Page 20 of Bitten

Chapter Four

Later that night…

Ralnur, son of Varial, stood at the window, barely able to hold himself up. In his weakened state, he trembled at the slightest use of his muscles. But the sounds of explosions outside had drawn him to the window. Across the city, he observed fireworks erupting over the castle.

A celebration?

What were they celebrating without him?

Ralnur frowned, before dropping into the nearby chair. He had used every ounce of his strength to reach the two feet from the bed to the window and couldn’t bring himself to make the return trip.

Lifting a hand, he saw how withered it looked. If he was still human, his hand likely would’ve been aged and drawn just like that. In his case, it was from starvation.

Self-inflicted starvation.

A nurse soon walked into his magically warded luxury hospital suite and placed a large, steaming mug on his tray table before turning to smile at him. “I warmed it up for you this time… might make it more appetizing?”

Her smile was wide, and her hopes even wider.

“I’m not hungry,” he lied before looking out the narrow windows again and waving a hand to her—a silent plea for her to remove the cup and its vile contents. He wouldn’t debase himself by drinking blood.

“You’re not looking too good, Your Highness.”

Ralnur had been born a prince. His twin brother, Theral, had been seven seconds older and become the Crown Prince of Midnight. Ralnur had been the spare heir—and even lost that privilege when his nephew Adriel had been born. Not that he cared much. He’d seen both the good and the bad that came from being seated on the throne. The bad outweighed the good, in his opinion.

He’d long ago dropped his title—although he’d never renounced his title or position. Something about being called a prince at his age just seemed odd. After his wife had left him to return to Iasilon, the home of the Fae, he’d lost all desire to be royalty—not after all the damage it had left in its wake.

It hadn’t been a true marriage, but a political one. His father had needed something from Princess Leandra’s father, and the Fairy King had wanted his youngest daughter married to someone of worth.

He’d been forced to marry the princess and bed her that very night—even though princesses were not of his taste, but rather princes. It had been a horrible moment, but once he later learned that Leandra would’ve preferred a princess to a prince, they’d slowly grown closer—realizing they were both the victims of their fathers’ greed.

Both forced to be something they weren’t.

And ultimately, they’d made a son—Varian.

A clench of pain came to Ralnur’s heart at the thought of leaving his son behind—both his boys. He considered Adriel more a son than nephew.

The Fairy King had wanted his daughter on the throne of Midnight so seriously, that he had Theral and his pregnant wife murdered—and had attempted Adriel’s life, too. From that moment on, Ralnur had done everything in his power to guide and protect his nephew.

Any thoughts of being on the throne himself died that night along with his brother. That anyone would try to force him to lead the city through murder sickened him.

And he’d struggled to forgive Leandra for the slight role she herself had played in the attacks. She’d sensed what her father was up to, but never told Ralnur. Not when it mattered. When he’d asked her if she’d known more, she’d denied the charge, but there had been something in her eyes that told him she was holding back the truth. It wasn’t long after that she’d left to return to her realm, leaving behind the mixed-blood baby that could never follow her there.

And now I’m leaving him, too.

How selfish.

Yet at the same time, he couldn’t imagine Varian suffering a father who was a creature of the night. If he lived, he’d never be free. He’d never be accepted. And Varian would have to suffer some of that hate, as well—the son of an abomination.

Ralnur eyed the smiling nurse. “I don’t care how I look.”

“You have to feed,” she said, taking a step closer. “Your change is so recent, you need a great deal of blood to help your body through this transition. And you need it now. Your body won’t survive much longer without feeding.”

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“Please drink,” the nurse said, rolling the small tray table toward him. “If you don’t, we might have to take other measures.”

“Just leave it,” he whispered. He had no desire to drink, but he didn’t need the nurse needling him, either. Or threatening him with a forced feeding.

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