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Ancestors, I couldn’t think. I could hardly swallow.
Anticipating as much, Carly arrived with a cup of cool water. I gulped at it greedily.
“Slowly, Your Majesty, or you’ll see it all again in a few minutes,” she warned.
I let her offer the cup again and again, taking tiny sips, waiting for my stomach to revolt. I kept my eyes closed beneath the cool cloth, and thankfully, none of them tried to speak with me. The pounding between my temples couldn’t stand it.
But that left me alone with my thoughts, which were decidedly worse.
The humans, the rifts, that creeping darkness. The throne of Annwyn, waiting empty, taunting me. Arran.
Arran.
I’d let him save me—again.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
I was letting him closer. Each secret, each shared glance… each time I let him bury that magnificent cock inside me. Eventually, I’d let him too close, and it would all fall apart.
I could not let it happen.
Revenge for Arthur’s death. Then get far away from Baylaur, as quickly as possible. Maybe that was the reason the rifts kept coming up. Not because they’d played a significant part in Arthur’s murder, but because the Ancestors were trying to send me a message. The rifts could take me out of Annwyn altogether—to the human realm. Where everyone was as powerless as me.
But I wasn’t going anywhere today.
Hell, I might die on this very floor and save myself from the decisions.
But, of course, I was not that lucky.
“They’ve sent up a lunch tray, Your Majesty,” Charis said tentatively from the direction of the door.
“No.”
“Yes.” Cyara commanded as I moaned.
I cracked my eyes open enough to glare at her.
She was half my weight, a fraction of my height, and stood across the washroom with an imperious stare that dared me to countermand her again.
“You need some food to soak up all that aural,” she said, wings flaring.
I didn’t have the energy to argue. Maybe if I ate, she’d let me go back to sleep. Though my bed seemed impossibly far away and the washroom tiles still entirely too inviting.
“No, you don’t,” Cyara muttered, grabbing my arm before I could tumble sideways.
I shook her off and clambered to my feet unsteadily, all of my warrior’s grace utterly deserting me. My stomach roiled threateningly, but there was nothing left to heave up.
Still glaring, I slowly found my way back into the bedroom. I perched on the edge of the bed and let Charis feed me toast while Carly brushed my hair and re-braided it into a simple three-strand plait. I stood long enough to shrug off my dress, sticky with aural and the remnants of Arran and I’s minutes spent pressed against the wall. By the time they’d draped me in a fresh silk nightgown, my eyelids were drooping once again.
I was more than ready to give in, to silence the pounding that had softened marginally to a dull but persistent thud.
Thud.
Thud.
Thud, thud.
Except it wasn’t inside my head. Or at least, not only inside my head.
