Page 89 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

She wasn’t going to stop needing him—his gentle strength, his constant love, and his deep belief in the better side of her nature—but they both knew he couldn’t be with her much longer.

Before that thought could crush her, she said quickly, “I’ll visit you tomorrow.”

“Before you take a rowboat into a bay full of warships?”

“Someone has to find the truth, Father.”

“And why does that someone have to be you?” His voice broke, and he raised a trembling hand to smooth her cheek.

“Because this is my kingdom. My people. If I’m not capable of protecting them when they need it, I don’t deserve the crown.”

“Charis—”

“I’ll be careful.”

He sighed.

Ilsa entered the room and quickly moved to his side. “Your Highness, it’s time for dinner. Cook made smoked beef and roasted apples.” She gave Charis a quick, sincere smile. “I’m glad to see you up and about.”

“Thank you, Ilsa,” Father said as he took her arm and struggled to his feet. Turning to look again at Charis, he said quietly, “I love you, sweet Charis. Get some rest.”

She swallowed against the pain in her throat and said, “I love you too.”

When the door closed behind them, Tal came to the bed and lifted the water glass to Charis’s lips.

“I can do that for myself.”

“Or you could rest and gain your strength so that tomorrow, two days after being poisoned, you can row a boat into a rocky bay in the middle of the night to see if it’s full of warships intent on killing you.”

“May I remind you that the rowboat was your idea?”

Tal’s eyes narrowed. “I’m aware.”

“Besides, you’ll be with me. I’ll be perfectly safe.”

Tal’s throat bobbed, and he fumbled the glass as he tried to set it on the bedside table. It struck the edge of the table and toppled to the floor. He muttered something under his breath as water spread across the plush white rug beside Charis’s bed.

“Tal.”

“I’ll get a cloth.”

“Tal.”

He stilled, though he kept his eyes on the spill soaking into her rug. “Yes?”

“Thank you for saving my life.”

He crouched beside the bed and looked into her face. There was misery in his eyes. Finally, he said, “I thought you were going to die, Charis. That I was too late. It was . . . Don’t ever put me through that again. I can’t . . . I need you to be alive arguing with me and trying to beat me at swordplay, making me laugh and making me proud as you destroy someone who thought they could get the best of you. I don’t ever want to catch your falling body and watch you slip away from me again.” His voice shook.

She reached for him, resting her hand against his cheek. He leaned into her touch and closed his eyes. She tried to keep her hand there, but exhaustion swooped in as if she hadn’t just spent a day and a night asleep.

“I’m sorry I scared you,” she said as she slumped back.

Instantly, Tal sprang forward. Plumping her pillow, he pulled the covers into position and smoothed the edges with quick, practiced movements. When he was sure the princess was comfortable, he moved to the window and shut the curtains, leaving the room in a twilight haze of purple shadows.

Charis’s eyes fluttered closed. As the heaviness of sleep rushed in, she thought she heard Tal whisper something, but then slumber took her, and whatever Tal was saying drifted into the darkness and was gone.

Thirty-Three

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