Chapter 45
Chapter Forty-Five
Gregoran and Freynk flank me as I head toward the infirmary.
My footsteps are sluggish, shoulders slumped as if there’s a staggering musk-ox draped across them.
I wanted nothing more than to lie in bed and smother myself in Zev’s lingering smoky scent, growing fainter each day.
My nights are restless, constant tossing and turning.
Agonizing. I wish I could’ve slept a bit longer this morning.
But princesses don’t get the luxury of sleeping in.
Or choices.
“Princess?” Gregoran says, clearing his throat. He looks at me expectantly as we turn a corner. Shit. I missed his question.
“Sorry, what was that?” I ask.
“I asked if you are all right?”
I bristle. What does he suspect? “Why wouldn’t I be?”
His face reddens, and he sneaks a glance above my head at Freynk.
“Apologies, Princess. We don’t wish to overstep. Prince Zevayr instructed us to keep a closer eye on you while he’s away. And you seem … sad.”
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 not sad. 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 Zev does drink 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.