He studied me for a moment, those ice-blue eyes searching for deception. I met his gaze steadily, schooling my features into an expression of mild interest. The prince might suspect I was more than human, but he didn’t need to know just how much more.
“I was saying,” he continued, his tone softened slightly, “that the healers believe you’re ready for short walks outside your chambers. Well, once this fever leaves you. Fresh air and gentle exercise will help rebuild your strength.” His lips quirked in what might have been the beginning of a genuine smile. “You’ve been trapped in this room for weeks. I thought you might appreciate a change of scenery.”
Freedom, or at least the illusion of it. My heart quickened at the prospect, though I knew better than to believe this was a true release. “There’s a condition, isn’t there?”
“Perceptive as always,” he acknowledged with a slight incline of his head. “Yes. You may take these walks only in my company. No guards, no ladies-in-waiting, just you and me.”
Of course. He didn’t trust me with anyone else, or perhaps he trusted no one else with me. I was his mystery, his rescued maiden, perhaps even his project. And he’d seen the amber glow in my eyes. He knew I wasn’t entirely human.
“You’re afraid of what I am,” I said quietly, not a question but a statement.
Alain’s posture stiffened. “I’m taking precautions to ensure your safety and the safety of my people.”
I almost laughed. As if I were the danger here, when it was his kingdom that burned those with magic in their blood. But I understood his position better than he realized. He’d been raised to fear what I represented, yet something drew him to me despite that fear. The contradiction must be tearing him apart. How ironic the witch be placed in the care of her hunter.
Before I could formulate a response, the door burst open with such force it bounced against the wall. A guard stood in the threshold, his chest heaving, face pale with panic.
“Your Highness!” he gasped, struggling to maintain protocol despite his obvious distress. “It’s Thibaut. He’s been attacked along the outer wall. A blade—” He swallowed hard. “Laced with pufferfish toxin. The royal physician says there’s nothing to be done.”
The color drained from Alain’s face so rapidly I feared he might faint. “Where is he?”
“The infirmary, Your Highness. They say he has, perhaps an hour at most. They’ve sent for a priest.”
Pufferfish toxin. My stomach lurched. I knew this poison well. Mama had encountered it once when a traveling merchant fell ill in our village. There was no herbal remedy, no antidote. The body either fought through it or succumbed, and most succumbed. The paralysis would spread until it reached his lungs, his heart.
The warm magic in my belly surged in response to my thoughts, as if recognizing a purpose. After what I’d done for Bastien—drawing poison across dimensions—could I do the same for a man in the same room? The effort of last night’s magical working had exhausted me, set my recovery back bydays. My body was still so frail, so limited by months of starvation and confinement, an now it was sick.
But a man’s life hung in the balance. Thibaut. Alain’s trusted guard, the one who had helped rescue me from the dungeon. I owed him that much, at least.
“They’re preparing him for death?” I asked, my voice steadier than I felt.
Alain nodded, grief already shadowing his features. “Pufferfish toxin is a death sentence. There’s no cure, not even in the royal pharmacopoeia.”
I pushed back the covers and swung my legs over the side of the bed. The movement sent a wave of dizziness crashing through me, and I gripped the edge of the nightstand for support. Instantly, Alain was at my side, his hands hovering near my shoulders as if ready to catch me.
“What are you doing?” he demanded. “You can’t even stand properly.”
I looked up at him, knowing my next words might condemn me but unable to remain silent. I kept my voice low enough that the guard still hovering in the doorway couldn’t hear. “If you value his life, you will bring him to me.”
Understanding dawned in Alain’s eyes, followed immediately by fear. His already pale complexion turned ashen. “You’re not strong enough,” he whispered, the words barely audible.
“I can either save him or you watch him die,” I replied, the magic within me lending strength to my voice. “But his blood will not be on my hands.”
For a moment, Alain simply stared at me, the struggle plain on his face. Here was the proof of what he had suspected. The confirmation that I carried the very magic his family had spent generations trying to eradicate. Yet here also was the possibility of saving a man he clearly valued.
Finally, he turned to the guard. “Bring Thibaut here,” he ordered, his voice brooking no argument. “Immediately.”
As the guard rushed to obey, Alain’s gaze returned to mine, filled with a terrible mixture of hope and dread. “If you do this,” he said quietly, “there’s no going back. For either of us. If my closest friend dies in your care, there is nothing I can do to save you.”
“I know,” I replied with a firm swallow, the magic fluttering within me like a caged bird eager for release.
Thibaut’s body convulsed on my bed, his spine arching unnaturally as the poison worked through his system. Sweat soaked through his shirt, plastering it to his chest, and a bluish tinge had already begun to creep across his lips. Death’s fingers, Mama used to call that color. I’d seen it too many times in our village when herbs and prayers failed. He didn’t have long, ten minutes at most before the paralysis reached his lungs and stilled his breath forever.
I leaned over him, assessing the wound on his forearm where the poisoned blade had struck. The skin around it had already swollen, turning an angry purple-red that spread outward in spidery lines. The guards who’d carried him in hovered anxiously at the foot of the bed, their expressions grim with the knowledge they were watching their comrade’s final moments.
“I need herbs,” I announced, my voice steady despite the nervous flutter in my chest. “Yarrow for the bleeding, comfrey for the swelling, and...” I paused, mentally cataloging whatmight be available in a royal castle garden, what would be believable. “Feverfew and willow bark. Quickly.”
The guards exchanged uncertain glances, looking to Alain for confirmation.
