Never Yours ✔️

Ch. 2

 Arysa knelt by Demain's bed. Sweat dripped down his skin. It matted his dark brown hair and moistened his parted lips. His chest rose and fell unsteadily and his pulse threaded restlessly beneath her cold fingers. She dabbed at his brow with a cool cloth.

"I'm so sorry, Em." She murmured. Her small hands wrapped around his. "This was never supposed to happen to you."

The physician came into the room and felt the sides of the prince's neck.

"What is it?" Arysa asked, her eyes searching the old man's grave face. "What did they say?"

The physician slumped into the chair by the nightstand with a defeated sigh. "It's as we feared. The soldiers say he fell sick overnight. No injuries. No contusions. He was fine when he fell asleep and in the morning he was like this."

Arysa dipped the cloth back in the icy water and wrung it out. She wiped the sweat off Demain's collarbone.

"So it was poison?" Her tone lifted. "Then there's an antidote. We can at least keep him alive until—"

"Arysa." His sharp tone stilled her. Her eyes cast to the floor. "It isn't poison."

She tossed the cloth into the bucket as she stood. The water sloshed over the rim, splattering her dress.

"What are you going to say to the king, then? When he asks how his son died? What will you tell him? You couldn't identify his ailment so you gave up?"

The physician got to his feet. "Watch your tone, child." He scolded. "I thought you of all people would know better than to let your emotions get the best of you."

The anger filtered out of her. She rubbed her eyes, tangling her fingers in her hair.

"What am I supposed to do?" She breathed. "I can't just let him die. He's as much of a brother to me as Ashlyn is. It feels like I'm betraying him to do nothing."

"But that is all we can do." The physician's tone softened. He stepped near her and placed his hands on her shoulders. "He's laid his shadow over our prince. We do not possess the power to fight it off."

Arysa pulled away from his touch. "Then we are dead already."

She cast one last dejected look at her cousin before she left. The halls were as empty as if half the city had never returned. The guards were scattered sparsely. She only passed one on her way back to her room. There were no servants anymore. Those that weren't off at war worked in the fields for food or hauled water from the river. Their well had run dry.

Her room felt desolate. The air heavy as it sank down her lungs. She pulled the curtains aside from her bed and crawled onto the satin covers. She crossed her legs beneath her and hung her head in her hands.

"What am I supposed to do?" She breathed.

A cold chuckle shattered the silence and Arysa flinched back. She turned, leaning back on the palms of her hands. Serden stepped up to the bed, letting his cloak fall away from his body. His hand stretched out towards her, but she pushed him away.

"What are you doing here?" Her voice was quiet. "You've had your fun. Enough, already."

His snake eyes were cold. He hovered over her like a dangerous python, his sneering lips ready to strike.

"I heard you ordered clothes and blankets to be given to your poor, mad brother." He taunted.

"He's not mad." Arysa snapped.

She pushed him back and stood, but he pressed closer. "Then why did you have him sent to dungeons, to waste away along with your pathetic, sick cousin?"