Page 104 of Bound to the Shadow Prince

He huffs, clearly not believing me, and rubs a hand down my chemise, then pauses. “Your stomach is hard. Do you hurt anywhere? Any stabbing pains?” When I shake my head, he touches my stomach again. “Candra, I amworried.”

“There’s nothing we can do, love.” I lean in against him. “We just have to wait it out and see if anyone is coming.”

Nemeth wipes a sweaty lock of hair from my brow, his green eyes searching my face with worry. He’s been so good to me these last few weeks, taking over all the chores of our daily livingbecause I’m too weak to help out. He helps me bathe, washes my clothes, and reads to me when I’m feeling too puny to get out of bed. I’m filled with so much love for him that it hurts, sometimes. This endless ache in my chest that wants nothing but the best for him.

And I know I’m holding him back. If he wasn’t sharing with me, his food would be lasting twice as long.

“Lie down on the bed,” Nemeth tells me. “I want to examine your stomach. If one of your organs is infected, it could make your belly hard. And if that’s the case, I cannot heal you.”

His anguished expression fills me with guilt. “I really do feel better, Nemeth. Truly. If my stomach is hard, maybe it’s just because I threw up? Or something I ate for dinner last night?”

“You did not eat dinner last night.”

Right. With a frustrated press of my lips, I get to my feet and let him help me to bed. I lie quietly as he pushes my chemise up and pokes and prods at my belly, leaning close. We haven’t had sex in at least a week now, because I’ve been feeling too awful, and I miss it—and his touch—terribly. I hate being sick. I hate feeling weak. I hate puking every morning. I hate that my potion only offers a short window of relief.

More than anything, I hate that we’ve been abandoned.

“I do not feel any injuries,” Nemeth says, stroking his fingers over my stomach. “No lumps or protrusions.”

“What about lower?” I ask innocently.

He presses his fingertips to the spot just below my navel, worry all over his broad, stony face. “Here?”

“Lower.”

Just above my mound. “Here?”

“Lower.”

He realizes what I’m doing, and Nemeth gives me a cross look and lowers my chemise. “Candra, be serious.”

“Well, I do have an ache there,” I say, teasing. “And you asked.”

“I am going to have to research this,” he tells me. “And we need your knife so we can rule out any sort of illness with our questions.”

I nod, curling up in bed and watching him as he begins to pace in our room. Back and forth, back and forth, his wings flicking with agitation. He gets moody when he sees me sick, but today…I’ve never seen him so upset. If I didn’t feel so rotten, I’d be thrilled that he’s so worked up. There’s just something so delightful about seeing a big, tough male fretting over someone like me.

“I’ve decided something,” Nemeth says, pausing in his brisk steps to turn and look at me.

“Oh? What’s that?”

His eyes seem to glow a brighter shade of green than I’ve ever seen. “If it turns out you’re well…I’ve decided I’m going to leave the tower.”

Chapter

Fifty-Five

Ijerk upright, staring at Nemeth in shock. “You what? You can’t.”

Leave the tower? That’s utter rubbish. If he leaves the tower, he’ll earn the wrath of the Golden Moon Goddess, and she’s not the forgiving type. If he leaves the tower, the last two years we’ve spent here will be for nothing. If he leaves the tower…

He can’t. He just can’t. “No, Nemeth. You can’t do that.Wecan’t do that. Think of what will happen.”

He moves and sits next to me on the edge of the bed, his big body and wings taking up most of the space. I don’t mind it, though. There’s something about being squeezed in next to him, his wings falling over me, that feels pleasant and comfortable. “That’s just it, Candra. I have been thinking about it. I’ve been thinking about it a great deal. No one is coming after us.”

“You don’t know that,” I protest. “Let’s get the knife?—”

“And see if it offers a different answer than yesterday? Or the day before? Or the day before that? We have asked it repeatedly, Candra, and every time, the answer is the same. No one is coming. Either they will not, or they cannot. All that matters is that we will starve to death in this tower if we remain here.”

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