Page 94 of Only Flames Remain

“Well, let’s see it,” Aveline announced, standing before me with her arms crossed.

The movement pressed her breasts up even further against the bodice of the dress I had picked out. Despite the fever and the pain, my cock twitched at the sight of their fullness.

“Can’t,” I ground out, my head falling back against the chair, eyes falling closed.

My thoughts were consumed by exhaustion.

It wasn’t the first time this had happened—and if past history was any indication—it wouldn’t be the last.

Aveline kneeled. I initially thought it had to be the delirium—there was no way she was on her knees before me. But I blinked, and she remained. The flames cast half her face in shadow, the other half painted with a golden glow that made her brown iris appear as if it were spun caramel.

She reached for my shirt and undid the buttons with the efficiency of someone who had done this before. She unceremoniously tore the shirt open. I surged upward, searing pain renewed as the material tore free from my skin.

“Sorry.” But she didn’t sound sorry, not really.

She turned, rifling through her bag to search for the ingredients she needed. “How long have you had this?” she asked, pulling out a mortar and pestle.

A laugh bubbled to my lips at the thought of her traveling the realm with her personal mortar and pestle stowed away, but that honestly didn’t surprise me.

“A few decades,” I replied, my voice barely above a whisper as I watched her.

Her movements halted, her perfectly pink lips falling open. “A few decades?” I nodded in response. “What are you talking about, Sorin?”

Sorin.

Not Prince.

Not Your Highness.

Sorin.

My name was an answer to every prayer I had ever made to the old gods coming from those lips.

“Cursed,” I ground out, a groan of pain escaping my open mouth.

I was seeing spots of light behind my eyes as I pressed them closed. I desperately hoped she had something in that little bag of treasures to sedate me.

Why in the nine gods was this wound hurting so much if my mate was right here, kneeling before me? My thoughts were becoming muddled, confusion taking over.

She emptied a mixture of dried herbs into the bowl, a few drops from a stoppered bottle joining them. She mixed them together to create a thick, awful-smelling paste that was so potent it had my nostrils flaring. I recoiled as much as I could while remaining seated in the chair.

It dawned on me that if she truly meant to poison me, now would be the perfect time. I was half lost to delirium, and everyone in this castle was attending the ball in my honor.

“Stop fussing,” she told me, leaning forward. “I can’t reach it—your knees are in the way. Your legs are too long. Open them.”

I had never heard that particular complaint before.

I raised my brow at her despite the pain that threatened to pull me under. “You want to kneel between my legs, Princess?”

“I’m no princess,” she replied, eyes blazing. “Do as I say.”

I did, allowing my knees to fall open so that she could come closer and better access the wound. My legs were still too long; she wouldn’t be able to reach the area where it spread onto my back and up the back of my arm.

She stood, biting her lip while assessing her options with the bowl in her hand and the other on her hip.

“Fuck it.” She pulled her midnight skirts up to pool around her hips with one hand as she climbed onto my lap.

I was surely delirious now. There was no way that I wasn’t imagining this.