Page 91 of Bride of the Fae Prince

The doctor adjusts his spectacles, squinting slightly. “Well, fae blood is usually toxic for humans, but in the case of a magical human, it’s less so. Still, there’s always the risk that it’ll kill her. The trick with the blood transfusion is to allow the magic to killoff just enough of her mortality to allow for the magic to bloom, but not enough that she dies.”

I clench my jaw so hard I almost don’t notice when my insides give a small cramp. The poison must not be completely gone yet. It seems like such a trivial thing now. “What is her greatest chance at survival?”

“It’s hard to say, Highness. I’ve only seen two cases of blood sickness in my life. I’ve heard of more, but—”

“Did they survive?”

“Neither, Highness.”

It’s as though my heart has been pinned to the wall, and a line of people keeps taking punches at it. Every moment I dare to hope, another punch is thrown.

“Did either of them get the transfusion?”

“One did. He seemed to fare better, too, before he took a turn.”

Silence falls over the room. The quiet wheeze of Stella’s breathing becomes loud in the stillness.

“And the other cases? The ones you’ve heard of?” I ask.

“I’ve heard of two surviving with the transfusion, and one without intervention. The rest didn’t make it.”

I consider this information as I work my fingers gently through the tangles in Stella’s hair. I just want to go back to last night, to that moment I woke up and smelled her sweet scent, to the feel of her against me when I drew her into my arms. The sound of her little gasps as I kissed her.

Now she might die, and I’ll never have told her that I . . . that I . . .

I squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden and completely foreign impulse to cry. The last tears I shed were for my mother when she died. Perhaps it’s fitting that I shed them for my wife, too.

But not now. Not with the doctor and Edvear in the room.

I need to make this decision. Survival isn’t likely with either course of action. Butifshe survives this, she’ll be much more likely to live longer in Faerieland if she has magic.

If she pulls through . . . if shedoeshave magic . . .

Her lifespan would be longer. The High King and his plots aside, she wouldn’t grow old and die within a few decades. She couldlivewith me, be my wife—for centuries.

She could be my queen.

The thought fills me with such blistering hope. What if I didn’t have to lose her like everyone else? What if I could keep her? What if I could fall asleep with her in my arms every night? What if we could have children together?

The urge to weep strengthens, almost getting the better of me. I shouldn’t dream like this! Not while she might be dying in my arms right now. But I can’t help it. This is something I could live for beyond overthrowing the High King. This is goodness, happiness, sweetness,fullnessunlike anything I could have dreamed of.

I tighten my jaw, hardening my resolve, and press a kiss to the top of Stella’s head. “Give her the transfusion.”

The doctor nods, as though unsurprised. “Then I will need fae blood. Would you like her to have yours, Highness?”

“Mine?” I didn’t considerwherethe fae blood would come from.

“I have a few vials of fae blood. They’re not particularly fresh, though I have preserved them properly. I keep them in case of emergency, but I prefer to use fresh blood when I can.”

He isnotputting some stranger’s moldy blood into my wife. “Yes, yes, take mine.”

“Very well.” The doctor pulls a scalpel from his bag and nods at me. “Let us get a bowl.”

Chapter 32

The Prince

The doctor bleeds mywrist until blue blood has half-filled the bowl that Edvear fetched. My stomach clenches in a way completely unrelated to the last remnants of poison when I follow his instruction to pull Stella’s icy arm out from beneath the blanket and roll up her sleeve.

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