When he was awake, a hollow, irrational pain crushed his senses. When he slept, a feminine figure flashed at the edges of his awareness. Cold, accusing emerald eyes followed him everywhere. He couldn't see them, but he knew she was there.
I'm sorry. Please, I am so sorry.
He didn't know why he was sorry.
Chapter 11
Anais
Irate voices hovered at the edges of foggy darkness. The darkness dragged her down, tempted her with the promise of relief. Those voices were familiar, however. Vern. Octavius. Urgency coated their conversation. Whatever they needed must be important to wake her at such a late hour. She felt like she had only just fallen asleep.
“Are you seeing what you want to see, healer?”
Her father spoke quietly, but with anger beneath the calm. She struggled to fully awaken.
Octavius, on the other hand, sounded tired, as though he had had this conversation multiple times. “She would have noticed if he displayed even a hint of an intent to betray her, if he hated rather than loved her.”
“Or she was blinded by her emotions. Passion can look the same from both sides.”
“I know him. Better than you, no matter how closely you watched him. I never suspected him capable of something like this. Did you?”
A warm hand slipped over her fingers. Her father’s, by the proximity of his voice. “There is no shame in admitting that we are imperfect. I missed something. We all did.”
“Yes, that much is true. His headaches were not what I thought they were. That’s what I’ve been–”
“Anais?”
She was more than simply exhausted. Muted panic crawled in the recesses of her mind as she fought off dizzying waves of nausea and darkness. Her fingers twitched. Vern’s grip tightened. She struggled to squeeze back. Her eyes fluttered open.
On a chair beside the bed sat her father, leaning toward her, his expression intently focused. There was a blur of motion on her other side. Octavius. He took her other hand, pressed two fingers to her wrist.
She whispered, “What… happened.”
The rage in her father’s tone evaporated. “Go back to sleep, my heart. You need your rest.”
Not until she had answers. "Tell me."
Octavius let go of her hand. "Anais, you should rest. This can wait."
"Now. Tell me, now." It was difficult to breathe, much less talk. But she was awake and aware that something was horribly wrong.
Vern understood her need. “You’ve been poisoned. You slept for two days. By Octavius and Laureline’s estimate, you should be dead.”
There was something he wasn’t saying.
"Who?" And how? She glared at Vern, willing him to speak faster.
He glanced across the bed. "Castien. The guards assigned to him were found dead. He fled the palace, heading south."
Confusion. Castien would never hurt her. The room spun as she moved her head toward Octavius.
The healer clarified, "We – Laureline and I – believe he was coerced. The Nadraken ambassadors must have influenced him. We’ve detained them, but they are denying involvement.”
Nadraken. She should have razed them off the map years ago.
Her tongue felt swollen. "Where?"
Vern responded, "By the time we found you, he was already gone. Our fastest riders have been dispatched, but he has at least a full day’s advantage."
