Page 97 of The Prince of Power

“No.”

I giggle. “Your favorite word.”

His gaze darkens. “You’re in no condition to go riding.”

I roll my eyes. “I’ll bet my temperature isn’t even a hundred.”

His jaw tightens. “We’ll see. If you’re even the slightest bit lightheaded, you’ll be on my horse.”

The thought sends a quiet thrill through me.

A while later, we’re riding together. The crisp air bites at my cheeks. But beneath the chill, there’s a dull throb behind my eyes and a heaviness in my limbs I can’t ignore.

When we’d gotten to the small stable after packing and leaving the cottage, Damian touched my forehead again. His expression was tight, but he didn’t say anything. I felt his intent gaze as I mounted the horse. Since then, he’s checked in with the state of my health every other minute. I’ve pretended to be annoyed by his fussing, but the truth is…I like it. It’s nice to be cared for.

“You’re quiet,” Damian says.

“I haven’t gotten to ride at all since I’ve been at Ashford. I’m enjoying it.”

“You’re sweating. It’s barely sixty degrees.”

“I’m fine,” I say, blinking against the dizziness creeping in.

Damian rides his horse next to mine, and before I can react, his hand is back on my forehead. “You’re worse than earlier.”

I shake my head, and the movement makes me sway. “No I’m?—”

“Holy shit,” Damian grits out. “You’re done!”

Big hands grip my waist and lift me into the air. A moment later, I’m on his horse. One hard arm wraps around my belly, drawing me against him.

The heat of him, the steady rhythm of his breathing—it sinks into me as the horse starts to move.

“My horse,” I murmur.

“He’ll follow, Ava. I can’t believe you— No, it’s my fault.” His voice is hard. “You said you were fine, and I wanted to give you your independence. I hope you enjoyed it. Next time, I’ll trust my instincts.”

I let out a breathless giggle. “You let me make a single choice for myself. Very magnanimous.”

“You’re lucky you’re sick.” There’s a smile in his voice. “Otherwise I would punish you for your sarcasm.”

The steady rhythm of the horse and Damian’s warm body lull me into a daze.

The next thing I know, we’re off the horse, and Damian is walking up the castle steps with me still in his arms. I must have dozed off. A staff member appears, an older man with salt and pepper hair.

“Send for a doctor.” Damian’s voice is sharp. “Now.”

I blink groggily as he strides through the heavy wooden doors, carrying me like I’m made of glass. The usual chill of the stone corridors barely touches me, cocooned as I am in the heat of him.

“Damian,” I rasp. “You don’t have to make this a scene.”

His voice drops low. “Let me take care of you, Ava.”

The doctor just left. He barely examined me before Damian started interrogating him like he was on trial. The man assured him—twice—that I’m fine. It’s just a low-grade fever.

Now I’m lying sprawled across my bed while Damian fills the copper tub by the balcony. Steam curls up in the air. The sound of the water is hypnotic.

“I want to nap,” I mutter. “No bath.”

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