"Without question," Nero finished, each word a nail in his own coffin.
"Excellent." Doran gestured to the guards. "Take him to his mate. They have a coronation to prepare for."
The guards hauled Nero to his feet, his legs barely supporting him as they dragged him from the cell. Each step sent fresh waves of agony through his chest, the bond pulling him toward Casteel like a physical force. The corridors blurred around him, stone walls and flickering torches melding into a single smear of light and shadow.
"Faster," he rasped to the guards. "He's dying."
The taller guard glanced at him, something like sympathy crossing his weathered face. "Steady now. We're nearly there."
They climbed endless stairs, each landing bringing them closer. The bond hummed stronger, responding to the diminishing distance, but the relief was minimal compared to the damage already done. Nero's heart hammered against his ribs, a desperate rhythm that echoed the panic flooding through him.
Finally, they reached the ornate doors of the bonding chamber. Even before they opened, Nero could feel Casteel's presence—weak, faltering, but alive.
"Open it," he demanded, straining against the guards' grip.
The doors swung inward to reveal Makim kneeling beside Casteel's motionless form on the bed. The healer's face was drawn with concern, his hands pressing a damp cloth to the young man's forehead. At the sound of their entrance, he looked up, relief washing over his features.
"Quickly," Makim urged. "His fever has spiked dangerously."
The guards released Nero, who stumbled forward, collapsing to his knees beside Casteel. The young man's skin burned beneath his touch, eyes closed, breathing shallow and rapid. His face had taken on an alarming pallor beneath the fever's flush.
"Leave us," Nero ordered without looking up.
"The High Priest instructed—" one guard began.
"Out!" Makim snapped with surprising authority. "Unless you wish to explain to Doran why his precious savior died under your watch."
The guards hesitated, then retreated, closing the doors behind them. Nero gathered Casteel into his arms, pressing their foreheads together, willing his strength into the younger man's failing body.
"Casteel," he whispered, voice breaking. "Come back to me."
For several heartbeats, there was no response. Then Casteel's eyelids fluttered, revealing glazed blue eyes that struggled to focus.
"Nero?" The word was barely audible, a breath of sound.
"I'm here." Nero cradled him closer, feeling their bond flare to life at the contact—weak but present, a fragile thread strengthening with each passing moment. "I'm here now."
Makim moved swiftly, preparing more of his medicinal draught. "Strip and get on the bed with him. The bond needsskin contact to heal properly, and remove his clothes as well," the healer instructed. "The mark on his throat needs to be exposed."
Nero's fingers trembled as he carefully peeled away the sweat-soaked fabric. Casteel's chest rose and fell in shallow, rapid bursts, each breath a battle. The bite mark on his throat—the physical manifestation of their bond—had turned an angry red, the edges inflamed and weeping.
"What's happening to him?" Nero demanded, his own voice sounding foreign to his ears.
Makim's weathered face was grim. "Bond-sickness. When a new bond is forcibly stretched, it causes a kind of...tearing in the spirit. His body is fighting to maintain the connection despite the distance."
"But I'm here now," Nero said, desperation creeping into his voice. "Why isn't he improving?"
"The bond was damaged." Makim pressed a cool cloth to Casteel's forehead. "Like a wound, it must heal. It requires time and..." He hesitated.
"And what?" Nero pressed.
"Completion," Makim said quietly. "The bond was new, barely formed when you were separated. It needs to be reinforced."
Understanding dawned on Nero's face. "You mean we need to..."
"Yes." Makim gathered his supplies, moving toward the door. "I've given him something for the fever, but only you can truly heal him now." The old healer paused, his hand on the latch. "And Nero? Whatever promises you made to Doran...remember that oaths extracted under duress hold no power."
The door closed behind him with a soft click, leaving Nero alone with Casteel's feverish form. Outside, he could hear guards taking position—no longer keeping them apart, but ensuring they remained where the priests wanted them.
