CLARABEL’S POV

My fingers were locked around Kaedryn’s small, limp hand, holding his cold palm pressed against my cheek.

His breathing was too slow. Every time his small chest sank down, I held my breath, terrified it wouldn't rise again. Tears had dried in stiff tracks across my face, but the initial wave of blind panic had settled into something far worse. Rage was burning in my chest.

The healer had wrapped his broken wrist in clean linen and cleaned the cut on his hairline, but he hadn't moved. He lay under the thick wool blankets, pale as tallow, completely unresponsive to my voice or my touch.

"Kaedryn," I whispered,...