My lips purse, even as a fresh wave of guilt batters my heart like an unforgiving tide. Of course he asked my guards to make sure I’m happy. Of course he’s likely worrying about me right this second.
Even still, I’m notsad. I’m—I’m focused. And I need to sleep more.
“Thank you for your concern.”
I stifle a yawn as I step through the quiet infirmary, straightening pillows and smoothing sheets—Sauzon went home and the last patient left shortly thereafter.
My eyes drift to the cot where Zev spoon-fed me soup. Do other husbands fuss over their wives as much? Something tells me they don’t. His warm gray eyes flash through my mind, and another sobering wave of guilt crashes into me.
I can’t let Zev die.
I just can’t.
I won’t let him drink the wine.
He’ll forgive me for what I’ve done—and what I’ve yet to do. I’m certain of it. He hates his father and brother just as much, if not more, than me. I can convince him.
We could rule Arbinj and Tundrayn together.
But Father … could I convince him to let Zev live? To accept him as his son-in-law?
Father’s ice blue glare flits through my mind, and I physically flinch. I’ll paddle across that river when it’s raging before me.
For now, I need to focus on immediate concerns.
Keeping to the plan. And keeping Zev alive.
The cabinets click softly as I open and close them.
Where is it?
Multicolored vials, rolls of gauze, rows of sharp tools.
No, no, no.
A few jars over and—there.
Wormbark oil. An effective antidote for any poison.
If Zevdoesdrink the zinfadelan, if I can’t explain myself in time, I’ll be ready. My fingers close around the cool glass bottle when—
A throat clears behind me.
My hands still. Shit. I’d been so focused, I hadn’t heard any footsteps.
Slowly, I turn, back braced against the counter.
It’s King Varad.
Chapter Forty-Six
Coolgreeneyesappraiseme, flicking to my betrothal ring. Did he see the wormbark oil before I shut the cabinet?
“Your Majesty.” I fall into a deep curtsy. Acid churns in my stomach. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I keep hearing about your efforts here,” he says, waving a casual hand around the stark space. “Sauzon is quite pleased with you.” He frowns, as if the thought of someone being pleased with me is abhorrent. “And he’s a difficult man to please.”
I don’t know what response he expects, so I remain silent, trying to look demure and delicate.
