He wakes only briefly after hours of rest, and I do what I can to ply him with more food and drink. While he sleeps, I keep the room warm, trying not to lose hope as hours stretch to days with little improvement. That first night, I’d had hope that he would be back to himself in no time, he’d seemed to be recovering his strength quickly with help from the throne.
Now, though, it seems like all progress has stopped. That he’s stuck getting neither better nor worse, his fate as uncertain as the reach’s. He has just enough energy to snarl menacingly at anyone who enters the room other than me. He tries the same with Val, who is undeterred, delivering reports from the border and giving updates on the construction of a dam like Xandril’s in any position to absorb a word of it.
“He needs to rest undisturbed if he’s going to improve,” I tell him.
Val turns to me, arching a brow as if he’s surprised to see me in the room with them. His tail flicks from one side to the other, and his ears flatten a fraction.
“Your tutors have told me you’ve yet to attend a lesson,” he says with a drawl I know is intended as admonishment.
“My attentions are better spent on the king,” I argue, lifting my chin. I do feel mildly guilty for skipping out on the lessons that Xandril arranged for me, especially knowing how eager he is for me to learn the ways of their land, but he’s in no state to be left unattended right now.
Valenar frowns, tail twitching again. Gesturing for me to follow him, we exit into the hallway, his voice low when he asks, “Has he said anything about the throne helping him heal?”
I nod. “He did. And it seemed to be working until we brought him here.”
Val hisses something under his breath, and I don’t have to know the language to know it’s a curse, the narrowed slits of his pupils sending daggers through the cracked door to Xandril.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I demand, no pleas, no requests. While Xandril is incapacitated, I’m the one in charge here, and I need to know what Val does.
The feline demon hisses another foreign curse, shaking his head before turning back to me. “I can’t be sure, but if I had to guess… Knowing this stubborn bastard, he’sjustwell enough to reject the throne’s power.”
“What? Why would he do that? Doesn’t he want the throne to accept him? How does shutting it out accomplish that?” I’mbeginning to understand the venom in Val’s curse. Xandril could have been improving this whole time if not for his pride?!
“It’s…complicated,” Val says with a sigh, rubbing the back of his neck. “The throne doesn’t just lend its power to the king. It’s what keeps the entire reach alive—the land, the water, the trees, and beasts. Without its magic, there is no Emerald Reach, only barren, frozen wastes.”
From there, it’s not hard for me to put together the rest of the pieces. Xandril’s reluctance to ask for or accept help, his willingness to sacrifice, his deep devotion to this land…
“He’s rejecting the power because he thinks it should go elsewhere,” I realize.
Val gives a grim nod. “That would be my guess. The reach has been in decline since long before Xandril took the throne. Parts of our land have atrophied or been reclaimed by the Wilds… It’s possible if he takes too much from the throne before it can recover, that we might lose even more.”
As disheartening as that may be, there’s no dilemma as I see it. “And if he doesn’t, he’s going to die. Then where will Emerald Reach be?”
“With its first human queen,” Val says, grimacing. I think he’s trying to smile, aiming for one of his usual jokes, but it’s nowhere close.
My stomach twists on itself, fear and annoyance battling for my attention.
Right now, anger is the easier one to hold onto.
“I’ll talk to him,” I say, jaw clenched. As frustrated as I am, Valenar is not the one I should take it out on. Before he can say anything more, I turn on my heel and step back into Xandril’sroom, my body flushed hot even before I feel the flames from the hearth.
He’s muttering and feverish when I reach his bedside. Some of the fury cools, my heart aching to see him suffering like this. But no. He did this to himself, at least somewhat. I can’t lose sight of that.
“I can’t believe you,” I say, mopping sweat from his horned forehead. He mutters in his sleep, his face twisted, body thrashing like he’s in a nightmare.
“Shh,” I hum, torn between the urges to care for him and to scold him.
His expression slowly turns more neutral, his body relaxing back into the bed. There’s a lump in my throat, and I have to turn my eyes toward the frosty window to say the things I’m thinking.
“I swear, Xandril… If Valenar is right…” I huff out a heavy breath, surprised how my voice is trembling. With all my experience looking after Phillip with his lack of self-preservation, it shouldn’t bother me so much to watch Xandril fall into the same pattern.
But he’s not my kid brother. He’s aking. My betrothed. He has so many people counting on him, and unlike Phillip, hewantsto make good decisions. He just needs a little help figuring out what those are.
“I know you want to do right by the throne,” I start, voice faltering and soft. Seeing this enormous, powerful man in this state isn’t right. None of this is right. “I know you’d do nothing to risk earning its approval, but do you think the throne longs for another king who neglects his wellbeing?” It’s a lowblow, comparing him to the former king who no one’s had a kind word for, but I have a point to make.
“What does it say for how he’ll tend to his land and subjects if he cannot even tend to himself?” I add, tears gathering in my eyes.
I’ve reached the bottom of the well of anger, and now I have only despair left to tap into. Pulling a chair closer to his bedside so that I can reach out and touch his hand, my fingers brushing against his, one of those tears falls.
