Page 62 of Beast and Remedy
A muscle along his jaw twitches before he inclines his head in a wordless apology.
Air barely returns to my lungs as my sister groans.
I whirl. “Marian, are you—”
My sister touches her forehead, shaking. “I-I don’t feel well. Something”—she slumps—“something doesn’t—”
A chill of fear shoots down my spine as her eyelashes flutter, panic crippling me as she sways and collapses face first on her plate of food.
“Marian!” I shriek as chairs screech, everyone moving.
I touch my sister’s throat, trying to feel her pulse.
It’s slow.Tooslow.
Beau circles me, his steps quick as his hand touches mine. I recoil, the heat catching me off guard. But he pays no attention to me, seeking the same pulse.
He guides Marian back and touches her forehead, her cheeks, and her neck. “Come on, Marian.”
But she isn’t waking.
Desperately taking matters into my own hands, I grab my cup and pour the entirety of its contents on her. The wine hits her, and her eyelashes flutter, and relief buckles me down.
I collapse into my chair, the distress whooshing through me as I let the glass fall away. Tremors seize my lungs, my heart, and my soul when her dreary eyes meet mine, blinking.
“Vi?” she croaks.
I cast aside my panic and spring forward, my napkin at the ready, and pat her face clean. “I’m here.”
She hums with approval, still looking faint as she takes my hand and squeezes twice.
My heart stutters, and I almost break, but I shove down my emotions with a tight-lipped smile as I send the message back.
Beau stands above us, studying Marian. “You fainted.”
Everyone else inspects her curiously, but I ignore them all, my focus on her despite the crash from my own heightened fear approaching.
My voice wobbles through the knot forming in my throat. “I-I’m sorry about the wine. I-I wasn’t thinking—”
“You were.” Beau clasps my shoulder.
The touch is warm, like it could set my body ablaze without warning. A touch I’ve missed for years. A touch I’ve loved—craved.
The heat from his proximity soothes the tension in my limbs, and I want to ease into it.
I want to relax against him. I want to savor his intoxicating scent and mold myself to him. I want to breathe in the air I haven’t felt capable of breathing for seven years.
Him.
Iwanthim.
“Forgive me for not acting sooner,” Beau utters, defeat and resignation dipping his voice. “Forgive me for everything.”
I lift my chin, seeking his golden eyes, but his sadness keeps him from looking at me. The unburdening of myself—of everything that’s happened with our kingdoms—feels easier to share now with him so close.
His proof of care is evident, and explaining ourselves now, when we may never get another chance to, feels like fate.
We may not be able to ask for his help, but we can offer our own apologies.
