Page 102 of The Hive Queen

Uneasiness curls through me. “What are you talking about?”

“Darius is alive.”

The words land like a bolder on the glass ceiling of my emotions, and I burst to my feet. “What? How? Where is he? Why didn’t you tell me sooner?”

Wariness fills his gaze. “I wasn’t sure you would be pleased.”

“I’m pleased! Ecstatic, even!” I slam a hand on the table. “Now, where is Darius?”

“Please, Merripen, sit down.” Lord Marius gestures to the chair I abandoned. “I will tell you what I know, but regaining Darius will not be easy.”

Heart pounding, I force myself to resume my seat. “Tell me everything.”

change in plans

- Flint -

As I rollover in bed, pain stabs through my skull.

Quiet snuffles ruffle my hair, followed by a wet nose against my cheek, and Anny whines softly.

When I crack open an eye, the clock on my nightstand announces it’s already noon, and I groan.

After stuffing Ailill into a new bottle, Mayn had driven me home, but I don’t even remember arriving at the cabin. I lift my hand and see the dirty cuff of my shirt.

Gods, did Mayn have to carry me inside and toss me into bed? I owe the siren a rack of thick beef ribs, or maybe just a cooler full of beef marrow bones.

With difficulty, I crawl out of bed and stumble to my door, every step sending fresh waves of pain through me.

If I ever needed a reminder that I’m not invincible, the message has been received.

As soon as I open my bedroom door, Anny streaks out down the hall and barks at the front door.

“Yell all you want, but I can’t move any faster,” I call out, then lift a hand to my head when even that hurts.

“I got her,” Marc answers, followed by the sound of the door opening.

When I shuffle out of the hall, I find Sharpe sitting at the dining table, the books from the Library spread out in front of him. He wears a pair of slacks with a fresh button-down shirt, and a tie rests on the table next to his elbow.

I stop next to him. “Did you sleep at all?”

“I got a few hours.” He glances up, revealing dark circles under his eyes. “How are you feeling?”

“Like someone took a cheese grater to my brain.” I peer toward the living room. “Did Amalia come back with you guys?”

“Yes,” she grumbles from the couch. “And I’d appreciate it if you’d all shut up. I’m trying to sleep off being impaled.”

“Go sleep in my room if you want quiet,” I tell her. “You can use my meditation room if you need it.”

She rises and sweeps past us with a glare, the throw blanket from the couch wrapped around her shoulders like the cape of a disgruntled princess.

Sharpe’s hand touches mine. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

I rub my temples. “Is there coffee?”

“Of course.” He rises and pulls out a chair. “Sit. I’ll make you some oatmeal, too.”

I grimace but nod. My stomach can’t handle anything else right now.

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