Dark Moon Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 537. The Cure IV

Fourth Arc (Thorns of The Black Throne) - 537. The Cure IV

One shadow slid closer.

Roric turned his head, breathing becoming uneven.

“Stop…”

His hand curled into the blanket.

“Jane…”

The shadows gathered beside his bed.

Roric’s jaw tightened.

“Don't…”

He shifted restlessly, his expression twisting with discomfort.

Then he made a low, pained sound and pressed one hand against his temple.

Exactly the sort of thing Seraphine expected.

Nightmares.

Restless sleep.

Fragmented memories.

The tonic often produced such symptoms when taken shortly before bed. The victim’s mind struggled against the influence even as the magic encouraged deeper confusion.

A useful sign.

A reassuring sign.

The shadows watched another moment.

Roric turned onto his side.

His breathing gradually steadied.

Satisfied, the creatures withdrew.

They slipped beneath the door, stretched along the corridor, and hurried back toward their mistress.

The room fell quiet.

One second passed.

Two.

Three.

Roric opened his eyes.

Slowly.

He stared at the wall opposite his bed.

Then at the corner where the shadows had disappeared.

He did not move immediately.

Not yet.

He waited until the faint crawling sensation along his skin vanished completely.

Only then did he release the breath he had been holding.

“...Curse that thing.”

The word came out as little more than air.

He rolled onto his back and stared at the canopy.

That had been unpleasant.

He had fought soldiers with severed limbs. Faced charging cavalry. Held defensive formations against enemies twice his number.

And somehow, pretending to have a nightmare while a collection of living darkness sniffed around his bedroom had become one of the most stressful experiences of his life.

Wonderful.

His stepmother had apparently upgraded from suspicious questions to sending creatures beneath his door.

Family affection really was something special.

Roric rubbed his face carefully.

Earlier, Angel’s magic messenger had appeared near his desk.

A small, dark wisp that materialized above his journal, unfolded into a floating message, and vanished after he finished reading.

The instructions had been brief.

Seraphine might inspect his chamber tonight.

Pretend to be asleep.

Do not interfere with her shadows.

Once the inspection ended, meet Angel and Rose at the pastry shop’s private room.

Tell no one.

He had not known exactly what Angel was planning.

But the timing suggested one thing.

The antidote.

His chest tightened.

Could it really be ready?

He did not dare assume.

Hope was dangerous when it arrived too quickly.

Still, the thought had kept him awake long enough to arrange his chamber.

He had moved every remaining tonic sample from his hiding places. Cleaned the cup. Checked the desk. Made sure there was nothing obvious for Seraphine’s creatures to discover.

Then he had climbed into bed.

And waited, pretending to be asleep while wondering whether the dark king had simply forgotten to mention that the inspection could involve monsters crawling over his furniture.

Roric sat up slowly.

The fire had nearly died.

Moonlight washed across the carpet, turning the silver embroidery on his discarded coat pale blue.

He swung his legs over the edge of the bed.

His feet touched the cold floor.

No headache.

No nausea.

No fog.

Three days without the tonic.

Three days of remembering things he had believed lost forever.

He could think clearly enough now to recognize how much of his recent life had been shaped by uncertainty.

And tonight?

Tonight, he might finally begin getting answers.

Roric stood.

He crossed to the wardrobe and selected a plain dark coat without the royal crest. No ornamental shoulder guards. Nothing that would identify the Crown Prince of Pontus from half a street away.

He exchanged his nightclothes for a simple shirt and trousers, then fastened the coat.

His reflection stared back at him from the mirror.

A little pale.

But his eyes…

They looked like his own.

He paused.

Then opened the drawer beneath the mirror.

Inside rested a small dagger.

He tucked it into his boot.

Old habits.

He was not walking through the capital unarmed at midnight.

Not even for Angel.

Especially not for Angel, actually.

The man appeared behind people without warning. Roric still had questions about that.

A lot of questions.

He returned to the desk and checked his journal.

The latest entry was already written.

The shadows may come tonight.

If I disappear, remember that I chose to seek help.