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With a determined push, Tristan hoisted himself up, his movements fueled by a blend of purpose and urgency. Staggering toward the window, he perched onto the ledge, a lone figure against the eclipse-lit landscape. His gaze returned to her, a beacon of hope that kindled the embers of her spirit.
“Hang in there,” he urged. And she hung onto his words like a lifeline.
She nodded, even though she could feel the edges of her consciousness succumbing to an encroaching darkness. As he propelled himself from the window, she pressed her cheek to the cold floor. And then, as if the world itself had surrendered to the void, everything plunged into blackness.
TRISTAN
Tristan’s eyes flew open, heart pounding against his chest like a caged bird. The luxurious comfort of his bed, the familiar scent of his chambers, and all other trappings of comfort were cruelly absent. Instead, he was met with the cold, unyielding embrace of stone beneath him and the stifling dampness of a dungeon. Panic surged within him, a tidal wave threatening to drown him.
He jumped to his feet. “Hello? Anyone!” he cried out, his voice echoing off the walls, sounding more desperate than he intended. He clutched the bars, the cold metal biting into his palms. But as he strained to hear any sign of life, a sickening dizziness gripped him. The world spun, and a nauseating feeling rose, threatening to spill over. He staggered to a corner, emptying his stomach into a bucket. The venom’s aftertaste was vile, but the burning agony had mercifully faded.
The distant sound of footsteps grew steadily louder. When Ryke’s familiar face came into view, a rush of relief surged through Tristan. “Ryke! Oh, thank the gods. Please, you have to get me out of here.”
But Ryke’s face was a mask of stoicism, his eyes devoid of their usual warmth. The stillness, the silence between them, was thick with tension. “I thought you were suffering from insomnia. But now I see it is so much more than that, isn’t it?”
His cousin’s words sat heavily on Tristan’s chest as he processed them. Tristan shook himself.
“Ryke, I don’t understand,” his voice quivered. “Did I sleepwalk again? I promise, whatever you think happened—”
“Don’t.” Ryke interrupted, his voice cold as he held up the decanter Tristan had given to Wendy. “I suppose you thought you were being discreet, didn’t you?”
A cold dread settled in Tristan’s stomach. “Ryke, please. I can explain everything. But first, I need what’s left of that drink.”
Ryke’s gaze was unwavering, his voice firm. “That will not happen.”
Tristan gripped the bars with all his strength. “I am your prince. I command you to hand it over right this instant!”
Ryke’s response was filled with a mix of pain and defiance. “And I am your family and I’m saying over my dead body.”
Emotions swirled within Tristan, a tempest of fear, desperation, and guilt. “Ryke, please,” he whispered, his voice breaking, “I’m begging you.”
Ryke’s eyes, once filled with brotherly affection, now shimmered with tears of anger and sorrow. “I lost my parents too, you know? I know what grief can do to you. Butthis... this isn’t the way to cope.”
Tears clung to Tristan’s eyes as he gripped the steel bars of the cell until the whites of his knuckles were on show. He clenched his teeth and looked darkly at the dusty floor. But his surroundings faded from view, and all he could see was Aurora’s paled face.
“I have to go back. She was poisoned. She’ll die if I don’t return!” Tristan’s voice cracked with raw emotion.
Ryke’s brows furrowed. “Return where? Who are you talking about?”
Tristan paced around, wiping cold sweat from his brow as he shook with frustration and worry. When he didn’t reply, Ryke banged the bars with his fist to draw his attention back to him.
“Do you hear yourself? You have lost sense of what is real and what is not. You’re spiraling, Tristan. If you can’t see that, then you leave me no choice.”
Tristan’s desperation reached a fever pitch as Ryke tilted the decanter, its silver liquid threatening to spill over the edge. “Stop! I don’t owe you explanations for what I do in my private time.”
Ryke’s voice rose. “But you owe it to your kingdom! They’re terrified, thinking their prince was poisoned at his own ball, all because you’ve been secretly drugging yourself withthis!” In his agitation, he brandished the decanter. Waving it in the air, the liquid sloshed about, and Tristan’s heart sank as a few drops spilled from it.
“Stop that! Give it to me!” he grunted, lunging forward and reaching through the bars.
Before Ryke could jump back, Tristan’s hands collided with Ryke’s, knocking it from Ryke’s grasp. Time seemed to slow, and Tristan watched, frozen and helpless, as it fell and splashed onto the stone floor.
The sundrop mixture seeped away, and Tristan screamed internally as he watched each droplet disappear. He sank to his knees, the weight of his actions, the magnitude of his loss, pressing down on him.
Ryke panted and took a few steps back. But then he rounded his shoulders and puffed out his chest. “This ends now, Tristan. You’ve become lost to a disease. You won’t leave this cell until that poison is purged from your system.”
With those final words, he turned and walked away, leaving Tristan in the suffocating darkness, grappling with the thought of losing Aurora forever.
AURORA
