Page 103 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

He leans back, eyeing me. “Like you did before? When I found you weak and shivering? It doesn’t work like that.”

I reach up and trace one of his horns idly, trying to distract him away from thoughts of my impending doom. “I did it wrong last time. I gave myself half-doses constantly. I watered them down. This time I think I should do a full dose, but only do it every other day.” At Nemeth’s horrified expression, I smile confidently. “It’ll make my medicine last twice as long.”

“That cannot be good for you.”

“Oh, I imagine I’ll feel pretty rotten every other day, but I would rather feel unpleasant than run out entirely.” I continue to stroke his horns. Ironic how I thought I would be the one needing comforting, but I’m strangely calm. I’m the one that’s easing Nemeth’s worries.

“And if we don’t get more medicine soon?”

“Then we’ll figure something out.” I shrug. “We don’t have any other choices.”

He holds me tight, burying his face against my breasts. “I love you, Candra,” he says, his voice desperate and fervent. “Whatever it takes to save you, I’ll do it. Even if it means leaving the tower?—”

“No,” I say quickly, pressing a finger to his lips. “We’ve come this far. We’re not doing that. Don’t even consider it.”

He shakes his head, the look on his face steely. “I won’t let you die.”

“That’s good, because I have no intention of dying.” I run my finger along his horn, enjoying his shudder of arousal. “We take this one day at a time, and we make things stretch. Someone will come for us. We’re too important for them to neglect.” And I deliberately lift my hand from his horn and rub his cock instead. “Now, I don’t know about you, but I could use a good romp in bed.”

“Are you trying to distract me?” he growls.

“Absolutely.”

He huffs, but picks me up and takes me to bed anyhow.

As my lover helps me undress, Ihope I’m right. I hope that this is just a minor hiccup, and someone will be arriving soon with food and enough potion for me to continue on. I don’t want to think about what will happen if no one comes.

Surely Erynne wouldn’t abandon me? Not when my presence here is so important to the kingdom?

Chapter

Fifty-Four

One Month Later

Potion days are actuallythe worst days.

Nemeth administers my potion at night, because it makes me sleepy and fatigued. I feel well all through the next day, even though I don’t take another round of my medicine that night, since we’re stretching it. The next morning, when I wake up, though, it’s rough. It always is. Between the nausea, the dizziness, and the cold sweats, it’s a long, horrible stretch of day until I get my next dose.

It’s something that has to be done, but it’s miserable.

Today is going to be a bad day. I know it the moment I wake up and my mouth floods with saliva. I reach for the chamber pot under the bed and barely manage to roll out from under the covers and onto the floor before I vomit. For what feels like forever, I throw up. When there’s nothing left in my stomach but bile, the vomiting eases and I lie on the floor next to the bowl, my face pressed to the cold stones of the tower.

“I hate this.” Nemeth’s deep voice is an angry growl over my shoulder. He moves to my side, producing a wet cloththat he presses gently to my brow. “You’re killing yourself in increments, Candra.”

“It’s fine,” I tell him. I keep my eyes tightly closed and lie on the floor for a bit longer. Most mornings seem to start with illness, lately, but it’s worse on the days where I’ve got to make it to bedtime before I get my potion. I’m eating less, just because I know it’ll come back up again, and I know that worries Nemeth. “I’m feeling better.”

“Will you eat something?”

Damn it, he’s calling me on my bluff. It’s just…lately breakfast has been a thin mushroom soup, and while I mentally appreciate it for being food, my stomach does not appreciate it in the slightest. “Soon.”

He growls, and I hear him pacing across the room. He returns a moment later and crouches low to the floor next to me. “I have water for you. Can you sit up?”

I manage, moving slowly, and I’m relieved that everything in my stomach seems to be gone. That means no more vomiting for now, at least. “I think I’m good. I feel better.”

Nemeth won’t take that for an answer, though. He never does. He helps me sit up, resting me against his strangely bent thigh, and giving me sips of water from my wooden cup. “How is your stomach now?”

“It’s fine.”

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