I scream, sweat coats my skin. My body convulses against Ashford’s arms.
He holds me tightly, one hand braced at the back of my head, the other gripping my shoulder.
“Look at me,” he says urgently. “Ada. Look at me.” But I can barely see him; the emotions are too loud. It feels as though my heart is being crushed between two stones.
Across the room, I dimly register Aileen’s sob. She has pressed herself into the corner, hands clasped in prayer. Rowan stands rigid by the door, pale, watching the hallway to ensure no one interrupts.
“Finish it!” Ashford snarls.
“I am finishing!” the man replies, voice strained. “The enchantment has fed upon itself. It must recalibrate.”
His words mean nothing through the agony.
I cling to Ashford’s voice. “Breathe,” he murmurs close to my ear. “Stay with me.”
The chanting grows louder, faster, spiraling as I—
Silence.
The man drops to his knees beside us and slides the ring back onto my finger.
The effect is immediate, and the storm inside me dies, like a house of cards collapsing in on itself. The noise inside me dims.
Ashford’s voice reaches me as though from underwater. “Did it work?”
The man is breathing hard. “I cleansed the excess. But this will happen again.”
Ashford’s grip tightens.
“The ring will always strain under prolonged influence,” the man continues. “I added a secondary binding. It should soften the obsession, hopefully temper the intensity.”
“And if it does not?” Ashford asks.
The man hesitates. “Magic is a negotiation,” he says quietly. “It takes as much as it gives. We can guide it, we cannot command it.”
My vision blurs, as Ashford’s hand brushes damp hair from my forehead.
“I’ve got you,” he says softly.
The last thing I feel is his arms around me, and then the world goes dark.
Chapter 32
When I wake, the light in the room is wrong.
For a few disoriented seconds, I don’t recognize the ceiling, then the carved wood and pale silk come back into focus and I realize I am in my own chambers at the palace.
My head aches with a dull, persistent pressure, as if I have been crying for hours, though I don’t remember doing so.
Then I remember everything.
The tavern. The chanting. The moment the ring left my finger and something inside me tore open. Ashford’s arms around me, his voice steady and close, anchoring me while the world fractured.
My hand moves instinctively to the ring. It sits where it always has, looking innocent and unremarkable.
I sit up slowly. The room tilts, but not enough to frighten me. When I pull back the curtains, evening spills in—that soft violet light that comes just before a full dusk. I must have slept the entire day.
There are flowers beside my bed.
