Page 118 of Shifter King
She lifted her hand to her eyes. "I don't know. I'm everywhere at the moment. But if I find my way back, probably Darmoste. Eventually."
That was enough. Now that he knew about her too, he could search for her. It wouldn't be especially hard to find the one other Neyeb in the world.
A dog's bark sounded in the distance.
She turned; her face brightened and her eyes softened. The tears dried on her cheeks. "Claudius?" she cried. For the briefest flash, he saw another Amelia standing there, holding out her hand. As soon as she touched her, energy sparked and she vanished.
He remained motionless, shaken to his core. How could this happen? How was this possible? Slowly he drew his hands over his face. His child. His daughter.
He balled up his fists.
That wretched bastard had sworn he'd take care of her. He'd made him vow that he would. Thanks to him his daughter was alive and suffering. Well, that would soon be mended.
He seized his pack out from under the hammock and set it on the table. It might be the last journey he ever took, but he would see to it his daughter was put to rest. Wherever she might be. At this rate, she'd wipe out the entire world in less than a year.
"Curse you, Naatos," he muttered, removing the knife from under his pillow and placing it in the bag. "Of all the things I thought I could trust you to do, you fail me in this?" He just had to hope he wouldn't be too late. She was certain to be devouring souls within the week. He was at least five days away assuming all went well. And it never did.
THE PRINCE’S CHAMBERS
Amelia was right. Time did pass strangely in this place. WroOth barely slept the rest of that night; he remained guarded the following day, prepared to defend her as best he could if they should try to hold her accountable for Gabrice's injuries.
But, according to the slaves and servants, those injuries were nothing more than another incident in which the prince had disgraced himself. Shameful behavior, truly. Increasingly common.
One good thing perhaps. For Amelia, the only other good thing—aside from his presence—was that she did have periods of quiet. Perhaps it was proof that Naatos had reached her and siphoned off some of the psychic wine's intensity because she did not remain in a constant state of agony. Instead, fits came on in waves where she raged and spoke nonsensically. Then she dissolved into great sobs, that shook her entire body. Other times she simply writhed, straining against him to pull free to some unknown point of relief.
Still, she never seemed to forget who he was. That was, in fact, part of the problem. She no longer referred to him as Ruth, and she seemed perpetually worried he was going to get hurt.
Not that he let anyone in to see or hear. At any other point he might have found it heartwarming. Even teased her about it. The fact that she would think he needed her to protect him? Well, it was laughable except that it wasn't. It was what family did though.
Beyond all this, the biggest problem was that she wasn't coming out of this intoxicated state. She became still at some points. Sometimes calm but vacant, cooperative to a degree and willing to drink fluids. But never herself. At most, she spoke in a way that suggested she was far off, her gaze unfocused, her hands shaking, her words disjointed.
Time passed, and nothing worked. The deadline was within hours. Despite his best efforts, Zorna refused to tell him what else had been in the psychic wine. Either she said it made no difference or he needed to get his priorities straight. The night before the wedding, he had to be able to tell her who would do pay tribute to her and in what way. Amelia was barely going to be able to walk down the aisle and appear…conscious. Giving an impassioned speech was well beyond her ability at the moment.
His remaining with her and trying to coax her back to the world of consciousness was not working. So that meant he would have to leave her and try his luck with the prince. Not exactly something he relished at the moment. At any other point when he had time to really torment the man, perhaps. But for now, he just wanted Amelia safe.
He locked the door behind him. "Do not allow anyone in or out," he said. "The Neyeb is meditating, and she needs to be able to focus if she is able to perform sufficiently for the wedding and after. Any interruptions will result in complete and horrific death." Enacted by him, but they didn't need to know that.
Off he went then. Zorna had made good on her word for this promise. He was allowed wherever he chose on this floor.
He made his way across the smooth-cut stone floor, and the guards didn't even hesitate to let him in. Just opened that door with the eagle carved in its paneling as if this sort of thing happened all the time, which meant it probably did.
The prince's underground bedchambers were quite luxurious with a separate foyer and series of rooms. The bedroom itself was all the way in the back of this, the door unlocked. A large four-poster bed with gold and turquoise veils dominated the focus of the room. Two separate seating areas with low couches and thick cushions and tables with low carved bent legs took up most of the rest of the bedchamber itself. The eagle and hawk motifs reflected in every piece of furniture and the designs on the rugs. Three carved squares held small candles, and the torches burned with a scent similar to vanilla and chai. Almost enough to cover over the bitter scent of howler ash and the even stronger smell of a vinegary alcohol.
The prince lay in bed, his face fully healed, most likely thanks to the suphrite. His arm rested over his forehead as he breathed peacefully. For now.
The large bowl in the bathroom that served to catch extra water falling from the pipes was perfect for what he needed. He filled it with cold water and carried it over to the bed.
The prince continued to sleep, his brow slightly furrowed.
Time to wake up.
He poured the water directly on his face.
Gabrice yelped, then choked, springing out of bed. "What in the—"
"Wake up. We're talking now." WroOth tossed the basin on the bed and strode over to one of the chairs. He moved the white fur seat so that it was facing Gabrice.
"What in the abyss do you think you're doing, woman?" He scrubbed his face with his arm, grimacing. "If you came here to—"
