“Renfern Octis,” he told me.

“And his parents?” I asked hoarsely.

“His parents died some time ago. His mother by a Craven, and his father to sickness. His uncle and aunt cared for him.”

“Gods,” I whispered, staring at the rafters. “I…I saw the knight take him. I couldn’t stand by and watch that happen.”

“I’d hoped that you would, but I wouldn’t have expected anything less from you.”

My bleary gaze shifted to him. The words weren’t spoken in annoyance. I thought I detected respect in them. “That’s why you gave me my dagger.”

Casteel said nothing.

“Do…do you have it?”

He nodded.

I started to ask for it back, but Casteel said, “No matter how much death I’ve seen, it never gets easier.” His lashes lowered, shielding his gaze. “It’s never less shocking. I’m glad for that, because I think if it ever does stop shocking me, I might stop valuing life. So, I welcome that shock and the grief. If not, I would be no better than an Ascended.”

What I’d said to him the other day soured on my tongue. “I know you’re not like them—like the Ascended. I shouldn’t have said that to you.”

Casteel stared at me for so long, I started to grow concerned. But then he said, “You’re not going to ask if you’ll turn into a Craven now? You’re not angry that I gave you my blood?”

“I know I’m not going to turn into a Craven.” I sat up easily and leaned against the headboard. “Did you use compulsion?”

“Not to make you drink. You were surprisingly amicable to that, which caused me to worry all the more,” he told me, and I was suddenly grateful that I had no recollection of that. “Once you started to feel the…effects of my blood, I did use compulsion to help you sleep. I assumed you would appreciate that.”

Considering how I’d reacted the last time, I did appreciate that. I drew a leg up under the blanket. “I’m not mad. I don’t hurt, and I would’ve been in a lot of pain.” I looked at my arm again, still shocked to see nothing more than faint marks. “How often can you give me your blood? I mean, would something happen if you continued to do it?”

“I hope that I don’t have to continue doing so, but nothing would happen if I did.” His lips pursed. “Or at least, I don’t think so.”

“What do you mean by ‘at least’ you think that?”

“Atlantians don’t often share their blood with mortals, not even half-Atlantians.” He sat on the edge of the bed. “In fact, it’s forbidden.”

“Is it because of your bloodline?”

“Our blood doesn’t have much impact beyond its healing and aphrodisiac qualities to mortals. But you’re not completely mortal. I imagine it may strengthen the part of you that is Atlantian, at least temporarily.” He faced me again. “But there is a worry that sharing one’s blood with those who have mortal blood could eventually lead to an Ascension.”

“Oh.” I could see why that would be a concern. “Would you get in trouble if it was discovered?”

“You don’t need to worry about that.”

“But I do,” I blurted out.

An eyebrow raised. “Then you’re worried about me, Princess?”

My skin flushed. “If something happens to you, then that would jeopardize what I want.”

His head tilted as he studied me. A too-long stretch of silence passed. “No one who saw how injured you were either time will ever share that I gave my blood to you.”

That was good to know. “But what would happen?”

He sighed. “Kieran was right. You do ask a lot of questions.”

My eyes narrowed. “Curiosity is a sign of intelligence.”

Casteel smiled at that. “That is what I hear.” The dimple disappeared. “The King and Queen would be unhappy, but since I’m their son, they would probably yell at me, and that’s about it.”

I wasn’t sure if he was telling the truth or not.

“I figured you’d be mad,” he admitted.

“How can I be mad when you made sure that I’m not in pain?” I asked, and I truly wasn’t. “It didn’t hurt me. It doesn’t hurt you, right? I’m just glad I don’t have a throbbing headache and…” I looked at the faint marks. “I won’t have yet another scar.”

Two fingers pressed under my chin and lifted my gaze to his. “Your scars are beautiful,” he said, and there was a swift, swelling motion in my chest that couldn’t be deflated no matter what my brain yelled at it. “But I refuse to allow your body to be scarred again.”

My heart started thumping once more. “You say that like you mean it.”

“Because I do.”

I wanted that to be true, and that was enough of a warning. I leaned away from his grasp. “When…when do we leave?”

“Naill is out scouting, making sure there is no unexpected traffic on the western roads. I can’t leave until I am sure that there are no immediate threats to the keep,” he explained, and that made sense. “I hope we will be able to leave by morning or the following day at the latest.”

Nodding, I closed my eyes. When I started to see Lord Chaney’s face, I shifted my thoughts beyond that to what I’d learned before the Ascended arrived. I’d likely discovered what bloodline I descended from—a line of warriors.

The need to get up, to move—to do something—hit me again, but this time, I had a purpose. “Are the injured ones in pain?”

Casteel’s brows knitted. “They’ve been given what we have on hand to ease their pain. Magda left to retrieve more.”

“I can help them.” I scooted to the other side of the bed and pushed the blanket off.

He rose. “Poppy—”

“I can help,” I repeated, coming to my feet. “You know I can. Why shouldn’t I?” I raised my brows when he didn’t answer. “There’s no good reason for why I shouldn’t.”

“Other than that you were just injured?” he suggested.

“I’m fine, thanks to you.” My hands opened and closed at my sides. “You know I hated not being able to use my abilities before, being forced to do nothing when I can help people. Don’t do that to me.”

“I’m not trying to do that to you.”

“Then what are you trying to do?” I demanded. “These are your people. I want to help them. Let me do that.”

“You don’t understand.” He thrust a hand through his hair. “The people here don’t know you. They don’t—”

“Trust me? Like me? I already knew that, Casteel. I don’t need either of those things. That’s not why I want to use my abilities.”

Casteel fell quiet and stared at me for so long that I braced for an argument. “Then you should get changed,” he said, turning away. “I’ll get jealous if anyone else sees how pretty your legs are.”

Chapter 17

I found myself in borrowed clothing once more as Casteel and I left the room. The heavy sweater was a deep, forest green, warm and soft, but this time, the pants were a size or two too big. Gathered around my waist with gold rope, the breeches were baggy through the entire leg. I was positive the tie was normally used to hold curtains back from a window. I felt a little foolish, like a small child playing dress-up in adult’s clothing, but I wasn’t going to complain. The clothes were warm and clean, smelling of lemongrass.

As we reached the bottom of the stairway, Casteel took my hand in his. A charge of awareness seemed to pass between our joined palms, traveling up my arm. I glanced up at Casteel in surprise.

He stared down at me, lips parted enough that I could see the hint of fangs. The amber hue of his eyes was luminous in the dim stairwell.

“Sparks,” he murmured.

“What?”

Smiling slightly, he shook his head. “Come. There is something I want to give you when you’re done with the injured.”

Casteel pushed open the door before I could further question him about what he’d meant or what he planned to give me.

People huddled around the open doors of the front entrance of the keep, staring out. Wind had blown in a dusting of snow, but no one seemed too aware of the cold air creeping in.

“What are they looking at?” I asked.

“Something unexpected,” Casteel replied, and my brows knitted in a frown.

Now beyond curious, I started toward the doors. Casteel didn’t stop me. Becoming aware of the Prince’s arrival, the people parted, bowing at the waist, their pale faces and distracted gazes returning to the outside.

Walking forward, I saw more standing outside, arms wrapped tightly around their waists. They faced the stable. As the bright morning rays stretched across the snow-covered ground, we rounded the corner of the keep.

I came to a complete stop, my hand going lax in Casteel’s grip.

Ahead of us, where the space had been emptied, where Lord Chaney had found me the night before, was a tree.

My gaze lifted, following the wide, glistening bark and over the thick limbs stretching as tall as the keep, heavy with leaves gleaming crimson in the bright morning sun.

This was no freshly planted sapling. The tree was well rooted, as if it had stood there for decades, if not hundreds of years. Moisture seeped through the bark, beaded and rolled slowly to the tips of the leaves, falling in droplets of red, splashing against the snow.

A blood tree.

“How?” I whispered even though no one knew how the trees in the Blood Forest grew, why they bled. Why did one grow here overnight, where one hadn’t stood before?

“They’re saying it’s an omen,” Casteel answered quietly.

“Of what?”

“That the gods are watching.” His grip tightened on my hand as I shivered. “That even though they still slumber, they are signaling that a great change is coming.”