Page 152 of The Kingdom's Reckoning
"Don’t leave," Laurince croaked, chest heaving. The whites of his eyes were streaked with red as he looked up at her.
"I’ll go," Rian offered, pressing a gentle hand on her shoulder before leaving.
Myra settled on the bed. "I’m so sorry, Laurince," she said, voice trembling as tears bit the backs of her eyes.
"It’s not your"—he hissed out in pain—"fault."
Frowning, Myra dug deeper into her core. She found every droplet of power she could and poured it into Laurince. Shewould give him every drop if she could. Anything that would help him. Anything that would save him.
Laurince’s eyes snapped shut once more as agony rippled across his face, his muscles contorting. Silently, she slipped the belt back into his mouth. She brushed his hair back, wishing she could do more for him, wishing she could make it all go away. But pain, she had found, was the hardest feeling to extinguish.
Footsteps sounded, but Myra didn’t look to see who it was, as if afraid to take her eyes off Laurince.
"Here’s the tea," Phaia said, placing it on the nightstand.
Myra nodded. Then a rag appeared in front of her, and she grabbed it, mumbling a quiet thank you. She dabbed the damp fabric on Laurince’s forehead. Sweat soaked his entire body.
"We should turn him over so we can clean his back," Rian suggested.
Myra nodded and got up. Laurince groaned as they moved him. The moment they did, Phaia gasped and ran out of the room. Myra faintly heard the handmaiden retching somewhere in the house.
Laurince’s back was even worse than it had been when they had left the castle. Right between his shoulder blades and around the protruding bone, his skin was torn open, a strange liquid oozing from the wound.
Laurince instantly screamed out the moment the wet cloth touched the wound. Myra ripped her hand away, muttering an apology.
"It’s—it’s fine," he said over the belt in between heavy, labored breaths. "Just—be careful."
Nodding, Myra gulped. She lifted the cloth, but she struggled to touch the wounds again. Her hand trembled as it hovered over the raw skin.
Rian placed a hand on her back and reached for the rag. "I can do it," he offered quietly.
"No, I got it," Myra said, swallowing the hard lump in her throat. She returned to her spot on the bed and bit down on her cheek. Gingerly, she dabbed at Laurince’s back. She wiped the blood and liquid from his skin as carefully and as softly as she could while soothing the pain.
Rian brought over a pail of water, and she wrung out the rag. The water turned dark immediately. Rian hurried out of the room and returned moments later with a fresh pail and a new rag. She took it, soaked it with the fresh water, and gently laid both rags across Laurince’s back on the two wounds, letting the fabric cool his burning skin.
"I think we’re going to be here for a while," Myra said.
Rian ran a hand over his head and nodded. He glanced at the door, hesitant. "I’ll make sure she’s all right and that any guards outside didn’t hear anything," he said after a second. "Do you…?"
"I got him," Myra reassured. Although Laurince’s breathing was still ragged, his muscles had finally relaxed—at least marginally, allowing him to settle against the bed.
Rian gently squeezed Laurince’s ankle, then left, shutting the door behind him.
Myra looked down at Laurince. His head was turned to the side toward her, his eyes were shut, and deep wrinkles marked his forehead. Without questioning it, she laid beside him. The bed was small for the two of them, but she fit when she turned on her side. She rested her hand beside his, brushing her pinky across his. His eyelashes fluttered at the touch, but he didn’t open his eyes.
Myra took a shuttering breath and grabbed his hand, entwining their fingers. She squeezed his hand gently, letting him know she was there and wasn’t leaving.
Chapter 59
GRAESON
Standingin the center of the cornfield, Graeson took a deep breath. He relaxed his body and dug deep within himself, coaxing the beast within. The dragon writhed beneath his skin. He rolled his shoulders back as a shudder rippled over his back.
Graeson was going to have to shift eventually. If it meant winning this war, what other option was there?
Moris' outbreak the day before had proven that they needed to get going sooner rather than later. If there was an army of winged soldiers, how long could Sebastian contain them until they grew antsy? If they were unleashed on the people of Vaneria in their rage-filled states, the likelihood of them being able to discern their enemies from the innocent was small.
Graeson, though, could even the odds.
