Page 12 of Courting the Dragon Prince
They’re not looking at me. It’s just a trick of the light, of the drink … or of the shimex mushroom dust.
What had the herbalist said the side effects were? Luther hadn’t really been paying attention. He’d just been too desperate for something to help calm him.
Swallowing, he began to dance again. But the bliss that had swept through his blood had dissolved. As he danced, he watched the musicians, tense and on edge.
The woman Luther had knocked into turned and stared straight at him.
Luther looked at the woman.
But no. She wasn’t looking at him. She just smiled and danced, not paying him any mind.
It’s just my mind playing tricks.
Still … it was time to leave.
Shivers running through his body, Luther turned and made his way to the door. The warmth had left his blood replaced by a chill. He reached for the door handle.
“Buried and dead.” The whispered words brushed against his neck.
Luther spun. No one stood behind him. Everyone in the bar continued drinking, dancing, or playing instruments. No one noticed Luther leaving.
Shaking, he opened the door and dashed out into the night. His feet pounded on the cobblestones as he tried to find his way through the alleys and streets. A fog had descended on the city.
Shadows moved in the mist.
He heard laughter. A child’s laughter. A figure ran towards him. A boy.
Errol!
Crying out, Luther tripped, falling on his arse.
This isn’t real. This isn’t real. Errol isn’t actually here! He can’t be.
Errol stopped right in front of him.
Luther stared up at the child, his cousin as a boy. His curly dark hair fell into his eyes. Errol tilted his head.
“I don’t think we are meant to use the tunnels anymore,” Errol said.
Luther choked.
Then Errol laughed and ran past Luther, disappearing into the swirling fog.
Luther breathed heavily, gaze staring after Errol until his shadow disappeared completely.
Whispers began, too low for Luther to hear the words. Luther needed to get up. Luther needed to run. He needed to get back to his room. But he couldn’t move.
The whispers increased in volume.
“Why do you get to dance?”
“Why do you get to be merry?”
“Why do you get to live?”
“Buried and dead,” a voice hissed.
“I’m sorry,” Luther stammered.
