Page 27 of Embers of Fate
Will I ever stop feeling this sudden restlessness when our eyes meet? I hope not. “Nobody cares to know what I do or why...” I pause, trying to steady my racing heart. “I grew up free from any expectations, but I missed being home.”
“Oh, that’s right,” she says, understanding dawning in her eyes. “You were sent away.”
Her words are blunt, but not unkind, and I appreciate her honesty. “I guess that’s hardly a secret nowadays.” I shrug, trying to play off the old hurt. “Yeah, Bram sent me off to boarding school. A little over ten years ago.”
“Gavriil became king around that time...” she muses, her brow furrowing in thought. “It was that way for me too, you know. Losing my parents, growing up under my brother’s guardianship—not the boarding school part.”
“I’m glad you skipped living that part,” I mumble, unable to keep the bitterness from my voice.
Her expression shifts, lightness giving way to grave concern as her maroon eyes bore into mine. “You have every reason to resent Bram,” she tells me, her voice soft but fierce. “I know I would have, had I been displaced from my home.”
“Yeah, well...” I straighten, a familiar pain pulsing in my temples. The headache is back, hitting me with no warning, threatening to ruin this perfect moment. I wince, unable to hide my discomfort.
“Nik? What is it?” Sam asks, her hand smoothing over mine, the touch sending sparks racing through my veins. “Is it something I said?”
Gods, not now. Why did it have to happen now, of all times? “No, not at all,” I assure her. “It’s this headache...” I groan, pressing a hand to my temple, trying to will the pain away.
“We should head back,” Sam suggests, rising to her feet. “Maybe we should start thinking about dinner.”
I stand, mirroring her posture, the movement sending a fresh wave of agony through my skull. “Yeah, that must be it...” I say, trying to keep my voice steady.
But it’s not. I know full well that the pain won’t go away, not for a while at least. I’ve been getting these headaches on and off for months now, each one worse than the last. I wish to all the gods that it would disappear, that I could enjoy this precious time with Sam without the shadow of my own body betraying me.
We make the walk back to the house in silence, the pain throbbing behind my eyes with every step. I curse myself for spoiling our first evening together, for not being stronger, better.
Just perfect.
As we enter the house, I try to push aside the guilt and frustration, focusing instead on the simple task of finding my medication. But with each passing moment, the pain seems to intensify, a searing, white-hot agony that threatens to split my skull in two.
I stumble into the kitchen, my vision blurring at the edges as I frantically search for the familiar prescription bottle. I can feel Sam’s concerned gaze on me, but I can’t bring myself to meet her eyes, too ashamed of my own weakness.
I hate relying on medication, don’t like the idea of chemicals messing with my body. But after months of trying every natural remedy under the sun, I’ve come to accept that the drugs are the only thing that can stop the pain.
A low growl rumbles in my chest as I search, frustration mounting with each passing second. “Dammit, where are they?” I mutter under my breath.
I clench my jaw, fighting back the scream that threatens to tear from my throat. I can’t let Sam see me like this, can’t let her witness the depths of my flaws. She deserves better than this, better than a man who can’t even make it through a single evening without being brought to his knees by his own treacherous body.
And then, through the haze of agony, I hear Sam’s voice, soft and gentle, like a soothing balm on my battered soul. “Are these your pills?” she asks, and I could weep with relief.
I look up to see her holding the prescription bottle, and instant ease washes over me. “Yeah,” I manage, taking the bottle from her hand. If this fucking headache doesn’t go away soon, I know my mood will only sour further. And I don’t want that, not tonight, not when she’s here with me. “Thanks.” It’s all I can muster, but I hope she can hear the gratitude in my voice.
I pull off the cap and slip a couple of pills under my tongue, the bitter taste making me grimace. The drugs dissolve instantly, but I know the relief won’t be as immediate. Twenty minutes, the doctor said. It seems like an eternity when the pain is this intense, this all-consuming.
And the headaches seem to be getting worse each time, the agony more unbearable, the duration longer. My pulse quickens at the thought, a flicker of fear igniting in my gut. Maybe it’s just my imagination, my mind playing tricks on me.
I force myself to focus on Sam, on the way she’s watching me with those beautiful, concerned eyes. She’s here, with me, and that’s all that matters.
I step closer, my hand smoothing along her supple arm, unable to resist the urge to touch her. “Listen, I’m really sorry about this...” I say, my voice rough with pain and regret.
“No, don’t say that,” she soothes, and I can tell she means it, that she understands. “Do you want to eat something?” Her voice is sweet as honey.
But the thought of food makes my stomach turn, the nausea that always accompanies these headaches rearing its ugly head. “I think I’ll just lie down for a while...” I say, trying to keep my tone light, nonchalant. “If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Sam bites her lower lip, the gesture so tempting that it takes all my willpower not to pull her into my arms and kiss her senseless. “A good night’s rest is all you need.”
I nod, reluctant to leave her, but knowing that I’m in no state to be good company right now. “What about you?” I ask, not wanting her to feel neglected, abandoned.
She snickers, the sound like music to my ears. “Oh, I’m definitely eating something.” Her lips stretch into a smile. And gods, she’s never been more beautiful. “I’m hungry as hell.”
