“Such a sweet tooth.”
Fluttering his lashes, Kade smiled up at him. “Please.”
Killian rolled his eyes, and pressed a lingering kiss to Kade’s forehead before moving to stand. “You don’t have to beg now. I’ll get you your dessert.”
Pleased, Kade stretched his arms above his head and wrapped himself more in the sheet, gazing up at Killian with soft, loving eyes.
It was enough to melt Killian right then and there. He dipped back in, this time for a proper kiss. It was messy and a little off since they couldn’t stop smiling.
Killian felt the first stirrings of something wrong as he was finishing pulling on his shirt. An itching, burning sensation from the inside of his throat, as if he’d swallowed acid.
Killian choked, his hands flew to his neck, the burning beginning to spread. He stumbled onto one knee.
“Killi?” Kade’s voice was distant. Frantic. Worlds away even as he knelt next to Killian, first checking his pulse and then his temperature. “Killi, what’s wrong? What’s happening?”
Theenil.
Killian’s bonds.
Fyar.
Killian needed to get to Fyar. He needed to get up. He needed to move.
Why couldn’t he move?
Move, goddammit.
The pain swelled, it felt like every nerve ending in Killian’s body was had been raked over hot coals, and it was only getting worse. He knew what this was, and he knew he didn’t have much time.
Raging at his body, Killian forced himself to his feet, ignoring the way his body screamed. He pushed forward.
“Killi, stop.” Kade matched Killian step for step. His hand on Killian’s back to help steady him. “You need to lay down and let me figure out what’s wrong.Killi.”
If he went down, Killian knew he wouldn’t get back up again.
Killian turned and gripped Kade tightly on the back of his neck. His eyes imploring, hoping he could convey the urgency of his message even as he choked on nearly every word. “Get Hokda. Tell him it’s Fyar. Tell no one else. Go. Now.”
Throwing the door open, Killian didn’t look back. He took offat a sprint through the empty halls towards the royal quarters. Praying for Fyar to hold on.
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
THERE WAS NO color in Fyar’s skin when Killian found him keeled over on the floor next to his desk. He was trembling and weak, barely able to keep his head up. There was blood smeared across his lips and a pile of slimy sick at his feet.
Relief tore through Killian at the sight. Fyar was alive. Dying slowly, but still alive. As long as he was breathing, Hokda could heal him. Killian was sure of that.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” Fyar wheezed as Killian knelt beside him, taking his weight. The king’s skin was clammy and cold, he was sweating too much, and his heart hammered in his chest.
Killian’s own debilitating pain hadn’t lessened in the slightest, so it was in fact much, much worse than it looked. Brutally shoving his own trembling and burning to the back of his mind, Killian focused all of his attention on Fyar.
“Shut up. Don’t talk,” Killian snapped. “Can you stand?”
Fyar shook his head.
Before Killian could even think of anything else, Fyar lurched forward, more wet, red tinged vomit splashing onto his expensive rug.
Ignoring the king’s groaning, Killian wrenched him up andcarried him to the sofa, propping him up against the armrest so he wouldn’t choke if he vomited again.He put a hand on Fyar’s chest, it was a small comfort to be able to feel the rise and fall of his chest, physical proof that he was still alive. For now.
“Breathe. Just breathe.”
