Chapter 18

The first thing I feel is weight. Not the arrow in my chest—that’s a memory of fire and shock—but the crush of brocade and fur across my ribs, pinning me, hot and suffocating. My lungs scrape for air. Something rough presses against my cheek. Stone, I realize. I’m on stone. But it’s warm, as if the whole palace has a fever. I try to move and pain knifes through my shoulder, not my heart. Not dead, then. Damn it. “Stay still.” His voice hits me before his face does. Low, shredded,...