Page 137 of The Crimson Walls Of Algorath

“The others are leaving,” Madan said, watching the surviving dhemons run back into the forest.

“Go,” Whelan said. “You need to be with your grandmother.”

He rolled his eyes and shifted behind him. Pushing his chest up against Whelan’s back, Madan lay his head on the dhemon’s shoulder. His mate relaxed into him. “As if I’d leave you here alone.”

“I love you,” Whelan said, his voice quiet.

Madan snorted. “I love you too, you idiot.”

They waited together for Oria, plotting their next move against the Caersans: freeing the Lower Council of Eastwood Province. They were going to need as many vampires on their side as they could muster.

When Emillie sent a letter to Camilla following Revelie’s visit, she never intended for it to reach her friend. She kept the contents of it simple after Alek’s warning that everything in and out of their manor would be read thoroughly and likely replicated for Loren to review. In it, she detailed life as a married woman with careful, unnamed mentions of her new handmaid and a quick note of her father’s passing.

Treason. She had written the word with a shaking hand. The letters bled together, and she dabbed her eyes to keep the tears from ruining her work further. Traitor. Reasons Loren had claimed to be enough to kill the Princeps—to disband the Council and name himself King.

She made sure to let her disdain for him show while remaining wholly compliant with the vow she had given by kneeling beside her husband. Loren would find it suspicious if she were too upbeat in her writing. Not enough emotion would likely cause him to swoop down upon the manor in order to question her.

If she never saw Loren Gard again, it would be too soon.

The nights blended together in a haze. She could not keep track of one to the next. Still, sitting down for dinner one early morning, Emillie could not find it in herself to be hungry. She stared at the food placed on the table vacantly, and it was not until Alek spoke that she even understood what she was doing.

“You have to eat,” he said quietly and served her potatoes and venison. The vegetables were more scarce than usual, with the merchants from the south having fled Valenul.

Emillie dragged her gaze to him. “I am not hungry.”

Alek’s face fell, and he glanced over her shoulder to where she knew Kyra looked on as well. Neither of them had been able to get her to eat much of anything. She knew it pained them, but she could not stomach the very thought of food.

“It has been almost a week.” His depthless eyes searched her face. “Please, Emillie. You cannot let him win.”

Heat pricked her eyes, and her vision swam. “He already has.”

In an instant, Kyra was there, standing beside Alek and studying her with much the same worry. Emillie looked away, unable to stand their scrutiny. She had not felt the pull of hunger for food or blood since she had found herself covered in it. Kyra had not even been permitted to hold her during the days, asking for time alone. To sleep alone. Nothing appealed to her.

“Look at me.” Kyra’s tone demanded obedience.

Emillie lifted her gaze but not her face.

“You told me…everything you know about your sister.” Kyra gripped the back of Alek’s chair. He did not waver. Instead, they stood as twin beacons in the darkness of Emillie’s world. The one she loved and the one who clearly loved her, though she could not fathom why.

“My sister could very well be dead.”

Kyra shook her head. “She survived to get back to you. Now, you need to return the favor and survive this for her.”

“I am doing all I can,” Emillie breathed, the words tight in her throat. “I am trying.”

“Trying is not good enough.” Kyra stepped around Alek, who watched them in silent interest, and knelt beside her. Emillie flinched away. “You are the daughter of a Princeps and the wife of a Lord. You were born to do great things.”

Emillie gaped, unable to summon any words against her, though her mind rebelled at the very notion of it all.

Then Kyra stood and leaned forward as though to plant a kiss on her cheek, thought better of it, and said, “Now act like it.”

With that, the Rusan swept out of the room, face pale and a hand over her mouth. Why she departed so suddenly, Emillie did not know. Kyra had never left her in such a manner before.

Emillie felt no more hungry than she did prior to sitting at the table. Nevertheless, she picked up her fork and buried it into a cube of potato.

Alek’s shoulders eased away from his ears. The hard lines of his face softened, and he picked up his own cutlery. “I am sorry.”

She glanced at him. “For what?”

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