to transform him into such an animal, but nothing would come with the manacles.
My wrists were burned and gave off a rancid smell. Without proper clean water or ointment, they would probably become infected, and there was a good chance I would either die from sepsis or they would have to be amputated.
Neither was a favorable option for me. I would have to escape or die trying.
Picking up a spoon, I ate what little food they had given me for dinner—a weak porridge, which tasted strangely sweet. It was better than the bland porridge I had been given for breakfast.
Just when I thought I was recovered enough to attempt an escape or break the enchantment on the manacles, the world started to tilt and the faces blurred. Dropping the spoon, I kicked the pewter plate away in disgust.
Drugged.
They had drugged me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
The wagon stopped, the door of my cage opened, and footsteps drew near. I tried to open my eyes, but I was too weak.
A shadow passed over me as someone kneeled by me to take stock of my wrists. A curse fell from their lips as they touched the burned areas. I moaned, the excruciating white pain blinding me.
“Is this her?” a deep but somewhat familiar voice asked.
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Earlsgaarde’s whiny voice answered. “This is the girl I told you about—Eville’s adopted daughter.”
I tried to open my eyes, to take in the new speaker, but all I saw was a dark blur. He gasped when our eyes met.
“It can’t be,” the strange man said. “I don’t believe it.”
“Believe it, Your Majesty. Test her and you will know I speak the truth.”
“It’s really her?” he asked. “She’s alive after all this time?”
My head rolled and I muttered incomprehensibly. My wrist moved and pus leaked out from beneath the shackles, a rank smell along with it.
“By the stars, Earlsgaarde. What is that stench?”
“It’s her wounds, my king. They are festering. She will die soon, so maybe we should move up the execution.”
The king’s voice was muffled as he spoke through his sleeve. “No, send for a healer immediately. Take her to the guest suite and make sure she’s comfortable.”
“As you wish, Your Majesty.”
Time was nonexistent in my prison. The next time I opened my eyes, there were two more blurred shapes standing over me. Based on the shapes of their brown, dirty boots, it was one male and one female.
“This is going to hurt.” The man carefully began to clean around my shackles with a damp cloth. He lifted the manacles, but my burned skin came with it. I screamed in agony as white blindness came over me again, and then I mercifully passed out.
Warmth. I was warm. After shivering for hours, I finally felt warmth, or maybe I had died. A rough wool blanket was tucked over my shoulders, and I opened my eyes to find that I was no longer in the cell but in a clean bed. My wrists were bandaged carefully in white linen under the heavy manacles, and the smell of disinfectant hit my nose.
I didn’t recognize the bedroom but cared little because the pain had stopped.
The bed dipped as someone sat on the mattress near my hip, but I didn’t look, just stared off at the stone wall.
“Oh, Rosalie.” His soft voice speaking my name broke my heart. “Rose. What have you done to yourself?”
“You did this to me. You abandoned me.”
“No, that wasn’t me.” Xander’s voice changed, became deeper in resonance. His blurred shape grew fuller until the person sitting next to me was a stranger.
His face was full, covered by a well-groomed black beard. His red robes were trimmed in fur, his buttons gold. Wealth adorned his brow in a gold circlet. I looked upon kind yet sad brown eyes.
“Who are you?” I asked, my throat sore from disuse.
“I’m King Basil of Florin.”
Hearing his name instantly made me want to lash out at him. I raised my hand, but he carefully clasped it between his large ones to keep me from hurting him or myself.
“My executioner,” I gasped.
“Your savior,” the king corrected before yelling out, “Earlsgaarde, bring forth the imperial rose.”
Earlsgaarde entered carrying a dying rosebud on a plate, and I trembled when I looked upon it. He lifted the tray and offered it to me, but I refused to touch it.
“Touch the flower,” King Basil commanded, and I froze, already knowing what would happen.
Earlsgaarde put the tray down next to the bed, grabbed my wrist, and pricked my hand with a