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”
Madeline called on someone,who asked, “Then what were you afraid of?”
“I was afraid Meredith would be harmed.” He licked his lips, and tensed again. I realized he’d used my name without my title. A faux pas for a bodyguard, but of course, he was more than that. Every guard was technically in the running to be prince to my princess. But we were sidhe, and we don’t marry until we’re pregnant. A nonfertile couple is not allowed to wed, so the guards were doing more than just “guarding”my body.
“Frost, would you give your life for the princess?”
He answered without hesitation. “Of course.” His tone said clearly that that had been a silly question.
A reporter in back who had a television camera next to him asked the next question. “Frost, how did you heal a gunshot wound in less than twenty-four hours?”
Frost gave another deep, shoulder-moving sigh. “I am a warrior of the sidhe.” The reporters waited for him to add more, but I knew he wouldn’t. To Frost, the fact that he was sidhe was all the answer he needed. It had been only a through and through bullet wound from a handgun and no special ammunition. It would take a great deal more than that to stop a warrior of the sidhe.
I hid my smile and started to lean into the mike, to help explain that to the press, when the sweat along his spine suddenly stopped being wet and warm. It was as if a line of cold air swept down his back. Cold enough that I moved my hand away, startled.
I glanced down at his big hand on the table and saw what I’d feared. A white rime of frost was drifting out from his hand. I thanked Goddess that the cloth on the table was white. Only that was saving us from someone noticing. They might notice later when they went back over the camera footage, but that I could not help. I had enough to worry about without thinking that far ahead. In a way this was my fault. I’d accidentally brought Frost into a level of power that he’d never known. It was a blessing of the Goddess, but with new power comes new responsibilities, and new temptations.
I moved my hand from under his jacket to cover his hand with mine, as I spoke into the reporters’ puzzled murmur. I was braced for his hand to be as icy as that slide of power down his back, but surprisingly, his hand wasn’t nearly that cold.
“The sidhe heal almost any injury,” I said.
The frost was spreading out. The edge of it caught the microphone and began to climb it. The mike crackled with static, and I squeezed Frost’s hand. He saw it then, what his fear was doing. I’d known it wasn’t on purpose.
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