Page 41 of Royal Rebel

Tingling had set in around each sting mark, but Devon assured her that wasn’t a bad sign. Neither was the numbness or the fact that her heart still pounded, even hours later.

She wasn’t sure if her head ached from the scorpion venom, or the faersin the queen had poisoned her with. Thank the fates her semi-paralysis and that sick need to please the queen had seemed to wear off quickly, once she wasn’t breathing in the tainted flowers. The strange veil that had clouded her mind lifted soon after she was safely in Grayson’s room, and the horror that had been dulled was exposed in full force.

She’d panicked, and Devon had held the salts to her nose and coaxed her to breathe through the attack, which lasted an eternity. She didn’t think it was just because of her disturbing tea with the Poison Queen, but everything else as well. Her past coming back to haunt her. Grayson’s torture—her helplessness as he’d screamed. Being in the same room as Grayson and Tyrell when their hatred was enough to strangle the air in her lungs. Their desperate plan to escape. To go to ashipthat would take her to Mortise—to Desfan.

You’re barely worth anything to Mortise now . . . You wouldn’t even know how to fit in there, would you? . . . You’re broken, Meerah . . . You’re no longer the person you were born to be . . . Your brother, certainly, would be better off without you.

The words felt jumbled in her mind. Were they her own thoughts? Or had Iris said those things? Fates, so much of their conversation was muddled. Missing. But the ache she felt was heart-crushingly real.

You’re broken, Meerah.

Devon stayed with her through the entirety of her panic. His soothing voice and compassionate touch steadied her, and finally her panic eased. He treated the scorpion stings as best he could. He’d laid a bandage with ointment around her hand, and then periodically peeled it back to inspect the swelling.

At the moment, a slight frown pulled at Devon’s mouth, his focus on her hand even though he’d just spoken to Fletcher.Please stop.

Mia peered at her old guard, who continued to pace the room, his fury still white-hot. “You don’t understand,” he growled at the physician. “The queen is a fates-blasted—”

“Stop,” Devon said again. “Or I’ll ask you to leave.”

Fletcher bristled. “You didn’t see what she did to—”

“I know what she did.” Devon’s gaze lifted from Mia’s hand, and for the first time she realized the physician’s calm was not deep. His voice might be carefully measured, his ministrations gentle, but his eyes blazed as he looked at Fletcher. “I hate the queen for what she did. But your words aren’t attacking her, they’re agitating Mia, and that needs to stop.”

Fletcher’s mouth clamped shut. He looked to Mia, and his shoulders dropped. “I’m sorry.”

Her tongue slid over her dry lips. “It’s all right.”

The old guard’s face crumpled. “Fates, it’s not all right. She hurt you. She made you hurt yourself. I should have moved faster. She walked out without you, and I . . . I knew something was wrong. She told me you were just finishing your tea . . .”

“It’s not your fault.”

Her tea with the Poison Queen had been horrific. Far worse than anything she could have imagined when she first got the summons. The scorpion hadn’t even been the worst part. It had been the weight in her chest—the burning need to please Iris. She didn’t think she’d betrayed Grayson in any way, or told the queen of their plan to escape, but . . . Faersin was terrifyingly potent. She’d been completely malleable, left vulnerable to Iris’s non-existent mercy. The mere memory made her shudder.

“Rena will be back soon with some food,” Devon said softly, cradling Mia’s palm as he draped the bandage over the back of her hand. “Having something to eat will help you settle. Are you still feeling the effects of the faersin?” Devon had known the drug, once Mia had been able to tell him what the queen had used on her.

“I don’t think so,” Mia said. “I just have a headache.”

“I have something that will ease that. I didn’t want you to take anything while the faersin was still clouding your head, but it should be all right now.”

Mia gratefully accepted the medicine, and after she swallowed it down, she regarded Devon. “When Grayson returns, can you please help him?” She quickly explained about the cut on his jaw, as well as the burn made by Flame’s Breath. “His father told him not to seek treatment unless infection set in,” Mia admitted. “I . . . hoped you might check on him anyway.”

Devon’s eyes were clouded, but he nodded. “Of course.”

“What’s going to be next?” Fletcher muttered. “Grayson is being tortured. The queen might have killed you. This place isn’t safe. It never has been, but this is madness.”

Mia pursed her lips. She’d promised Grayson that she wouldn’t have this conversation without him present. But . . .

She cleared her throat and said softly, “It’s only going to get worse.”

“Why do you say that?” Devon asked, at the same time Fletcher said, “It’s because Grayson is back.”

Mia shook her head. “No, it’s because of who I am.”

“Because of who you are to Grayson?” Fletcher tried to clarify.

She exhaled slowly. “That’s only a part of it.”

Wariness entered Devon’s eyes. “Perhaps you shouldn’t say anything more. I don’t think the king would—”

---