I’d stitched myself up from battles with monsters and cultists quite a few times, but this would be more painful. I’d be hurting someone I loved, fixing an injury that I caused.
But it couldn’t be helped. Not if I wanted to save her life. I knelt by the bed and showed her the needle. “This is going to hurt. Even with the potion.”
“I don’t fucking care. Do it.”
She hissed in pain as I used the alcohol to clean the wound before I pushed the needle in, but didn’t make another complaint. I nearly stopped there, but knew I couldn’t, so I pretended like I was working on someone else instead, to stop the agony that was crying out inside.
Emma tried not to writhe as I stitched the wound shut. I took the bloody pieces of gauze and put them into a bucket I’d placed nearby as I worked. When I’d finished and the wound was closed, I began wrapping her middle with gauze. She tried to get up, but I put a hand on her shoulder and forced her to stay down.
“You need rest,” I said gently.
Her face twisted into a visage of rage that shined past the pain. “I need to know what got a hold of you back there,” she seethed. “You tried to kill me.”
The color drained from my face. “If I had known, I wouldn’t have—”
“Does it matter?” she snapped. “Would you do that to someone defenseless? To a cultist, anyone? It was inhumane.”
“I was trying to protect you. I thought killing the White Rose was the only way to save your life.”
Her voice was full of condemnation. “You didn’t even stop to listen. You just wanted to be a butcher.”
The cold words hit me like a stark look in the mirror, and there was no bearing my reflection. She was right. I was a butcher. And my madness had almost cost Emma her life. If I was a king and could judge myself for such a crime, I’d hang.
And gods, I wanted to. I deserved a noose around my neck.
My stomach churned with nausea. I couldn’t help it. I wretched into the bucket. What I’d done to my mate was too overpowering to comprehend.
I vomited into the bucket until there was nothing left in me. I grasped for a cup of water on the bedside. As I drank weakly, Emma swallowed.
“We don’t have time to talk about this now,” Emma said. “I need clothes.”
“For what?” Delirium was overtaking my mind, making it hard to concentrate.
“It’s almost midnight,” Emma said. “We’re going after Gabby.”
I’d completely forgotten about it. She might’ve left by now, to perform her sick ceremony to give her more power. The ceremony that would seal her as queen and confirm their coronation tomorrow.
Let them. Let her and Eli turn all of Malovia into a burning hell. I no longer cared, if it meant I could stay here and serve my mate.
Emma could read my mind. “We’re not giving up,” she said fiercely. “People are depending on us.”
“You can’t fight with that wound.”
“I don’t have to. We just have to get that ceremony on tape.”
“No, Emma. Stay,” I pleaded.
Her emerald eyes narrowed. “You don’t have any right to argue with me. We’re not throwing our last chance away because you fucked up.”
The coldness in her tone made me shiver. I could not object, merely do as she said. I crossed to my wardrobe. I took out a loose-fitting camisole and a baggy shirt that wouldn’t ail her new injury, along with a light jacket, a pair of jeans and sneakers. I placed them lightly on the bed beside her and bowed, falling to my knees and dropping my head.
I felt like a dog that had done wrong and was begging for forgiveness. I sure was walking around here with my tail between my legs. I deserved every second of the guilt.
“Why do you have those?” The edge of fear in her voice made me despise myself all over again. It was like she considered me some kind of creep, and not her boyfriend... not her mate.
“I... had new clothes purchased for you and stored in my room,” I confessed. “In case you ever spent the night.”
This was not how I’d imagined our first night in my room at the palace would go. Not at all.
Emma winced as she began separating the clothes.
“Do you need my help to get dressed?” I asked.
“I don’t want help from you.” Emma moved slowly as she slipped