Chapter 43

The book?

Kosha’s illness-clouded mind scrambled to understand. A second later, the memory fell into place.

The ancient grimoire.

“Ah.”

Profound relief washed over him.

Kosha had been terrified that the tome had vanished into the castle’s depths.

“I’m so sorry. It must have startled you, didn’t it? I was in such a desperate hurry… I thought your chambers would be the safest possible place. I’m incredibly relieved to hear that it reached you.”

“Safest?” Lucien echoed, his voice dangerously flat.

“It was a grimoire containing the foundations of your antidote,” Kosha explained earnestly. “I didn’t fully understand what was happening in the library, but I knew it was extremely dangerous. I thought that if I could at least send the book to you, then… even if something terrible happened to me, you would still have a chance to be cured.”

As the quiet and painfully sincere explanation spilled from the mage’s lips, Lucien’s expression twisted into something indescribably strange.

Sensing the change, Kosha immediately fell silent, terrified that he had committed some grave offense.

Lucien crossed his arms over his broad chest and leaned back. “Tell me again. How exactly did you escape the library?”

“Well…” Kosha’s cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “A lizard suddenly appeared and guided me through the darkness.”

Lucien stared at him.

Silence stretched between them.

“A glowing magical lizard,” Kosha added in a tiny voice, holding his hands apart to indicate its size. “It was bright green and about this big…”

It was the unvarnished truth, but saying it aloud to the most powerful man in the kingdom made him sound utterly deranged. His voice dwindled into a pathetic whisper.

Lucien appeared to agree with that assessment. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rubbed his temples, his expression burdened by profound, soul-deep exhaustion.

“Very well,” he muttered, plainly refusing to engage with the insanity of a magical reptile. “We will discuss your reptilian savior another time.”

Even if we discuss it a hundred times, that is exactly what happened.

Kosha watched him helplessly.

Lucien rose and smoothed the front of his surcoat. “I will have dinner sent to your quarters this evening. Make certain you eat all of it. Consider today your final day of bed rest.”

“But Your Highness,” Kosha interjected nervously, “what about your sleeping arrangements?”

“I will manage my own sleep.” Lucien swept one hand through the air with absolute irritation. “Beginning tomorrow morning, you will report directly to my private office.”

Kosha’s eyes widened. “To your office, Your Highness?”

“Whether you are translating a grimoire, researching antidotes, or merely breathing, you will do it within my line of sight.”

The declaration carried absolute finality.

Despite the tyrannical and entirely unilateral command, Kosha offered no resistance. He merely blinked, then nodded with the same infuriating obedience.

This spineless behavior is precisely how a scholar like Mailot managed to drag him into a death trap without the slightest resistance.

Disgust stirred in Lucien’s chest.

Obedience to the Crown was expected, but this complete lack of self-preservation in the face of anyone who gave him an order was deeply unsettling. Still, repairing the mage’s shattered personality was not Lucien’s responsibility.

Efficiency demanded proximity. If Kosha was concealing treasonous secrets behind those wide, frightened eyes, confining him to the royal office would eventually force the truth into the open.

As Lucien turned toward the heavy oak door, Kosha shifted restlessly against the pillows.

“Um… Your Highness?”

Curious despite himself, Lucien paused and glanced over his shoulder.

After a long and agonizing hesitation, the pale mage offered him an awkward, breathtakingly fragile smile, then blurted out the most absurd sentiment Lucien had heard all day.

“Thank you very much for bringing the meal. I… I promise I’ll work incredibly hard on synthesizing your treatment starting tomorrow.”

The feeling that bloomed in Lucien’s chest was indescribably strange, a jarring collision of suspicion and an unfamiliar protective warmth.

Kosha was the most maddening and contradictory puzzle the prince had ever encountered.

“Right,” Lucien managed.

He had waited three agonizing days merely to confirm that the mage was alive and demand answers. Yet the fearsome Prince of Izeland found himself turning on his heel and retreating from the sickroom as though fleeing a battlefield.

***