Page 90 of The Crown of the Dark Prince
Then it was just me, Camilla, and the yawning palace halls.
I kept my pace steady and even as I walked through the halls, just in case prying eyes were lingering somewhere in the shadows, but when I finally made my way out into the night air, each step was getting a little more difficult than the last. I struggled to keep her body supported, but could feel my magic flickering softly, needing a break.
When we finally reached the palace stables, dawns first streaks of light were painting the sky. I swung myself onto a horse, gripped the reins tightly, and maneuvered Camilla’s weight behind me, locking her down onto the horse the same way I had strapped myself to Clay’s dragon form.
We rode hard, the wind ripping against my skin as I pushed the mare harder. There was no time to waste.
By the time Hyrax Manor rose into view, sunlight spilled over the estate, golden and soft. I nearly collapsed off the horse as I guided Camilla inside, still holding her weight with my magic and gritting my teeth against the dull headache that was forming from the exertion.
I rushed inside, propping up her body by the hearth and lighting a fire to warm her. The next moments blurred. I found a basin, filled it with the cleanest water I could, and knelt beside her, scrubbing the filth from her skin. Blood swirled into the water, staining it crimson, but even after minutes of scrubbing she hardly looked any better. Her wounds were bad—too bad for me to fix with any skill I possessed.
“Gods damn it!” I muttered, pressing a cloth to the fevered flesh around her ribs. The infection had spread, the wound’s edges angry and inflamed. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”
“I must be dead,” Camilla rasped suddenly, “If you’re admitting to any weakness.”
I jerked, nearly dropping the cloth as I met her barely open eyes. “You’re awake.”
“Apparently,” she groaned, her voice brittle. “Where am I?”
“Hyrax Manor,” I answered, brushing damp hair from her forehead. “You’re safe.”
“It’s freezing.”
“You’re near the fire,” I said softly, dread curling in my stomach. “Just rest. You’ll be fine.”
She didn’t argue, though her breathing faltered. Her voice dropped to a whisper. “I’m not. I’m going to die soon.”
“No,” I said fiercely, pressing my thumb to her wrist, searching for the faint pulse. “I won’t let you.”
Her pulse was weak, though, barely even perceptible.
“Not even you’re powerful enough to keep me here,” she murmured, lids fluttering shut again.
Her breathing grew fainter, the pulse beneath my thumb dangerously slow.
She was right. I couldn’t fix this by myself.
My chest tightened as I whispered, more to myself than her, “Then I’ll find someone who can.”
And with that vow, I rose, determination pounding in my veins.
Ipounded on the door, my fist connecting with ringing force each time it struck the wood.
When it finally swung open, Clay stood there, blinking at me in half-sleep before taking only a heartbeat to assess my frantic eyes and blood-splattered clothes. His hand reached out instinctively, hooking gently around the back of my neck as his gaze scanned over me, searching for some unseen injury.
“What happened? Are you hurt?” His voice was low, steady, but threaded with concern.
He wore nothing but loosely tied silk pants that hung low on his hips, his chest bare, the warmth of sleep still clinging to him in the tousled mess of his hair, but his eyes were wide, sharp with alertness, darting over me desperately.
I placed my hands firmly against his chest and shoved, forcing him back into the room. This wasn’t a conversation to be had in public castle halls.He yielded without resistance, his grip slipping from my neck as I stepped inside and closed the door sharply behind me.
“I’m fine,” I said quickly, the words tumbling out as I cast a glance around the room. It was quiet, intimate. The hearth held only dying embers, their warmth barely reaching the nearby couch. Atop it pillows sat stacked, slightly indented as if a head had been lying there. On the armrest sat a tossed aside quilt.
“I need help,” I said, forcing my voice to steady.
Clay’s frown deepened as he studied me, his gaze lingering on the dried blood staining my dress. He hesitated only a moment before nodding. “Anything. What do you need from me?”
His response hit me harder than it should have, something in the quiet conviction of his tone catching me off guard. I ignored the way my heart flipped at his words, at the weight of his unquestioning loyalty. The Clayton I’d met a year ago would never have reacted this way. He would have demanded explanations, chastised me for barging into his chambers without warning. He would have analyzed and weighed every detail before acting.
