62. The Prince

62

THE PRINCE

E ll-rom wasn't sure what woke him up. Jasmine's gasp or the aroma of food. Forcing his eyelids to lift, he looked into her stunned face. "What happened?"

"You are gorgeous."

He frowned. "Your translation device must be malfunctioning. It said that I'm exceedingly good to look at."

"You are." She smoothed a hand over his mostly bald head. "You look so much better without those long strings of hair." She scrunched her nose. "You know what else I've just noticed?"

"What?"

Jasmine must be prone to exaggeration because he had seen himself after Julian had cut off the loose locks, and he still looked like a walking shadow.

"You don't have facial hair," Jasmine said.

"Is that bad?"

"No, it's just strange since all the immortals and gods I know either have beards or shave them off. Maybe it's a Kra-ell trait." She pressed the lever, which he now knew was under the bed, and lifted the back of it. "Bridget tasked me with feeding you."

He glanced at the steaming bowl of fragrant clear liquid in her hands. "What is that?"

"It's called vegetable soup. You are probably wondering where the vegetables are. Right?"

"Yes. I was curious to see what Earth's vegetables look like."

"I wouldn't be surprised if they are the same as on Anumati. After all, everything probably originated from there. But that's beside the point. Because your stomach is just getting used to regular food, you are supposed to consume only clear liquids, so even though the soup was cooked with vegetables, they were taken out." She lifted a spoonful to his lips. "Taste it."

Ell-rom hesitated a moment before opening his mouth and allowing her to put the spoon inside. As the warm, savory liquid slid over his tongue, he was surprised to find it pleasing. It was rich and flavorful, a medley of tastes that he couldn't quite identify but found appetizing, nonetheless.

"Good?" Jasmine asked.

"Yes."

She smiled brightly and brought another spoonful to his mouth. Before long, the bowl was empty, and his stomach felt warm and full.

As if waiting for the exact moment he was done, Bridget walked in. "How does your stomach feel?" she asked. "Any discomfort? Nausea?"

Ell-rom shook his head. "It feels fine. Warm. Good." His eyelids were already growing heavy with exhaustion.

Bridget nodded, stepping back and allowing Jasmine to adjust his blankets and fluff his pillows. "If you can keep that down, we'll try something a bit more substantial later on," she said, her voice fading into the background as sleep began to claim him.

Ell-rom mumbled something in response, but the words were lost as he drifted off, his mind slipping into the waiting embrace of dreams.

He saw himself standing with a goblet of dark, viscous liquid in his hand. He lifted it to his lips, pretending to drink, but as soon as the rim touched his mouth, he felt a wave of revulsion wash over him. Subtly, carefully, he let the liquid dribble back into the cup, the metallic scent of blood filling his nostrils and making his stomach churn.

No one could see what he had done because the veil covered his head, the goblet, and the hand holding it, but the noises his stomach was making were a little harder to hide.

From whom?

He did not know. There was no one around he could see, but he heard a distant murmur of voices.

"Go to your room," his sister whispered urgently next to him. "Slowly. Do not draw any attention to yourself."

She was small, a child still, and covered in robes and veils—a walking tent like the adult priestesses, just smaller.

He assumed that he looked like her. Just another small tent, but he listened to her and retreated as slowly as he could, which was not slow at all because the contents of his stomach refused to stay down.

Finally, when he reached his chamber and closed the door, he ran into the bathroom while tearing the veil off. Sliding into position at the toilet, he retched and heaved, his body rejecting the small amount of blood that had managed to slide down his throat.

A figure loomed over him, a female draped in the black robes of a priestess. "You fool," she snarled, her voice dripping with contempt. "You will get yourself and your sister killed with your foolishness. What did I tell you to do?"

He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and looked up at her helplessly.

"Tell me! What did I tell you to do?"

"I was supposed to hold the goblet under my veil and just pretend to drink." "And what did you not understand about that simple directive?"

"It was just a drop," he whispered. "I did not mean to drink it. The drop was on the rim."

The priestess crouched next to him, her eyes blazing at him through the veil. "A mistake like that is the difference between life and death, little Holy Brother. You might not care for your life, but I know you care about your sister's."

"It will never happen again, Holy Mother."

Ell-rom jerked awake with a gasp, his heart pounding and his skin slick with sweat.

For a moment, he couldn't remember where he was, but then he recognized the white walls of the clinic and let out a relieved breath.

He was safe here, in this little room with walls that were white but not quite. There were shades of pink and yellow in the white, making the room feel cozy rather than stark.

Or maybe it had nothing to do with the colors but the female sitting in the chair beside his bed, her face soft and peaceful as she read a book with a tiny light illuminating the pages.

When he'd asked her what it was, Jasmine had explained that it was a story written on paper. Humans had special machines that printed many thousands of those things, and people purchased them in stores. She'd said they also had stories on electronic tablets, which he found much more logical, but many still preferred the paper books.

Humans were strange creatures, but he was eager to learn more about them, particularly about her.

Absorbed in her reading, Jasmine did not notice that he was awake, and he was glad that she didn't because he needed a few moments to collect his thoughts.

He was safe, surrounded by people who cared for him and wanted to help him heal. Not kill him and his sister because they were unlike everyone else.

But even as he clung to that thought like a talisman against the darkness, he couldn't shake the sense of unease that lingered, the feeling that something was lurking in the shadows of his past, something dark and dangerous that was more than his inability to tolerate the taste of blood.

What was it about him and his sister that he was not supposed to let anyone see?