rushed over and examined his arm.
The cloth was already soaked with blood.
“I saw the knife that did this,” I said. “It was a dark blade.”
Henbane started piling herbs into a mortar. “Are you certain?”
“I saw one of the sorcerers using it that night.”
Henbane’s hand paused, then resumed grinding the herbs.
“Notify me the moment he awakes.” I spun around and left the room, trying to ignore the drops on the floor as I headed towards the garden.
It was as still and quiet as ever.
I closed my eyes and tried to sense a weakness in the spell. There had to be one – how else could the spring faery have got here?
No matter how hard I searched, there was nothing. I had brought him in here – and now he was just as trapped as we were.
What had I done?
“Your Majesty? He’s awake.”
I thanked the guard and walked as calmly as I could to Henbane’s quarters. Mother had only hurried when she had to.
Placing one hand on the door, I breathed out slowly and pushed it open.
He was partially covered with a single sheet, his bandaged arm lying on top. His winter-green eyes roved around the room, settling on me as I entered.
“How are you feeling?” I asked.
“My arm is a little sore, but I’m grateful to be alive.” He gazed around the room. “This is the Night Realm.”
Then he noticed my crown. It was small, made of twisted strands of black metal, and was meant for everyday wear.
“Are you…” He sat up a little straighter, wincing as he did so. “Are you the queen?”
“I am. What’s your name?”
“My name is Rowan – Prince Rowan of the Spring Court.”