was silent, the outline of a body decipherable beneath a sheet. I hated how close they put him to those who’d already passed through to the realm of the gods. Crossing the tent quickly, I came to his side and gripped his clammy hands in mine.
Weak eyes framed by ever-darkening bags stared up at me. “Aleksander.”
I swallowed the rock in my throat. “What happened to that ale?”
A brittle laugh scraped through his chest, followed by a wet cough flecked with red droplets. “Might have to wait on that.”
“Where are you hurt?” I scoured the length of his body, searching for wounds or bandages only to come up empty-handed. And yet, the ashen tint to his skin spoke volumes, and I tightened my hold on his fingers.
“Nowhere. You think some Rhyne soldiers would get the best of me?” He coughed again, and I ignored the sticky feel of blood on my hand. “I’ll be fine come morning. Just need some rest.”
My heart gave a pitiful thud. Not a single soldier had survived the plague. The symptoms baffled even our best healers. Priests and priestesses were brought in, and still no one could get a grip on the sickness rampaging through my camp. And while I couldn’t possibly be held responsible for something as uncontrollable as this, I couldn’t help but blame myself. This entire war was because of me. Because I’d fallen in love with a Rhyne princess and slighted the High Priestess who’d coveted me. Her curse had killed my one true love, and yet Amira’s parents hadn’t believed me. No one believed me. Even now, when the battles were done and men crowded around fires with ales in their hands, there were whispers. Frustrations. They had all believed my claim once. But too much death soured their perceptions. I didn’t blame them—curses were rare and hardly left proof. Whether or not I had ended Amira’s life, I was responsible for her death.
“Hey, stop that.” Thaleus wrenched his hand free to place it gently on my forearm. “I can see those wheels turning. This isn’t your fault. I’ll be fine by morning, just you wait. Now, get out of here. You don’t need to see,” he winced as a piercing shriek split the air, “or hear any of this.”
“Thaleus…” Words failed to form, and my chest tightened. What would I do once he was gone? Who would I joke with or share ales with or let myself just be with? No one wanted to brush elbows with the prince who started it all. If I were in their shoes, fighting a war I didn’t understand, I’d be hesitant to rally to my side, too.
Go home. I clenched my jaw tight. Returning to Wilheim and the safety of my castle would only cause more discord. I needed to be here, fighting with them. Not commanding from afar.
I owed them all so much.
“Go on. I need to sleep.” He slapped my arm with a slackening hand that lacked any semblance of strength.
I turned without another word and slipped through the tent. My heart was as heavy as the dead weight of each body I passed. When I broke out into the camp, I gulped down air…and fled. Broke into a sprint and ran toward the fringes of our settlement, ignoring the pensive stares of my royal guard as they decided whether to follow. I prayed they didn’t. I needed space. Room to breathe. And so did my men. They needed time away from me, time to vent their frustrations and speak their minds without fear of the royal house coming down on them. There was too much death hanging low over us all.
I didn’t know how long I ran, only that I did until the sounds of camp faded in the distance. Slumping to the ground, I worked muck and grime between my fingers as I sought for a grip on reality. And then I crumbled. Because I knew. I knew Thaleus wouldn’t make it. I knew this war, all this death, was on me. No matter what lies I told myself, this was my doing. A sob cracked my chest, and I held my head in my hands. Thaleus wasn’t the first brother or sister I’d lost over the years. There was Helena. Broderick. Parvis. Amira… So many more. There was no solace to be found, but at least it was quiet out here. At least there were no whispers or false smiles. At least death was stuck in that gods-awful