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1
AREN
Aren Kertell,the thirty-seventh ruler of Ithicana, jerked awake with a start. His rooms in Eranahl were shadowed, the glow from a jar of algae on the table next to the bed the only source of light. His heart thundered in his chest, his breath rapid and ragged, sweat from the already fading dream dampening his brow.
Just a dream, he told himself.She’s alive.
Yet his heart refused to steady, his skin crawling with unease that had his hand reaching for the dagger beneath the pillow. Outside, thunder boomed and wind lashed against the balcony doors, the scent of lightning and rain thick on the air. Aren’s eyes flicked over the shadows of the room, searching for movement. For threats.
It wouldn’t be the first time someone had come for his queen.
One dead by his hand. Another by Aster’s. Another languishing in the prison below the palace until the storms cleared enough for a proper Ithicanian execution.
I will gut you,he silently said to whoever might be lurking in the shadows.I will cut your fucking throat.
Because that was all anyone who came in the night deserved. That was allanyonewho came for Lara deserved.
Nothing stirred.
Jor’s familiar cough echoed through the walls, and Aren’s eyes jerked to the faint outline of light around the door. If Jor was there, no one had come through that way, and Aren had personally checked the heavy latches on the windows before going to bed. There was no one in here. It was just a dream.
She’s alive. She’s alive. She’s alive.
Yet his pulse continued to roar, a bead of sweat rolling down his brow as he slowly shifted his weight to look next to him on the bed.
Lara was sprawled half on her side, half on her back, the strap of her nightgown pulled down, the strip of dark silk a slash across her skin. Even in the dim light, there was no mistaking how thin she was, the infection that had taken hold of the wound in her leg having stolen away flesh and muscle. Having nearly stolen her life.
She was so still.
Aren’s chest tightened, terror filling his guts.Nana said she was over the worst of it,he reminded himself.Said that she’d recover completely in time.
But God help him, he couldn’t shake the memories of her lost in fevered dreams, her skin burning hot and her breathing unsteady. How he’d held her hand, all of his grandmother’s potions and tonics failing, helpless to do anything as Lara had slipped closer and closer to the edge between life and death.
She’s alive.
The words in his head sounded more like a plea than a statement of fact, and Aren’s eyes fixed on her chest, searching for the steady rise and fall, but he couldn’t make it out in the darkness.
That, or she wasn’t breathing at all.
A tremor ran through him as he leaned closer to her face, waiting for the warmth of her breath to brush his cheek.
Waiting.
Waiting.
But no breath came.
Panic surged through his veins, then a woosh of breath hit him in the face, carrying a giggle with it.
Smirking up at him in the darkness, Lara said, “I’m a touch offended that you believe I’d meet my end in such an inglorious fashion as dying in my sleep.”
His heart was hammering so hard Aren thought he was going to be sick. “You were holding your breath!”
Lara chuckled, pushing strands of hair that had come loose of her braid off her face. “Maybe.”
“It’s not funny.”
“Itwasfunny,” she answered. “You’ve just forgotten how to laugh.”
