“No.”
“Neither do I.”
The orchestra kept playing, with one song blending into the next, but they did not stop dancing. Catherine’s eyes drifted away from Alaric’s face, and he sensed her stiffen.
“It feels like everyone is watching us,” she murmured.
“Focus on me.” Alaric’s voice was a gentle command. “Let them fade into the background. There is only you and me.” Her eyes flicked to his face. Alaric nodded. “Good.”
He spun her again, the music weaving them closer together. They moved as one, her hand sending warmth through him.
“You are very beautiful tonight,” Alaric murmured, his heart aching as he stared into her eyes.
“Alaric, I...” Catherine began, but he did not hear the rest of her words.
Pain shot through his head, so violently that he thought his head would split in two. The world around him faded. He could smell iron.
Somewhere in the distance, horses were screaming. Something wet trickled down his face. Every breath he took was agony. It was as if his chest had been pierced with a thousand daggers.
He pulled himself forward, screaming as he went. White, hot, blinding pain. All around him was debris, pieces of the carriage, splintered and broken, with the spokes of the wheel scattered. He grasped one to pull himself along, but it snapped.
Pain pierced through him again, and he swore. His eyes were fixed on the broken spoke. It was not a jagged edge but a smooth cut, almost as if someone had sawed into it.
Why can I smell lavender?
“Alaric!” The world suddenly came into focus, and Alaric stumbled. He was still on the dance floor with Catherine.
Sweat coated his body, and his hands trembled. Catherine’s hands rested on his face, her face pale and her eyes wide. Nausea threatened to take him over.
“Pineapple,” Alaric murmured, blinking rapidly to stop the lights dancing before his eyes. “Pineapple.”
Catherine nodded subtly, moving to Alaric’s side. Without hesitation, he wrapped an arm around her, and she did not pull away. His legs were trembling, but her presence beside him gave him strength.
He barely noticed as they apologized to the host. He forced himself to walk to the carriage, mustering all his willpower not to be sick. He helped Catherine into the carriage, or at least, attempted to appear as if that was what he was doing.
He climbed in after her. As soon as the door shut, he slumped against the wall and clutched his head. Catherine sat beside him. He heard the dull thump of her hand against the carriage, and then it started moving. He closed his eyes, breathing shallowly.
He was vaguely aware of Catherine murmuring to him, though he could not make out what she was saying. He let sleep take him.
When he woke up, the carriage had stopped, and Catherine was gently guiding him into the castle. He followed her; his head still ached.
“His Grace is unwell.” Alaric heard Catherine say as they entered. “Help me take him to his room.”
“No, I can manage.” Alaric’s voice sounded far away to his own ears.
He could feel Catherine’s disapproval as he slowly made his way to his room. He sensed the warmth of her behind him, her hand resting on his back.
As they entered the study, Catherine threw several logs on the fire while Alaric lowered himself into an armchair, massaging his head.
“Why did you not tell me sooner that your head was hurting?” Catherine was by his side, brushing his hair from his face. “Alaric, I cannot help you if you keep things from me.”
“I did not want to worry you.” Alaric felt the warmth of her fingertips spread through him.
The scent of lavender replaced the lingering metallic smell in his mind. The headache eased, and the memory came back to him once again.
“How often has this been happening?” Catherine’s voice was soft, full of fury and something else he could not identify in the haze of his pain.
“It has been more frequent of late. The slips… They are more violent, and the memories are unsettling.” Alaric opened his eyes and was surprised to find Catherine so close to him.
