Page 142 of The Last Syphon

She did.

But Inara didn’t want to voice it.

Images from the reports flashed in her mind. Of the homes within Blackpeak, Holen, and Prector. Of the dust and ruin that lay in its place.

They would die.

They would all die.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

Inara groaned, rolling over.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

“Felix,” she whined. “Shut up. You’re banging.”

“Huh?” he responded drowsily. Felix turned over to his side, taking half the blanket with him, and Inara yanked it back, turning to the other side so they were back to back.

BANG! BANG! BANG!

She smashed the pillow over her head to try to drown out the noise.

Why did she do this to herself? Why did she insist on staying up so late and only leaving herself a minimal amount of time to rest? Why? One might think she would have learnt her lesson after the last time, but nooooo.

She and Felix had stayed up talking until the sun began to peek over the horizon. They talked about everything and anything. They reminisced on old memories, as if it would be the last time, just enjoying each other’s company. She supposed their topic of conversation brought it forth.

It was nice. Felt like it had been a long time since they’d last done it. He’d made her laugh so much her stomach hurt, and the next thing she knew, they’d both dropped right where they were from exhaustion.

BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG! BANG!

She realised then that it was the door. Someone was banging on the door.

“Felix. Felix,” she hiss-whispered. “Get the door.”

“You get it,” he moaned back.

He was just as bad in the morn as she was sometimes.

Groaning every movement along the way, she slowly pulled herself up into a sitting position, every limb, every cell aching with exhaustion. Her hair was a dishevelled mess, and she was sure there were enormous bags under her eyes.

Whoever was at her door would feel her wrath.

Feet dragging, she somehow made it to the door and flung it open.

“What?!” she barked.

Prince Walder stood in the hallway, absolutely no worse for wear. He was dressed back in his red-scaled armour, swords and daggers adorned all over his body. While Inara liked what he was wearing last night, this was the prince of Arelia she knew. His hair was perfect. His face was perfect. His clothes were perfect. There wasn’t an ounce of exhaustion on his face. One wouldn’t even have been able to tell he’d been up for most of the night prior.

A genuine smile passed her lips, which surprised her. “Good morn. Sorry, I didn’t know it was you.” She looked him up and down, seeing a tenseness in his shoulders. “Is everything okay?”

“You didn’t show up for duty,” was all he replied with.

“What?”

“You weren’t there when I emerged from my bedchamber.”

Oh.