Page 127 of The Mage and His Stolen Prince
“Should I politely wait for you to skewer me?”
“Yes!” Maximus slashed the spear through the air, connecting with nothing.
Wilde appeared, sitting on his throne again, one hand cupping his chin. “Sorry, only one person is allowed to skewer me, and he’s conspicuously absent.”
The double entendre took a few seconds to register. When it did, Maximus’ cheeks heated with shame. “You’re despicable!”
“It comes with the job. Now, where is Treasure?”
Maximus roared in outrage and lunged for him again.
Sweat beaded Fitz’s brow and stuck his clothes to his skin. His breathing was ragged, and he tasted blood in his throat. He didn’t know if that was from the venom or climbing three flights of stairs. And when he reached the top, a guard blocked his path, because of course it couldn’t be easy.
“I need to … to …” Fitz waved toward Wilde’s door.
The guard blinked at him, and then to Fitz’s surprise, slowly opened the door. As Fitz stumbled inside, he heard the guard mutter, “I knew it had to be a threesome.”
Fitz had absolutely no idea what that meant and no mental energy to spare for it. He needed to find that antivenom before he passed out.
Wilde’s rooms were open concept: a bedroom, sitting room, and kitchen with no walls between them. A door on the far side probably led to a bathroom, which probably had a medicine cabinet, which probably had antivenom.
Fitz dragged himself across the room, supporting himself on the couches and chairs he passed. When he ran out of furniture, he used the wall.
The bathroom did have a medicine cabinet, which had bottles and bottles of potions. He pulled them down one by one, checking the carefully printed labels. The handwriting looked familiar—neat, precise, and boxy. He remembered someone sitting across from him, writing notes in that same hand. Every ten minutes, like clockwork, she tucked a stray strand of blond hair behind her ear.
“Willow,” he murmured. He clutched the bottle tighter, even though it wasn’t the one he needed.
None of the bottles said ‘imp antivenom.’ Did it have another name?
Fitz decided to check with the guard outside. Maybe someone who lived with the imps would know how to counteract their bite.
Every muscle in his body ached. All he wanted to do was curl in on himself until it stopped hurting. He just had to make it to the door …
But that chair looked so comfortable.
He dropped into the chair, pulling his knees up to his chest and tucking his elbows tight to his sides. He laid his head against the back and closed his eyes.
Just a few minutes. Just a short break to regain his energy …
Ten Minutes Earlier
Standing Outside the Lord of Grimnight’s Bedroom
Fitz blinked blearily at the guard. The venom muddled his head so he couldn’t remember what he’d already done and what was new.
“Sorry, but you shouldn’t be up here,” the guard said. “All the action’s happening downstairs.”
Fitz nodded, then shook his head. Then he held up his hand. “Imp bite.”
“Oh shit.” The guard looked around frantically, then threw the door open to the room he was supposed to guard.
Fitz trailed in after him, supporting one hand on the wall. A large, four-poster bed invited him to lay down, to rest his head, to sleep the venom off. He trudged over to it and sat on the end.
The guard swore every few seconds as he searched through a medicine cabinet.
Fitz turned his bleary gaze over the room, until he spotted the open wardrobe. Inside were dozens of different styles, as if they belonged to dozens of people. A black plaid skirt caught his attention. He remembered it spread out over a chair, taking up the whole space.
“Willow,” he said, then realized he’d said that before. Ten minutes ago. Or … a few minutes from now?
