FOUR DAYS PASSED and there was still no sign of progress regarding the king's health. A status report appeared in front of Eoin at breakfast. It often took the form a lovely handwritten parchment that sat atop a marble platter, aged paper curled and bound with a thin piece of ribbon. The royal physician rarely excused herself from the king's bedside to deal with Eoin's anger in person.
The king's condition was still undiagnosed. His body was covered in leeches at least twice a day, for very short segments of time. Other remedies were also explored. One morning, the royal physician placed bright green witch-lights around the royal chamber, as well as several strange plants. She assured Eoin that the new additions held magical healing properties that would drastically improve the king's condition. All the magic needed in order to work was some time.
In the end, however, it really made no difference at all.
Ravenna spent most of her time hiding within the walls of her old bedroom. She never felt truly comfortable in Eoin's bedroom or in his actual presence. The more time that passed without improvement from his father, the more angry Eoin became. Most of his mornings were spent ruling over the kingdom, just as he had before. The crown prince went from one royal engagement to the next without much time to spare. The moment that the sun reached the middle of the sky, however, Eoin was storming through the castle, a mug of alcohol in hand.
He was a violent drunk.
One afternoon, Ravenna found herself in her bedroom, curled up on her old bed while she skimmed through Caelan's old spellbook. It was somewhat of a comfort item to her now. She was able to stare at the familiar scribbled words without really seeing, which allowed her to think more clearly. It gave her time to work through her plan to save Vyses and Lyth.
A heavy thump sounded against her door, drawing her attention toward it. Her brows furrowed in confusion as another thump rattled the door and then it burst open. Eoin stood in front of it. He leaned against the frame of the door for support.
"There you are," he said and pointed at her. "Beautiful girl."
Ravenna watched him, unimpressed. Eoin waddled toward a chair that was pressed against the wall across from her. It was part of a small seating area that Alyss had helped Ravenna create. He slumped down into the chair. The ale sloshed around within his mug, droplets splashing over its rim and onto his sapphire blue tunic. He set the mug down atop the marble table beside him, without really ever letting go of it.
"You have had quite a bit to drink," she observed and her eyes narrowed as he squinted at her. "A bit too much."
"Nah," he responded. His voice was thick with sleepiness. His free hand lifted, index finger outstretched in her direction again. "You," he insisted.
She arched an eyebrow. "I, what?"
His face scrunched up and flushed bright red — a fresh burst of anger flowing through his veins. "You are the problem," he snapped. His words were slurred.
She placed Caelan's spellbook on the mattress beside her and folded her arms across her chest. She opened her mouth to speak. Before any words could come out, Eoin had decided to speak again and effectively cut her off.
"You always read that stupid book," he started to shout. His fingers uncurled from their position around his mug so he could gesture wildly at her. He swayed to his feet, knocking over his drink in the process. The mug rolled across the table as a wave of mead washed over the tabletop and dripped down toward the white stone floor below. He seemed oblivious to it. "You never care about anything else. It is just that book. It's a tattered old thing anyways. It probably needs to be tossed."
Her jaw clenched. "You are drunk and you need to calm down before someone gets hurt."
He made a mocking face at her. "Before someone gets hurt," he sneered. "You are the one that will get hurt, woman. Remember your place."
"Eoin, you are drunk," she told him.
"I'm the prince. Princes do not get drunk."
"Why did you even come in here?" Ravenna asked him. "What is it that you needed?"
Eoin glared at her. Then his gaze shifted and he stared, unfocused, at the wall beside her. It took him a moment to gather his thoughts and respond. "You are my beloved wife," he remarked.
"I suppose that I am," she said.
"You are supposed to make me feel better," he said. He scratched at his head. "You aren't doing a very good job at it. You used to. But not now. You just read that stupid book."
She sighed and climbed out of her bed, making her way toward him. "You need to rest," she told him. She held out her arm — an offer to guide him back to his own bed, in his own room, far away from her.
Eoin ignored her arm. "You are supposed to comfort me," he persisted. His hands grabbed the sides of her waist and pulled her closer. Her nose curled as she breathed in the scent of soured mead mixed with a very heavy, unappealing musky smell.
"I am comforting you," she told him. "I am taking you to your bedroom."
He glared at her. "You're my wife."
She glared back. "And?"
"I can have you whenever I want," he said, his tone matter-of-fact. "You are mine."
"When you are sober," she corrected him.
The anger that came over him was expected. She had seen it boiling within his emerald eyes and festering within each word that escaped his mouth. His lips twitched and curled back over his teeth. One of his hands shot out, his fingers curling tight around her throat. His fingertips dug into her skin and pressed against her esophagus, making it impossible to breathe.
Before she could react, Ravenna found her back slammed against the wall. The air inside her lungs escaped at the impact. Her head spun. The side of the marble table poked at her hips, a deep bruise already forming.
"You are mine," Eoin growled.
Ravenna's fingers curled around his wrist. Her nails pierced through his skin and glowed bright, ice blue. Tendrils of her magic flowed through her fingertips and into his skin. It seeped through his muscles, freezing the veins and arteries in his arm solid.
A pained shriek burst past his lips. Startled, Eoin released her and surged backwards, cradling his arm to his chest. The ice blue glow lingered in his forearm for a moment and then faded.
She stepped closer to him and reached out, brushing her fingers through his hair. "Eoin, you have had a lot to drink. Are you alright?"
His expression was confused and wary. He didn't answer.
Her hand moved down and lightly patted his shoulder. "Come along," she said and started to usher him toward the door. "We need to get you into bed. You're drunk."
"I'm drunk," she heard him mutter under his breath.
Ravenna looped one arm through his and guided him through the hall. Her free hand rubbed gentle circles into the bruising skin of her neck. Adrenaline pumped through her and she did her best to ignore it. The violent and angry mindset that Eoin displayed while drunk mirrored his father's. No matter how many times she experienced it, it was hard for her to remain in control of herself. It took her every last ounce of self restraint to not unleash a hellish blizzard upon him.
As they walked through the hallways, Eoin continued to hold his somewhat injured arm against his chest. Ravenna paid it no mind and hoped fervently that he would forget the incident after some rest.
Eoin had no clue how closely he danced with death.
~
hey there!
i hope that everyone is doing okay this week, both mentally and physically ❤
You are so loved and so greatly appreciated!! Thank you all so much for taking the time to read this book. You mean the absolute world to me! You rock!! ❤❤❤
ash ❤