Page 84 of The Oracle of Dusk

His heart seized in his chest. Her face was a mess of gore and blood. How? He’d left her sleeping peacefully.

Princess forgotten, Theron stormed into the building, all but running through the halls of the guest palace. He tore open the door to his room, but she wasn’t there. Had she gone to her own? He raced back down the hall towards hers, ripping open the door. She sat there, curled up by the terrace, a hand to her ragged face.

Aurora was soaked through from the rain, her white nightgown stained red as blood poured down from her scalp, her cheeks, her nose, her lips, her neck. Theron rushed over, wrapping her in his magic. He pulled her hand away to better assess the damage—only to choke on his rage. Her eye had been nearly gouged out. Instead of using his magic to convince her body to mend itself, he poured it into her, filling her up, allowing his magic to draw on his energy instead. There would be no pain from this healing.

“Who did this to you?” he snarled.

Had it been one of the animals in the vivarium? Had it been one of Flora’s guards, trying to hurt him through her? Whoever it had been would pay with their lives.

Her tears fell in earnest then. She crumpled in on herself. He swept her up in his arms and held her close.

“Orithyia,” she whispered.

He tightened his embrace as every ugly thought raced through his mind. Maybe Batea had been right. Maybe the curse of a goddess was worth ridding the world of Orithyia’s taint. His little fairy had already nearly died of fever and been attacked by a vengeful spirit. She didn’t deserve this. Aurora wept in his arms.

“They came and you weren’t there.Whyweren’t you there?” Aurora sobbed. “You were gone and they took me. Where were you?”

Lightning flashed, transporting him in an instant.

“Where were you?!” his mother screamed. “Where were you when your brother needed you?!”

He was no longer a man grown, a king, but a scared young boy with a weight crushing his heart. His mother’s shriek rang in his ears in time with the thunder.

Theron shoved Aurora from his arms. She fell to the floor, her elbow taking the brunt of her weight. Her sharp intake of breath was drowned out by his racing heartbeat. Pain, as sharp as any blade, bloomed in his chest. Memories and nightmares alike assailed him, his gorge rising. He beat back his panic, but only just. He forced his memories away, pushed through the nightmares clinging to his waking mind. Fear and anger held him in their grip, and so he reached for anger, for safety.

“I am not the villain here! I am not responsible for your life!” he shouted.

Shock and fear flashed across her face as she clutched her injured arm. Then betrayal. His gut sank. Shame scalded him—he couldn’t believe he’d lost control so badly as to physically hurt her. Theron reached out a hand to heal her.

“Don’t,” she growled, slapping his hand away.

She gritted her teeth, her tears turned to rage in a heartbeat. Aurora stood, wincing, her wet, bloody gown clinging to her lean form. She was a wicked spirit, come to haunt him for his failures.

“I trusted you! I thought we were allies! You promised to protect me but you left me to get maimed by Orithyia and now merely asking where you were makesmethe villain?! Get out!”

Why did her accusations hurt so much? Why did it make him so angry? She was nothing to him.Nothing. How dare she wound him in this way? How dare she worm her way past his defences? How dare she remind him of his worst moments, when he’d been a moment away from regretting his actions towards her!

“Ungrateful swine!” he shouted.

“Worthless bastard!” She spat at him.

Another flash of lightning.

“Worthless,” his father hissed, his face transforming from devastation to rage in an instant. “You’re no son of mine!”

His father’s voice thundered through him in time with the tempest outside. She’d reduced him to that same cowering child, the horror of his ineptitude dawning on him. One life had depended on him then, and in his carelessness, he’d let it slip through his fingers.

He fought back another tide of rising nausea, fought to remain in the present, his heart pounding in his ears. He gripped her jaw in his hand as she glared daggers at him.

“You’d be dead if not for me!”

“Death would be a blessing!” she retorted, pulling free, tears streaming down her face, her eyes flashing with hopeless fury as another bolt of lightning lit the room.

“Save me,” Tisander whispered, blood pooling at the corners of his mouth.

He tried to push that nightmare away, but Tisander morphed into Aurora, blood leaking from her ruined eye. He’d failed her, and she’d paid in blood. Just as Tisander had paid with his life.

No! This isn’t the same! I healed her!

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