Page 63 of Rise of a Fallen Man

“Thank you,” I repeated, reeling from it all.

He ran his thumb over the knuckles of my hand that he still held in his. “I hope it helps. Everyone deserves a good rest, at least once in a while.”

I clung to his hand like to a lifeline, aware that if I let go of it, the hurricane of reality would sweep me away from him again.

“I... I just really, really hate saying goodbye to you right now,” I confessed.

I needed him more than ever. But I couldn’t come up with a single excuse to keep him with me any longer.

Today, Salas had been friendly, supportive, and understanding. But I sensed his tension as my own. He’d been holding back, maintaining the distance between us, as he probably felt he should.

For a moment, however, his polite composure slipped away. His thick eyebrows moved together, his eyes sparked with urgency as he stepped closer, placing his hands on my shoulders.

“Ari,” he said. “If you ever need anything that you can’t get in the palace, even if it’s just a kind word and a hug. You come to me, do you hear me? Don’t you ever hesitate to come to me for anything at all.”

Kind words were sometimes harder to find in the palace than diamonds, and Salas’s hugs were the best in the world. My chest hurt, squeezed with longing and gratitude.

“I don’t deserve you, Salas. No one does.”

He held my shoulders, and I gripped his forearms. Then I pressed my forehead to his chest and stilled, stealing one last moment of peace in the eye of the hurricane.

“Your Highness!” Leafar’s voice shattered the silence. “Where have you been?”

His voice came like a slap on the face. My cheeks flared with heat. I whipped around to face my husband, who was crossing the plaza from the front entrance of the palace toward us. The priceless mirror rock of the ring on his finger cast a myriad of sparks onto the cobblestones—a splendid reminder of his status and mine.

“Who is this man?” He tossed a questioning look over my shoulder to where Salas stood by the carriage.

I placed a hand on Rotcod’s shoulder instead, redirecting Leafar’s attention.

“This man is here to help my father. Come with me, please,” I said to Rotcod with a sweep of my arm toward the palace. “I’ll introduce you to the rest of Father’s healing team.”

“Is that...” Leafar slid an assessing look down the warlock’s lanky frame draped in the tattered cloak. “Are you bringing a warlock into the palace?”

“Yes. And I have little time to lose.” I marched across the plaza, leading Rotcod with me and hoping that Leafar would follow.

It cost me an immense effort not to turn to Salas for one last glance goodbye. I had to pretend that he didn’t matter, that he was a nobody, that he wasn’t worth anyone’s attention, even as he was worth a world to me.

Thankfully, it worked. Leafar hurried after Rotcod and me, leaving Salas alone. The small crowd, spilling out of the palace’s doors, also focused on Rotcod as we approached, and I released a sigh of relief at the sound of the horses’ hooves behind us as the carriage left the plaza, taking Salas back to his room filled with sunshine and flower scent.

Away from me.

Chapter 17

Ari

Iadjusted Father’s blanket to cover his exposed foot. I did it carefully so as not to wake him, but his sleep remained deep, aided by the sleeping potion and a calming spell.

Rotcod snored softly in the chair nearby. The tattered book of spells lay open in his lap. Until two days ago, two witch apprentices also spent nights in Father’s bedroom. But as his condition had been improving, they had moved into the front parlor to give him more privacy at night. Mother and I had been taking turns at Father’s bedside to make sure he had someone from his family with him whenever he woke up.

It’d been a stressful week for all of us, a rollercoaster of emotions. But now, Father’s health had been steadily improving. He’d had several surgeries that all went well. After an extensive consultation with the royal healing witch, Rotcod had successfully performed the reconstruction, and now the king was on the mend.

The door to the bedroom opened quietly, and Mother slipped inside.

“How is he?” she asked.

“Asleep.” I stepped away from the bed and whispered, “Rotcod brewed him a healing tea with a drop of sleeping potion and gave him some powder to help manage the pain.”

“Was he in a lot of pain?” She glanced at Father’s bed over my shoulder.

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