Page 27 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
“What do you mean?” Iris screamed, her voice shrill and thick with anguish. Was it her sobs that had pulled me back toward consciousness?
My body still wasn’t my own. I floated somewhere between the Mortal Realm and the Underworld, neither offering solace, neither free from pain.
“We’ve done everything we can,” a voice said, low and weary.
“Then do more!” Iris demanded, her tone cracking. “I won’t lose her too. I can’t. I can’t lose anyone else—”
“Shh, Iris,” Kent murmured, his voice soft and steady, though I could hear the strain beneath it. “Thea’s strong. She’s going to push through this.”
I wanted to reach for her, to comfort her, to let her know I was still here, still fighting, but I couldn’t. My body felt foreign, ravaged and brutalized, every nerve alight with fire and ice. Her frantic tears tore at my heart.
“Please,” Rankor’s voice broke through, rough with desperation. “There must be some other treatment. Something else you can try?”
A heavy silence followed, suffocating and absolute. Without distractions, I became painfully aware of my own body. My blood boiled beneath my skin, every cell screaming in agony. Sweat soaked through my clothes, clinging to my shivering frame, and my cracked lips begged for water even as my stomach churned at the thought.
“I understand how much you all care for her,” the healer finally said, her voice heavy with resignation. “But no one has ever survived the Hydraxan’s bite. It’s remarkable she’s lived this long—and only because of her quick thinking to expel the venom. It’s in the Gods’ hands now. We must return to the infirmary.”
“No!”
Clay’s roar shattered the quiet, more beast than man. The sound sent a shiver through the air, vibrating with raw fury.
“None of you leave this room until she wakes up!” he bellowed, his voice unyielding, commanding. “That’s an order!”
The room fell silent again, thick with tension. Even in my haze, I could feel the weight of Clay’s presence—his anger, his fear, his refusal to let me slip away.
I clung to that.
Through the pain, through the fog, I clung to the sound of their voices, their unwavering belief that I could survive this.
Because I had to.
Acool, damp rag pressed against my forehead, soothing the fever burning beneath my skin. Gentle fingertips followed, brushingaway the damp tendrils of hair stuck to my face and neck. The touch was soft, comforting, pulling me closer to the surface of consciousness.
I clung to the scent of cinnamon.
“People will talk,” Kent’s voice murmured, low and steady, just above a whisper. “You’ve been in here for some time. Everyone saw your reaction on the field, and now the gossip’s spreading. Something about you threatening to kill the entire palace infirmary staff if she died.”
“She will not die,” Clay said, his voice firm with conviction. The bed shifted slightly under his weight as he sat beside me.
“No, she won’t,” Kent agreed, his tone lighter but edged with a hint of warning. “Thea’s far too stubborn for that. But when she eventually wakes up, you both are going to have to deal with the consequences of this, Clay.”
“I don’t give a fuck about the consequences right now!”
Footsteps echoed softly against the floor, and then the door creaked open and shut. Kent had left.
The room fell quiet, save for the sound of my shallow breaths and the rustle of Clay shifting closer. His hand brushed over my forehead again and his touch lingered for a moment.
“Just wake up for me, princess,” he whispered, his voice raw, almost pleading. “I’ll deal with whatever happens next. I don’t care. I just need you to open those ocean eyes for me.”
Time passed. How much, I couldn’t say. Hours, days, an eternity—it all blurred together. The only thing I knew for certain was that a slow death was infinitely worse than a quick one. If given the choice, Iwould have gladly taken the blade a thousand times over rather than lie here, trapped in agony, listening to the quiet mourning of my friends.
I tossed and turned endlessly, desperate for relief, for escape, for something other than the fever ravaging my body. Someone would replace the cool towel on my forehead with a freshly dampened one every so often, yet that offered only fleeting relief. The fever burned on, relentless.
Sleep terrified me. Every time I drifted off, I feared I might not wake up. Sleep, as unwelcome as it was, offered my only fleeting moments of peace, though. I finally succumbed to it, lulled by the soft sounds of Rankor and Kent’s snores and the low murmur of Iris and Clay talking nearby.
“I hate him for doing this to her,” Iris said, her voice sharp and filled with barely contained fury.
“Not as much as I do,” Clay replied, his tone heavy.
