Page 61 of Nocturn

“My lord, we need you to address the officers from the Western border,” a soft voice wheedled.

The distinguishable, coaxing tone of Lady Drusilla. Her tone took that register only when she was speaking to one individual. My gaze snagged on Lord Draven’s. He stood near the entrance, watching me.

When had he entered?

I opened my mouth and nothing came out.

Cassiel.

I grunted, moistening my lips.

“Stop this,” I breathed through the fire burning my throat. “Lord Draven . . .” I mumbled, struggling to keep my eyes open.

His jaw twitched, and he slowly approached.

“This does not harm her, my lord.” Lady Drusilla said. He stiffened, stopping halfway to us. “It only makes the human weaker,” she added.

False! I ached to scream.

I opened my mouth and Al leaned over the seat, checking my pulse, but he pressed a little harder against my arm. I found his gaze peering into me, and he gave the barest shake of his head.

Was he warning me to be silent?

A copper taste coated my tongue.

“Besides, the survivors await your presence in the throne chamber. You must plan with the council what will be done next.” Drusilla’s voice remained soft and cajoling.

“I rush for no one,” Lord Draven announced.

Drusilla lowered her head almost until she was bowed halfway.

“Your Highness!” a deep voice boomed. A wide-set man with a sword strapped to his side barreled down the stairs. “A dispute has broken out with the survivors.”

Lord Draven’s gaze fell upon me once more.

He will stop this . . .

“The body must remain intact to host my bondmate,” he decreed, meeting Al’s gaze pointedly. Then he turned on his heel, leaving without another look in my direction.

Tears stung my eyes, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to hide my whimper. He did not care.

Yet, here was, grappling with my decisions. Al and Lady Drusilla exchanged a look, but with a shrug, Al came forward with another syringe, filled with the same liquid. Sweat gathered at my nape.

“Lady Drusilla,” Al bowed his head. “Is there anything I can help you with?”

Drusilla continued to study me, her eyes as unreadable as always.

“Go forward, alchemist,” she ordered.

Al grunted. “Brace yourself, dearie,” he murmured low to me, sticking the needle in my other arm.

A deep, guttural grunt left my lips. She did not turn away from me as the torment began.

Pure, searing agony traveled through my veins in pulsing throbs. I squeezed the wooden arms of the chair; the wood gave way to my nails. I screamed, the sound wrenched from deep in my soul.

Had I seen that correctly? Had Drusilla smiled?

The thought washed away under the swell of pain.