The cloth in my mouth tastes strangely like the dungeons and I want so desperately to spit it out. Renit told me not to so I can protect my teeth from any harm I might cause them. One more injury and we might as well shack up with the rebels for a little while longer.

Bending forward, I fold over myself and clutch my arms tight against my abdomen. Night has fallen and in the small clearing, the only light is the faint glow of the fire. That flame is warming my injured arm.

With the titanium in my bloodstream from the arrow, I can't heal myself. A witch's body, the immortal at least, can heal injuries that aren't life threatening. Unless they're caused by titanium. Renit pulls one of those titanium tipped arrows from the fire, blazing hot. I squeeze my eyes shut.

"Ready?" He asks. I shake my head no. "I can't wait any longer, Roux. This might get infected if I don't care for it."

"Just...talk to me through it. Distract me," I order around the cloth in my mouth. Renit stills, the beginning signs of his rejection, and I glance sidelong at him. "Tell me about...holding your son for the first time."

A terrible subject to focus on but this is a story I actually want to hear. Not the cruel things the king has done to Renit or losing the two people he loves most but rather the happy moments meant to look back on. "The birth was...difficult." Renit swallows. "Darlene almost didn't make it out but once Oisin was delivered, she pleaded for me to hold him—even if I wanted to focus on her." Another swallow followed by a deep breath.

I imagine them in Darlene's chambers, wherever those were in the castle, waiting for the arrival of their child. Renit is a mess of stress and Darlene, cool and confident. But births are difficult for witches, more than conceiving in the first place.

"I didn't think someone could ever be so small and innocent," he continues. "When I held him, I wanted nothing more than to protect that baby from harm. So when he was old enough, I—" The white hot tip of the arrow presses onto my skin and I scream into the cloth as the burn settles—then it's gone. I double over myself and press my forehead into the dirt.

"You...bastard," I hiss through clenched teeth.

"I need to take a look at your ankle." Renit forces me to a sitting position and pulls my legs out from underneath me.

My feet rest in his lap and slowly, he unlaces my torn leather boots. I tug the cloth out of my mouth and say, "As long as you don't burn my ankle off, we should be fine."

Renit gives me a flat stare of annoyance. "I had to do that to stop the bleeding. It doesn't help much with infection but the cut was deep enough to warrant the need." He tugs off my sock and holds my swollen, aching ankle in his dark palm.

He presses light touches to the skin, his brows twitched together as one. I lean back on my elbows and watch his slow, calculated movements meant to decipher what the problem is underneath the skin. If I didn't know him, I would mistake Renit to be a healer—one with gentle hands and a soft preference for helping those in need.

"Finish what you were saying," I offer. "What did you do for Oisin?"

Renit glances at me quickly before looking back to the wound. "When he was old enough, I started teaching him about weapons. That was only months before..." His voice trails off and he sighs. "Anyway, I wanted to do what I could to protect him. I wanted to teach him about self defense and I wanted to train him in a different way than my father would have."

He pulls the sock back over my ankle and tosses the boot towards my stomach. That's as far as his help will stretch.

"Your ankle is fine, just twisted. The soreness should go down in a couple days."

"A couple days? We have to make it to the capital at some point." I pull my boot back over, wincing as pain shoots through my foot and the bottom half of my leg.

Renit drags a hand through his hair. He looks so tired. The cuts are shallow in his face, cutting the corners of his cheekbone, his jawline, and one at the middle of his forehead that dribbled blood before clotting. "You can still walk on it. We'll take longer but we'll still be moving."

While he might not want to meet my eye, I find myself wishing he would. Is this the first time he's allowed himself to talk about this in one hundred years? Renit realizes I'm trying to get his attention with my drilling stare and walks away, towards the satchel on the other side of the fire. He picks through, setting things out for us to eat while the rest will be saved for a later time.

The bow and quiver of arrows rest against a nearby boulder. That will be our source of protection for tonight in case the guards come back or we make the unfortunate discovery of a wild animal in search of a meal. My stomach is settled now that I know we have something other than Renit's bare hands and my minor training to protect us.

Once both of our faces are cleaned of cuts and the twigs are removed from our hair, we eat what we can in terms of dinner. The cheese is fresh, the bread is slightly stale, and the vegetables are raw—but still bursting with flavor.

Renit hands me a carrot and I grimace, shaking my head. "What?" He asks. "What's wrong with the carrot?" He pulls it back to examine the carrot in the glowing fire, as if he's looking for a piece of titanium wedged against the orange flesh.

"I don't like carrots," I confess.

"You don't get a choice on what you like and what you don't like. This carrot is food and if it's the last thing you have to eat, you better eat it." He thrusts it back in my direction again and I push his hand away, back to his side.

We sit only feet apart, tucked in near the dying fire. Our only source of warmth for the next hour or so, since we don't want to sleep with a beacon over our heads. The guards will come back with more resources, more soldiers, more weapons. They'll be looking for us and the smallest bit of smoke against the night sky can ruin our secrecy.

"This carrot is not the last thing I have to eat. If you haven't noticed, we have bread, cheese, fruits, and an entire array of other vegetables. If you want someone to eat the carrot so bad, then maybe you should eat it." I rip off a piece of stale bread, winking at him, and his frown deepens.

Renit places the carrot in the corner of his mouth, careful not to break eye contact, and breaks off a piece with his teeth. He makes a point to chew loudly and returns the wink. "You'll never make it on your own," he mocks.

"If I'm forced to eat nothing but carrots then I'm already dead."

He snorts. That's the first time I've made him genuinely laugh. "Oisin didn't like apples," he states to the fire. A secret, a memory, another kernel in the life of Oisin Chathier Marron. The young boy didn't like apples. The sweetest fruit I've known is also the worst for Renit. He tears off another bite of carrot and chews that to tiny little pieces before speaking again. "Darlene didn't like turnip."

Now it's my turn to laugh. "No one likes turnip."

I don't meet Renit's eye as he stares at the side of my face. "She used to say that, too."

Then I do break my confidence to meet that blustering gaze. Renit's different when he talks about his family. His face softens and his eyes plead to tell more after so many years of keeping his mouth shut. If I had one word for what I would call the drawing of his face in this moment, it would be trust.

I haven't allowed myself to think about drawing portraits. The last I did was the night Arego was ambushed and left for dead. After that, my life became too clustered to think of anything other than what I needed to do to survive, the same priority going towards Celestine's life. With the thought grazing through the sky of my mind, I wish I had a piece of parchment and a small piece of charcoal to sketch out the image of Renit's face—pleading for answers, searching for a friend.

I don't realize I've been staring until Renit cocks his head to the side, asking, "What? What are you looking at?"

I blink away the trance I put myself in. "Nothing."

Renit doesn't waste his time on trying to discover the truth. He finishes his carrot, followed by an apple, and a piece of cheese wrapped in bread. That's a meal compared to the scraps received during lonely nights in the dungeons. We received rabbit and squirrel on rare occasions and those were the scraps compared to what the rebels were eating.

"Get some sleep," he suggests. "We'll leave before light."

There's only one satchel to be used for a pillow but we make do. Renit hands it off to me after taking out the food. Instead of finding something else to support him, the prince uses his own arm for support and once he's asleep, I tuck the satchel underneath his head and lay against his back, allowing his warmth to drift into me before settling deeply into both our souls.