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They spotted me at once, and the taller one stepped forward as I approached the door.

“Can I be of service, Princess?”

I willed my heart to stop racing. He could probably hear it. “I wish to speak to the king.”

“King Laurent is indisposed.”

“Is something wrong?”

“He’s indisposed.” This priest was a burly man. He wasn’t as big as Varick, but he was tall and broad. His beard was as dark as his hair, but the frizzy ends that brushed his chest were nearly black from old blood. He stood like a living wall between me and Laurent’s chamber.

I leaned so I could see around him. “If the king is ill…”

Black robes blocked my view as the priest shifted. “King Laurent is not taking visitors, Princess. Now, you’ll be more comfortable in your chamber.” He looked at something over my shoulder and nodded. A scuffing sound made me whirl.

A guard approached, one hand on his sword hilt. “I’ll escort you, Princess.”

“No!” The word burst from me, and I flung out a hand to stave him off. Suddenly, nothing was more important than speaking to Laurent. I faced off with the giant of a priest. “I want to see the king, and I’m going to see him.”

His expression darkened. The tips of sharp-looking fangs peeked from between his lips as he reached for me. “I don’t think you heard what I said—”

“Danus,” Laurent’s muffled voice said through the door.

The priest froze. “Yes, Your Grace?”

“Let the princess pass.”

The two priests looked at each other. Silent communication passed between them. After a moment, the giant stepped aside in a swish of black robes.

Heart hammering, I moved past him. The other priest opened the door. I half expected him to follow as I entered, but he closed it behind me, sealing me inside Laurent’s darkened chamber. With no sign of Laurent.

A single candle burned on the big pedestal table just inside the door. His apartments were much larger than mine. However, I’d only seen the outer rooms and the dining chamber, and now I had no idea where to go. I stood motionless, uncertainty rooting me to the flagstones.

Laurent’s voice drifted from an archway opposite the one that led to the dining room. “In here, Given.”

I gathered my skirts and followed the sound. Through the archway lay a spacious bedchamber dominated by the biggest bed I’d ever seen. The canopy soared toward the ceiling. Thick curtains embroidered with the night-blooming rose of Nor Doru were drawn across three sides.

A beringed hand emerged and beckoned me forward. “Come on,” Laurent’s voice murmured. “I won’t bite.”

I rounded the footboard.

At the sight of the figure on the bed, all the breath left my lungs.

Laurent lay propped on the pillows, but he looked nothing like the handsome, powerful king I was used to. He looked like a corpse. His skin clung to his bones. He was obviously nude under the sheet that rose to just above his hips. Every rib stood out in stark relief. There were deep hollows under his eyes, and his cheekbones looked like they’d been carved from stone.

“Your Grace!” I cried, rushing forward. I fell to my knees in a heap of skirts at his bedside. “What—?”

“It’s all right.”

“No, it’s not.” My heart thumped painfully. “You’re hurt. You—”

“Not hurt,” he said, a tired smile touching his mouth. His fangs looked longer without the fullness of his lips to frame them. His chest rose as he dragged in air. His breath eased out in an exhausted slide, but his smile grew. “You’re not disgusted by me.” He seemed genuinely surprised.

“No.” I’d seen sickness before, when Helen grew ill. Toward the end, our roles reversed, with me nursing her. And Rolund’s daughter, Cathrin, had nearly died several times over the years. “What happened?”

“I was at prayers all night. One of my duties as king.”

This was his duty? Prayers that left him so emaciated he was almost unrecognizable? “You bled yourself?”