Page 41 of The Serpent Prince

“Well, I did have something else to tell you.”

His jaw clenched, and he didn’t respond.

“Here’s my final message to Tanyl,” she announced, pointing to the scrawling handwriting on the note. “Write this down—tell him that it’s not this easy to control me. I know he’s ‘taking care’ of my sister for me, but tell him to do whatever he wants to her—I couldn’t give two fucks—and tell him that I’ll deal with him when I get back.”

Ren went silent after Imani’s words.

She broke first. “Will I get the pleasure of your company tomorrow? I’m tagging along with the emissary of peace.”

Please, by the Saints, remain here in the castle.

“No,” he sighed. “But I’m sure I’ll have a message for you when you return in a few weeks.”

Imani didn’t doubt it.

The blood tasted horrible.

After one sip, Imani gagged, but she was determined to make this work. With each sip, her desperation for a more permanent solution grew. Most elves didn’t live such a solitary life, and those who did were open and kind, like Luvon or Master Selhey, and probably had no issues finding companions for feeding. It seemed neither of them had problems with trust, like Imani.

She wasn’t bitter, but she was frustrated. They were to leave at midnight, not tomorrow morning as she’d thought, as the storm would clear up then, giving them a window to head out of the city. After getting instructions for their departure, Imani only had minutes to finish the blood before Rosalynn escorted her downstairs with her belongings.

By now, she’d figured she’d have drunk it all, but there was still more than half left.

Slipping out her wand, she tried to heat the blood, which made it slightly more palatable. Finally, in one large gulp, she forced the thick, warm liquid down. Choking on it, she almost retched on the rug.

Rubbing her belly, she wondered if this, coupled with the dodgy spell she had cast, would be enough to sustain her for a while. If it did, it was worth it.

A knock on the door startled her. Wiping the blood from her mouth, Imani’s hand shook, and she prepared to act as if everything was normal, despite feeling the opposite.

CHAPTER 15

For four days, the horses ran hard, and they traveled far. Imani had barely slept during that time.

Her stomach turned over again during the fifth day as the carriage rocked back and forth across the uneven terrain. Esa and the two maids sitting with her tittered about nothing, but Imani barely heard a word. She tried to focus on the spellbook on her lap, but her head spun. Dizziness was consuming her.

Up until this point, she’d been doing a decent job at masking her face into cool indifference, but each day, her insides felt like they were slowly burning her alive. A fire heated her veins, and her dress felt suffocating. She tugged on the neckline and wiped sweat from her brow.

Esa narrowed her eyes at her. “That’s the tenth time you’ve tried to rip your clothes off, Imani. Are you ill?”

Imani pulled her hair into a quick braid, tugging harshly at her scalp. She hated to feel uncertain. It was an emotion she avoided whenever possible. People always found a way to use it against her.

A bang and a crack startled everyone. The carriage fell to the right and landed hard on the ground. The women braced themselves against anything they could. Horses neighed and stuttered a bit as the driver halted them.

A footman opened the door. “Ladies, we’ve had a small accident. If you’ll step out for just a moment, we’ll have this repaired soon.”

Each of them slowly exited the coach with the help of the footman. Imani almost toppled over as she stumbled onto the wet grass, shaking.

“Miss! Are you all right?”

She brushed away the man’s help. “I’m fine,” she stammered, standing upright, appearing as regal as possible. Yet as she walked with her book toward the tree line, she flexed her hands repeatedly, played with her hair, and felt her heart pounding in her ears.

It terrified her to be so desperate in front of her former allies. What else would they wring out of her for helping her with feeding? It made tears burn her eyes as she gripped her wand tighter.

Something made her tip her head to the sky. Several crows swooped above, and she fought the urge to silence the awful creatures with her magic. Saints, she hated birds, especially knowing some of them could be people—shifters.

Snow fell in wet clumps that stuck to everyone’s hair and eyelashes. Mountains towered to their east, with jagged, snowcapped peaks stabbing into the clouds.

Despite the chilling wind, she let her shawl hang loose and kept walking. The cold barely licked her skin. She didn’t want many people to see her like this right now. Imani was sick. Really, really sick. And she knew it was getting worse. Would she do anything—anything—to solve her current predicament? She didn’t know, but tears fell more quickly as she thought about what having the Drasil would mean for her.