Page 102 of The Frog Prince
“Tell him that my answer remains the same. He should give up this chase now. Only ill will befall him in the end.”
He didn't wait for their reply before leaping, air rushing over his heated skin before the water swallowed him.
They shouted, upset and angry but unwilling to risk their own safety just to get him. Unwilling to go that extra mile just to emerge victorious.
He swam, despite the pain and the burn from the wounds on his skin.
He swam and pushed and fought for hours, until the dark water gave way to deep green, glowing and familiar. He pulled himself out into the ruins, dripping and tired as he stumbled inside and headed for Otto.
Alwin found Otto at his workstation, hands shaking, body tense, brow furrowed as he mixed the tonics that would help people.
“Otto,” he called.
Otto whipped around, dropping everything and running toward him.
“Alwin!” he cried, scooping him into his arms and sitting down on the floor with him safely cradled. He looked over every inch of him, pausing with a hand hovering over his torn and bloodied shirt. “They hurt you.”
“They tried,” Alwin said. “Minor wounds, young master. A small price to pay for your safety.”
Otto set his jaw. “I still want them healed, my prince.”
“I am in the best of hands then.” Alwin smiled before refocusing. “Do you have it?”
Otto met his eyes seriously, not misunderstanding. “The cure?”
Alwin nodded.
“I have something.” Otto glanced at his station and frowned. “I don’t know if it will work.”
“There’s only one way to find out.”
“I want you healed first,” Otto said, not letting go of him.
Alwin shook his head, laying a hand over Otto’s. “A few bandages and I will be right as rain by morning. Your village needs you more. Tell me what to do to help and then we can plan our next move.”
Seventeen
Otto
Brigit looked so frail. It had only been a few days since he had left, yet she had declined so much that Otto feared nothing he had to offer would be able to bring her back.
He sat next to her bed, holding her thin hand between his. Her bones felt so brittle that he was scared of shattering them with his touch. The loose skin around them was evidence of the weight lost, and the greyish hue to it put her closer to the grave than it did a vibrant, happy life.
Was he too late?
Was all of it for nothing?
“She has barely been awake these past two days,” Brigit’s daughter Frieda said, holding a mug of tea in her shaking hands.Her eyes were red-rimmed from crying, and she looked as if she too had lost weight since Otto had last seen her. “We try to keep her comfortable, but nothing seems to be working anymore. She won’t eat. She can’t stand up. I fear this is the end.”
Otto swallowed bile, feeling the little vial of glowing liquid burning through his pocket. It was so unsafe, what he was thinking of doing. So risky.
“Frieda,” he said, despite his reservations. “I… We should talk.”
“Okay.” She came closer, pulling a chair up next to his own, beside her mother’s bed.
“I am about to tell you something, and I want you to think carefully about it.”
“I am already aware of her condition, Otto,” Frieda said. “I do not think you could say anything graver than that.”
