Page 93 of Only Flames Remain

“My indenture,” I spat out.

“Ah, I did not recognize you beneath all this finery. And your indenture is attending the royal ball in honor of your impending nuptials because…” Emrys started, but I pinned him with a glare that had him rethinking opening his mouth in the first place. He nodded once. “Quickly, then.”

Aveline grasped my hand as she turned, leading me from the ballroom. With this many eyes on us, I needed to walk out on my own. I couldn’t show even a hint of weakness before the court. Enora remained, her gaze trailing after us as she worried at her lower lip.

The last thing I saw before exiting the ballroom and collapsing against Aveline was King Mavros, his knowing gaze trained on me as I disappeared behind the archway.

CHAPTER 27

Sorin

The wound in my side hadn’t hurt this much in weeks. I needed to see Azhar, and I needed to see him now. But I had searched his rooms before the ball and hadn’t been able to find him.

Where could he have gone?

I slumped against Aveline, my arm slung over her shoulder. She did her best to help me ascend the curved staircase toward the second floor. My body was weak, my shirt sticking to the hot wound in my side that had begun pulsing.

“I need to see Azhar,” I ground out as we reached the top of the steps. I keeled over, using the stone banister for support.

“Who is Azhar?” she asked, worry clear in her voice.

Aveline was worried about me.

I shook my head, a grin spreading across my lips at the mere thought that flashed across my mind. Stupid, stupid prince. “My healer.”

Her eyes widened. “And…he is…where?”

I pointed toward the left wing of the castle. “Down that corridor, make a right. The door at the end. The one with the mahogany inlay.”

“Wait here,” she said, fixing me with a serious look.

As if I could go anywhere, even if I wanted to. She disappeared down the hall and the only thing I could think of was how beautiful she was as her hips sashayed, her curls bobbing with each step she took.

She returned a moment later, her expression grim. “He isn’t there.”

I cursed. “Take me to my rooms, then.”

“You may have forgotten, but I am a herbologist and an alchemist, for gods’ sake. I am practically a healer myself.”

She took my arm once more, slinging it over her shoulder to help bear my weight as we ascended the next flight of stairs to the third floor.

A wave of nausea rolled through me as we finally reached the landing. I had to stop and catch my breath, the pulsing wound rhythmic at my side.

“Wait here,” she said, not waiting for my response before disappearing down the corridor.

She was gone only moments before she returned once more, her satchel slung over her shoulder, her mask from the ball discarded.

I stared at it in confusion.

She pointed at herself. “Herbologist.” Then she pointed at the satchel. “Herbs. Let’s go.”

It was difficult for her to help me with the heavy bag banging against her side with every step. Somehow, the two of us managed. We made it to my rooms safely, though I was sure half of the court had seen me keeling over in pain at this point.

The strongest Blackwater prince, heir to the throne. Taken down by a curse.

My bed was calling to me but I wasn’t sure I possessed the strength to climb atop it in my current state. I collapsed into the high-backed armchair before the fire, discarding my own mask on the side table. Sweat immediately dotted my brow beneath the heat of the flames. I was certain I was spiking a fever to ward off infection.

My shirt was completely plastered to me, soaked in both blood and sweat.