Page 41 of Taken By the Lord of the Nocturne Court

My actions might not make a difference, but I will do my best to save him.

Chapter 16

Kyran

My body throbs with pain.

Nausea pulses in my throat.

But I’m alive.

As I slowly come to, it becomes clear I’m lying on smooth sheets, not sand, so whatever happened after I fainted, the elves loyal to me have found and taken care of me. Luke must have gotten to Tristan in time.

I open my eyes to see the shell-shaped canopy above my brother’s—no, abovemybed—and as the paintings covering the walls come into focus, I realize I’m not alone.

My cousins from both bloodlines, their parents, as well as all the other important courtiers stand watch over my ailing body, and I exhale with relief when Reiner approaches me with a cup.

“Drink, Sire.”

The bite of a despair can often be fatal, as it was to my mother, but it seems my body was able to fight the poison well enough. I don’t remember any of my nightmares, which is for the better. Elves aren’t supposed to dream. It’s always a terrible omen if we do.

“He is no ‘Sire’,” Anatole scoffs, his cold eyes like two shards of ice. His long, white blond hair lies on his shoulders, flowing all the way to his chest like a cascade, and he’s wearing a blue doublet embroidered with gold thread.

He is the oldest in his generation of the Goldweeds and a thorn in my side, but it’s still a shock to see him display such open hostility. I need to dampen my lips to chastise him, and the bitter taste of the antidote spreads on my tongue.

Which is strange, as it should taste sweet.

“Shut your mouth. You will never speak like this to me again, or I will have you strapped down in the caves at high tide,” I say coldly, and while my voice rasps, I keep it steady as I meet his gaze.

Anatole’s rat-like face twists into a smirk as he steps out from the whole group of courtiers who've been associated with the Goldweeds for as long as I can remember. “You better watch out, so I don’t cut out your lying tongue, Sunspawn.”

My stomach drops as if a huge rock appeared inside it out of nowhere. I look down, and my gaze settles on the golden mark revealed by the open front of my shirt.

The room starts spinning as the court erupts in whispers and moans of outrage. Only then I feel it, the silver collar around my neck, forged in sunlight to inhibit my shadowcraft.

“Impostor!”

“Where is the real prince? What has he done to him?”

“It’s always the twin. Rotten.”

“Dregs of a prince.”

“They should be put down at birth,” someone whispers from the other side of the bed as my heart sinks.

I can’t hide the truth anymore, but as I scramble to find a sensible answer, something that would protect me when I’m so painfully vulnerable, my gaze lands on Reiner.

“Where’s Luke?” I ask.

All the hair on my body bristles when Vinia giggles behind her sister, hiding her face with a fan.

Reiner swallows and won’t meet my eyes. “He drowned.”

It’s like a punch to the chest. I hold my ribcage and shove off the covers, scrambling out of bed, but as I step onto the floor, my leg gives up, and I tumble like a marionette with a torn string. Laughter echoes in my ears, and I blink, staring at feet in pretty blue shoes coming ever closer. The collar around my neck tightens like a noose.

“You have no right to the throne,” Elodie says.

I can’t think. How long have I been asleep? I glance at Tristan, but even he turns away from me as if my presence offends him.