Page 82 of Drown Me Gently

The sorcerer didn’t move, his arm flopping lifelessly to the blankets.

When Auren rose on one elbow, the light fell across Ulric’s face—and dread pooled in his stomach like acid.

The Kraken’s skin was pale. Not his usual shadowed warmth, but paper-thin and grey-blue at the edges. Almost translucent. His lips were parted and slightly purple.

“Ulric?” Auren whispered.

No response.

Auren grabbed his shoulder, shaking him roughly. “Hey, Ulric.”

At last, Ulric stirred. He opened his eyes slowly, blinking like a man waking from a long, heavy dream. He tried to sit up and winced.

Auren caught him before his head lolled into the leg of an ottoman.

“Don’t move too fast,” Auren said, heart thudding.

“I’m fine,” Ulric muttered hoarsely.

“You’re full of shit,” Auren replied, trying to keep his voice steady.

That earned a faint smirk. “Language, your highness.”

“You’re paler than sunbleached wood,” Auren said, not bothering to keep the worry from his voice this time. “We’re going back to the cabin. You need your tonics.”

Auren cursed himself for not thinking of it sooner. Ulric was hanging onto this human shape by a thread, drinking the tonics almost every hour. Of course, since they hadn’t known they would be staying the night, Ulric hadn’t brought enough. He’d gone too long without a dose.

Ulric waved him off. “I just need to sit up. Maybe drink something.”

He tried to stand, legs unsteady beneath him, but even the simple act of reaching for his trousers proved too much. Auren saw the last hint of color drain from Ulric’s face—just a moment before he collapsed. Auren ducked under his arm, catching his weight and holding him upright until the dizziness passed.

“It’s… fine,” Ulric said, though he sounded half-conscious as he said it.

“Sit your ass down, I’ll help you then we’re getting the hell outta here,” Auren said, not bothering to hide the worry and frustration from his voice.

He dressed Ulric, with little to no protest from the old Sorcerer, which scared Auren half to death. A fully well Ulric would never have let his prince kneel and lace up his boots.

He’s falling apart.

“Let’s go,” he whispered as they exited the theater. “Lean on me.”

And Ulric, who never leaned on anyone, didn’t argue.

The streets were bustling with midmorning trade. Merchants shouted over one another from crowded stalls, and the scent of fresh bread filled the air. Children darted between carts. Baskets swung from arms. Wheels clattered over uneven stones.

Auren worried the press of bodies would jostle Ulric, that even the smallest bump might send him to his knees.

But somehow, they weren’t touched.

It was as though Ulric’s frailty cast a ward around them—people gave them a wide berth, glancing sidelong as they passed, whispering behind cupped hands. Whether it was the inky tattoos that now faded along Ulric’s arms or the ghost-white pallor of his skin, Auren didn’t know.

He tightened his hold and kept walking.

Ulric leaned into him, more than Auren expected. He felt the drag of the Kraken’s weight in every step. His body felt… empty, somehow. He was heavy, yes, but not as heavy as he should have been. It was like his bones were hollow. He seemed to lack any substance at all—and the thought unnerved Auren. Just last night, Ulric felt solid as stone, unshakable as the seafloor. And now… he was a pale wisp, barely able to hold his own weight.

Auren tightened his hold.

It took twice as long as usual, but when they finally arrived at the cabin, Auren let out a sigh of relief. He helped Ulric to the edge of the bed and wrapped a blanket around his shoulders. The room was warm, almost uncomfortably so, with the noonday sun beating at the walls, but Ulric shivered like a man standing waist-deep in snow.