Page 122 of Crown of the Dunes

“What do you mean? What else could it be?” I propped myself up on my elbows, despite the fire the motion sent through my muscles, enough pain to make my vision blurred.

“Prince Calix,” Adette started hesitantly. “He stopped by with a gift for you—a lovely vial of fragrant oil. He told me the smell was good for soothing troubled minds, and he knew that you had been so worried about the grain supplies. I… I can tell you haven’t been resting well from the state of your blankets in the morning, and you were in such a sorry state when you asked for a bath. I thought it might be nice to add it in.”

“Calix?” I asked, my mind spinning to catch up with the violent change in events. “Why…”

Warrick had very clearly made himself an enemy, but Calix had nothing to benefit from my demise before we were married. Even Erix had suspected Warrick, thinking he might have been the one to set Dravis against me, but to accuse him without more proof would risk starting a war with Doran.

Assaulting an emissary would start a war with Doran, and Erix had stormed out of this room with the promise of bloodshed in his posture. I gasped, descending into another fit of coughs. Blood splattered across my fresh tunic as I did. Adette’s eyes widened with fear, but I ignored it.

“Get Aderyn,” I demanded, grabbing Adette’s arm and squeezing, trying to impress on her the gravity of my demands. “Erix has gone to General Warrick’s room. Tell her she has to stop him. That Kelvadan depends on it.”

Adette hesitated, her gaze darting between my face, twisted with pain, and the spots of blood now drying on my chest.

“Now,” I snarled with more force than I meant. She jumped out of my grasp before running from the room.

I slumped back, and a feeling of helplessness overwhelmed me. Tears gathered in the corners of my eyes as I laid back on the bed. My breath rasped in my chest like the warning of a rattlesnake, and I tried to summon rational thoughts. But all that came to me was the repeated chant that I would fail—I had already failed.

I squeezed my eyes shut, and a tear carved a burning track over my temple. Ginevra had made me her heir because she believed I gave the people hope. She believed I would do anything to save this Great City. Instead, I had tumbled headfirst into a nest of vipers, not able to distinguish friend from foe. Erix had given up everything to stand by my side, and still we fractured apart. Just like the Heart of the Desert was broken, I had broken my own heart trying to save her people. Fear rose up to choke me. I had nothing to show for all the sacrifice—I would die in this bed, alone, choking on my own blood as the desert tumbled headfirst into a war I could not save her from.

I had survived ten years in exile, not to save the Great City, but to lead her to her doom.

My eyes snapped open. I had clawed myself back from the brink of starvation and beyond. I had survived the bites of venomous snakes and an execution at the hands of Lord Alasdar. I was a rider of the Ballan Desert, and I would crawl if I had to, bloody and bruised to see her restored.

With a raw groan, I rolled onto my side. The world lurched and the copper taste of blood coated my tongue, but I forced myself to focus. The handle of my saber glinted on the floor next to the tub where I had removed my clothes.

I refused to die without a weapon in my hand. Slowly, I slid from the bed, but I couldn’t control my weight, and I fell to the stone floor in a way that jarred every bone in my body. A quiet shriek escaped me, but I bit down on it.

Using my elbows, I began dragging myself across the floor to my weapon. My muscles trembled, and my skin screamed at the motion, but I grit my teeth. Searching for strength inside me, I grasped at the tether in my belly, but it slipped through my fingers in the haze of poison overwhelming me. In place of its usual glowing presence, was a pulsing red haze.

I prayed to the sands that Aderyn would be able to reach Erix in time as I slid forward on my belly. Just an arm’s length from the sword, I reached out. My fingers were inches from the cord-wrapped handle when the door to the room banged open. A cry of anguish escaped me as a booted foot kicked the weapon out of my reach, and the scabbard clattered uselessly across the floor.

I craned my head up, the movement causing my spasming muscles to protest, into the calm face of Prince Calix.

“You,” I spat.

He crouched down and cocked his head at me, resting his elbows on his knees as casually as if he were appraising a horse. “I thought I might find you like this when that prisoner pet of yours stormed through the hallway with murder in his eyes,” he observed.

“It was you,” I gasped. I tried to inch forward again toward where he had kicked my sword. He stood and placed his boot on my wrist. I tried to wrench free, but he put more weight down until my bones creaked. I grit my teeth to avoid letting out a cry of pain.

“What do you have to gain?” I gasped, trying to distract him so I could get the weapon. I might not be in shape for an extended confrontation, but based on the way Calix struggled riding a horse, I had a feeling I could still best him if I took him by surprise.

“What would I gain?” he parroted in disbelief. “A kingdom of my own and the ability to gift Viltov with the most dangerous cavalry in the world—to finally win the war with Doran that has dragged on for generations and no longer be the youngest prince, pushed to the side and only fit for use as an ambassador or a pawn in a marriage alliance.”

“My death does not give you a kingdom,” I hissed through the haze of fire and nausea still racking my body. “We are not married yet, and Kelvadan will not accept you as their king if I die.”

He laughed, and disgust crawled up my spine at the way he still managed to make the laugh charming. After Hadeon had lured me into a trap with charm, I thought I had learned to recognize the emptiness in a man’s eyes that indicated his charm was a façade—but Calix had none of the same signs. His hair still appeared perfectly windswept, his smile crooked in a way that made it seem that he didn’t take himself too seriously.

But looks were deceiving.

“I will admit that it was the original plan to marry you. If you had just behaved more like a real queen, you wouldn’t have had to die at all. I would have become king, and over time, I would have wormed my way into your trust—your people’s trust. I would have had what I wanted. But I learned after watching you that you were not the kind of queen I could control. Even when I gave you the anza nectar at the engagement party, as one last attempt to pull you under my influence, you ran off with a prisoner you should have executed. I knew you would kill me before letting me take control. I needed to take more… decisive action.”

My mind swirled, trying to keep up as the world twisted.

“But General Warrick…”

“A convenient delivery boy.” Calix waved his hand dismissively. “His indelicate demeanor made it easy to point your suspicions toward him. He even went so far as to actually oppose your rule, making it even easier. Let me guess… your lover is off to kill him now, blaming him for this?”

I whimpered as he ground his heel into my arm, still pinning it to the floor.