Bridging the Ancient ✓

Chapter 7

The prince breathes a sigh of relief as that white light flutters around his shoulder from the hands of a healer. A different healer this time, a quiet woman without any need to kick Renit in the ribs. His head tucks into his shoulder as he waits, eyes rimmed with red exhaustion, for the young witch to finish her work.

Once she's done, she stands and against the interests of these rebels, bows her respect. Bren's brows furrow but before he can say anything to tell her the exact reason she's part of this is so she doesn't have to bow, the healer is gone and joining the group on the ground.

Renit examines his wound, still shirtless, and holds that look in his eye that says: this will have to do. Outside the bars, Bren monitors with stance wide and arms crossed over his chest. The empty tray dangles from his fingers at the end of our meal, mostly eaten by Renit since he felt the strength to do so.

I try to keep the rumbling of my stomach down so he doesn't feel guilty, even if I claimed to not be hungry in the first place. Anything to make him eat, to give him the strength to face these rebels and any more kicks in the ribs he may endure. I had asked the healer to check that area but with a soft voice, she told me nothing was broken, only a bruise in the shape of the other healer's boot covers his skin.

His fever has subdued but with infection still lingering, the healers haven't brought it down to a comfortable level. Renit sweats through the night, shifting uncomfortably in the urine-stained straw and hardly finds the time to sleep. He's too busy trying to hold down his vomit and tremors when his fever reaches a low and then spikes again. I can't stand the sight of him miserable.

Normally, his skin has color. With the fever, he's a sickly shade of pale and his lips are cracked, lighter in shade. Trying to force him to move other than to relieve himself is each day's battle, one that we both fight since he wants to stay alive as much as I want him to.

I hand him the flask of water and he takes it with a shaken hand. The swig he takes is not nearly enough, he needs much more than what he's been putting in his body. "Tell me, Bren, why do you hate me?" The prince croaks as he twists the cap back onto the flask. With legs stretched out before him, feet bare to allow the heat from his body to release, Renit rests his head back against the wall.

He's hardly moved from that spot.

Bren snarls before he's had the chance to say one word. "I hate you because of your bloodlines. You've done nothing but terrorize the witches below you, the normal citizens that support your father's rule. It's time for a change, one that will benefit all the witches and not just the lucky souls with sizable dowries," Bren explains harshly. I've seen him stare this way at witches that have flirted with me in Arego, each one I didn't want to converse with. Is that because of jealousy or because he wants to protect me?

For my sake, Renit takes another drink. I watch his throat bob with the swallow. "Roux tells me you have a plan to take my father off the throne and kill the prince, including me. For a witch so young, you're quite ambitious. Normally, your balls don't drop until the Age Lock." I slap his arm as soon as the words leave his throat and he barely registers my silent command to stop. The last thing he needs right now is a well-deserved pummeling.

Instead of losing his temper, Bren smiles down at the dirt covered ground. "We're very capable of taking you out, old bastard. Tesha is the best in the business, she's a sniper and escaped the war your father so desperately needs." He scratches at his ear, a nervous habit. Those dark eyebrows curve inward as Renit snorts his amusement.

"I don't care about your snipers. I'll kill you before you can blink." Now I don't care about him drinking all the water. I pinch the bridge of my nose and try to keep myself from screaming at them to cooperate.