“You tell me if I need to stop, okay? Close your eyes, and when you open them, you’ll be better,” the Prince says in a soothing tone. Then he grabs her other hand and light flares, her small frame healing quickly, no need for his water magic. When the light fades, Russell wraps his arms around her, sobbing into her hair, ignoring his own skin. He grabs the Prince’s hand, shaking it, unable to say anything else. Prince Hawthorne only smiles brightly, no winks or smirks or disarming dimple in sight, before moving on to the young boy.

Once he finishes stabilizing the family with his magic, I aerstep them to the makeshift infirmary, where they’ll receive additional treatment. Before I leave to go back into the village, I overhear the Prince speaking with the little girl. “Are you really a prince?” she asks him in wonder.

“I am,” he responds with laughter in his voice.

“What’s it like being a prince? Do you have a princess you take care of?”

Prince Hawthorne chuckles. “No. No princess. Though maybe I need to find one. Being a prince comes with a lot of responsibility though. I have to take care of my people, care for them, and worry about them. Just like you probably do with your family.”

“Yeah,” she says joyfully. “Does that make me a princess?”

“I think it does,” the Prince coos.

I have to leave before I overhear more. I don’t want to think of the Velmaran Prince as the kind of male who talks to little girls about princesses after healing them with a gentleness I can only dream of possessing. I’m all hard angles and terse words, even when I’m trying my best, while he moves between every situation with ease. If I let him show me more of himself, it will make it too hard to make the right decision later. There may be more to him than the charming grins, but that doesn’t change my plans. I will not forget who sired him, and to whom he will have to report back to when this is all over if I let him leave Thayaria.

Diving back into the fray, I find at least a dozen more people to help. Stab wounds, severed limbs, more burn victims. My fury ignites with every person I save. I get occasional glances of the Prince. He works as diligently as me, but quicker, though I don’t want to admit it. Gone are his simpering looks and sarcastic smiles. Face smudged with soot and shirt soaked through with sweat, this Prince is compassionate and kind. When I catch him carrying a little girl in his arms with tears running down his cheeks, her limp and pale body telling me everything I need to know about the situation, my chest tightens.