Page 18 of What Lies Within Blood & Heirs

Garrik could hardly breathe, tied to that chair creaking beneath him, body convulsing in the afterwaves of the fiery treatment inside his veins. The treatment he had only just endured.

The sound of chair legs scraping against stones echoed off the blood-splattered walls, and the High King prowled forward, every step a haunting threat. A crushing reminder that Garrik was nothing more than a slave—not a son, not even a lesser male.

Magnelis gripped his hair and stared cruelly into Garrik’s eyes. His face a work of cold stone as he callously admitted, “I do not care.”

A moment of calm … before?—

Choked gasps ripped from Garrik’s throat as his head snapped backward. The rest of his body seized up, pulling his bonds taut while Malik’s burning fingertips dug into his thighs. Unable to do anything more than thrash, boiling waves of blood surged through him, throwing him into another helpless convulsion.

“If you tried to relax, it wouldn’t hurt so much,” Malik snickered and flexed his fingertips, sending another wave of flames through Garrik’s system. “Why are you choking? Come now, breathe.”

Garrik jolted upward, panting, and cried out, “Stop!”

He had to escape. Could not bear going through this again.I have to escape, have to escape, have to?—

“You’re okay, mighty prince.” A warm hand flattened against the middle of his chest and carefully guided him back. “It’s the drugs. Don’t fight them.”

Them. The only option was to fightthem. He would not escape otherwise. “I have to,” he slurred, feeling another wave of darkness brimming.

Through the dimness, Garrik glimpsed three figures hovering over him.

Malik. Brennus… Her.

“This isn’t the drugs.” Eldacar’s youthful face appeared. Distressed consideration stole those brown eyes as Garrik tried—and failed—to convince himself he was not in his dungeon.

“He needs to sleep.” A voice like the warmth of the stars cut through his delusion. He held onto Alora’s voice like it was the only tether to life.

But Thalon answered, his voice as devastating as a bloodied battlefield, “He won’t get any.”

Then roaring night-blue flames and the eyes of the High King swallowed him whole.

So many months ago,Alora wanted nothing more than to never sit in this tent again. The bitterness and overwhelming desire for freedom had consumed her thoughts to the point of carelessly raising a blade to the throat of Elysian’s gray-haired demon. Imagining his slow and painful death. Once, she had wanted tosee her obsidian dagger pierce his heart and leave him for dead in the forest.

Only now …

As she held Garrik’s frigid hand and stroked his hair, she pleaded to the stars for another breath. Another breath without his constant winces and pain. Without him trembling with whatever played behind those silver eyes.

She could still smell the way his flesh burned. Still heard his screams.

Dawn would rise soon.

The few times his eyes did open, there was pure terror there.

Would there still be the next time he woke?

The warm sunlight faded hour by hour, yet no one could convince her to leave his side. How many times had he been there when she needed someone to pick up her shattered pieces? She wouldn’t leave him now. Wouldn’t let him wake up alone. And as the sun traded the moon, silver peeked between his eyelids.

“We need to stop meeting like this…” her voice traitorously cracked as she brushed the hair from his soaked forehead. By the stars, the terror that had plagued his eyes was gone, and never had such a rush of breath calmed her so thoroughly.

Garrik’s stare was unfocused, lids bobbing as he said, “Indeed.” Weakened hands traced down his exposed abdomen, across burns that were nearly healed. Then confusion stole his face.

Alora leaned closer and gently murmured, “What do you remember?”

His throat worked, a shudder like a momentary burst of starlight flickered dread in his eyes, collecting her heart in a vice. But Garrik squeezed them closed. For a moment he only breathed, then whispered, “Everything.” He looked up at her, face grim. “Thalon… The rest of them?”

She grasped his question and considered her reply. “They’re angry but relieved you’re alive.” Alora fought the urge to remind him of her displeasure and swiftly added, “We’ve all agreed you’re not going off alone ever again.”

He scoffed. There was that smile, the one she admittedly missed. “Is that so? High Kings and Queens have infiltrated my camp, I see.” A touch of annoyance simmered in his tone but became blanketed in something less disapproving, almost roguish. “Am I granted a vote in this referendum?”

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