Chapter 9: A Small Proof

Asher had not planned on spending the night in the Crown Prince’s chambers.

He had every intention of leaving once Aaron’s condition stabilized. A quiet corner of the palace, a few hours of rest, then back to the work of unraveling whatever was killing the heir. That had been the plan.

Aaron had other ideas.

"You can’t leave," the prince said, fingers tightening around Asher’s sleeve with surprising strength for someone so weak.

Asher looked down at him. "I have somewhere to be."

The fear in Aaron’s eyes was raw and unfiltered. It stopped Asher cold. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He could not exactly explain that he had promised a Vampire Lord he would return within a week, especially not while the Crown Prince looked one bad night away from dying.

He sighed and sat back down.

"Fine. I’ll stay."

Aaron’s grip loosened at once. The tension drained from his face so quickly it was almost painful to watch.

When King Eric was informed, he raised no objection. If anything, he seemed relieved. For the first time in weeks his son had shown real improvement: the fever had dropped, breathing had steadied, color had returned to his cheeks. Even the court physicians looked surprised.

Asher should have felt encouraged. He did not.

Something about the sudden improvement sat wrong in his gut.

He remained in the chair beside the bed long after Aaron fell into a deeper sleep. The room was quiet except for the low crackle of the fire and the prince’s even breathing. Hours slipped by. Asher shifted, restless.

"Who cursed you?" he muttered under his breath.

No answer came, of course.

The physicians insisted there was no curse. They had tested for every toxin, every known malady, every trace of dark magic their methods could detect. Asher trusted the thing he had seen clinging to Aaron far more than he trusted a room full of men who had spent three weeks failing to keep their patient alive.

Something was feeding on the prince, something that did not belong.

He stood and began to pace, needing movement after too long in the same chair. He passed the fireplace, the tall windows, the side table cluttered with medicine bottles. Everything appeared ordinary. Too ordinary.

Then the feeling arrived.

Subtle at first—a prickle at the back of his neck, the quiet certainty that he was being observed. Asher stopped in the middle of the room and turned a slow circle. The guards remained outside the door. Aaron slept on. The candles burned steadily.

"Okay," he muttered, rubbing his arms. "That’s creepy."

Nothing moved.

He shook his head. "One day in a palace and you’re already inventing ghosts. Excellent work."

The sensation only grew stronger.

Someone, or something, was watching him. He spun toward the door. Empty. Toward the windows. Nothing but darkness beyond the glass.

"Enough," he said under his breath.

He turned back toward the bed.

Aaron was thrashing.

The prince’s body jerked hard against the mattress, face contorted in silent agony. Asher crossed the room in three strides.

"Aaron—!"

The moment his hand touched the prince’s shoulder, Aaron’s eyes flew open. They were unfocused, wild. His mouth worked soundlessly. Dark veins had bloomed across his throat, black and rapid, spreading beneath the skin like ink in water.

"What the hell?"

Aaron arched violently.

Asher’s gift slammed into him without warning. There was no gentle pull this time. The vision tore through him with enough force to buckle his knees. The chamber vanished. Darkness swallowed everything.

Then a hand appeared, a man’s hand, close enough that Asher could see every detail. Around one finger sat a silver ring set with a dark stone, the band thin and strangely wrought. Recognition flickered; he had seen that ring before, somewhere.

The image shifted. A glass of water rested on a small table. The same hand reached for it. The ring caught the light as fingers closed around the glass.

Asher’s heart slammed against his ribs.

The vision changed again.

Aaron lay in the bed—still, colorless, unmistakably dead.

"No—"

Asher tried to wrench free of the vision. It held him. Aaron’s lifeless face filled his sight once more before the darkness crashed back in.

He gasped and staggered backward, nearly falling. The room returned in a rush of firelight and silence. His pulse roared in his ears.

Aaron lay quiet beneath the blankets once more. The black veins had vanished. His breathing was steady, almost peaceful.

Asher stared, sweat cooling on his skin, hands trembling.

"What the hell was that?"

No answer came.

He wiped his forehead and looked around the chamber. The sensation of being watched had disappeared, but the images remained burned behind his eyes, the ring, the glass, Aaron’s corpse.

It seemed ordinary, but Asher had quickly interpreted it. Poison, and a curse.

He did not sit again for the rest of the night. He paced, checked the prince’s breathing every few minutes, and kept one eye on the door until the first gray light of morning crept through the windows.

By then Asher felt hollowed out. His eyes burned, and his head ached. His body felt as though he had fought a war in his sleep, except he had not slept at all.

Aaron looked a little worse. The fragile improvement of the previous evening had vanished. Pallor had returned, his breathing had grown shallow, and the fever was back.

Asher stared down at him. "Well. That’s concerning."

The doors opened.

Several physicians swept in, surrounding the bed at once—checking pulse, lifting eyelids, murmuring among themselves. One of them finally turned to Asher with open irritation.

"This is exactly what I warned His Majesty about."

Asher met the man’s gaze. "Good morning to you too."

The physician ignored the remark. "The Crown Prince was improving yesterday. Look at him now."

"I can see that."

"You were supposed to help him."

"I am trying."

"Trying?" The man scoffed. "You are a fortune teller, not a physician. You have wasted everyone’s time. His Majesty should never have brought you here. You make promises you cannot keep."

Asher’s jaw tightened. Under normal circumstances he would have answered with a joke and let the insult slide.

Then the physician stepped closer, and Asher’s eyes dropped to the man’s hand.

The silver band. The dark stone. The exact ring from the vision. Everything inside him went still, but he said nothing. He simply watched.

The physician moved toward the bed, reached for one of the bottles on the side table, and turned back to Aaron. Asher tracked every motion. The man took one step. Two. His hand extended toward the prince’s arm—toward the glass of water waiting on the bedside table.

Asher moved.

He seized the physician’s wrist in a hard grip and shoved himself between the man and the bed.

The physician startled. "What do you think you’re doing?"

Asher did not release him. "Guards!"

The shout rang through the chamber. The doors burst open as the guards rushed in.

"Arrest him!"

Silence crashed over the room.

The physician stared at Asher in pure disbelief. "Have you lost your mind?"

Asher’s grip tightened. His gaze locked on the ring.

"I might have," he said quietly. "But I’m not stupid."

The guards advanced. And Asher breathed a sigh of relief. He knew then that he had been right. The man had been reaching for the water, exactly as the vision had shown, he had to be the one harming the prince, and once interrogated, they would get the full truth—

Asher’s thoughts were cut short when he felt two strong arms grab him from behind. He blinked, confused by what was happening. Why on earth was he being arrested?