Page 142 of The Nymph Prince

But what if itwasAlek? What if my mage had found a way to overpower Haman and regained control over his body?

“Don’t kill him!” I yelled to my guard.

Malik stopped, but his expression was one of warning. “Think carefully, my prince. Your Alek is gone. You felt him leave.”

Haman—Alek?—whimpered and fell forward into my arms.

He was heavy, but my arms found strength to hold him anyway. I’d always hold him, no matter how much my muscles screamed with exhaustion from hours and hours of intense fighting. I’d never let him go.

“Sweetheart?” I stared down at him, moving aside his damp bangs.

Blue eyes held my gaze, sad, just like they’d been on the first day I’d ever seen him. “I need to rest. It hurts.” He slipped his hand around my neck and pressed his head to mine. My tears fell on his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Lorcan.”

“Why are you sorry?” I pulled back so I could see his face.

He smiled. “For this.”

As he thrust his sword into my stomach, I heard Malik roar. I wheezed and dropped my gaze to where he’d stabbed me. I was too shocked to feel the pain.

I’d believed Alek had returned to me, that we’d have the chance to make a life together. My desperation to make that a reality had blinded me to the truth. Haman had used my love for Alek against me, pretending to be him as a distraction to get close.

A foolish, reckless prince.

I knew it’d be the end of me someday.

“Now you can join him in death,” Haman said, extracting the sword from my stomach. He laughed and got to his feet, staring down at me. “Pathetic.”

Haman’s head was cut clean off his shoulders. His body fell, spurting blood from his opened neck.

And although I knew it wasn’t Alek, the sight of his severed head not even a foot away made me howl a grief-stricken cry.

Malik knelt beside me, sliding an arm behind me and propping up my head. “Do not look at him, my prince. Look at me.” His voice was calm, but I saw the storm raging in his orange eyes. He placed pressure on my wound. “Find Eva! We need her to heal the prince!”

Reif shouted a response before running into the night.

“T-Troy?” I asked. “Is he…?”

“I’m here, Lor.” Troy fell down on my other side, grabbing my hand. He was pale and shaking. Blood poured from a wound in his shoulder, but it wasn’t in a life-threatening area. Thank the gods. “I didn’t leave you. And you cannot leave me. I forbid it.”

“Lorcan!”

I didn’t recognize the voice.

Malik greeted someone I couldn’t see. Not that I could see anything with my eyes closed. But they refused to stay open.

“There is nothing you can do, Theron,” Malik said.

Theron? The name was vaguely familiar.

“Yes there is,” Theron argued. His voice was oddly soothing. “I can help him.”

My eyes snapped open as I felt it; the connection. The pull I only felt toward Alek.

When I focused on the man, I remembered seeing him when the day I visited the barracks in Avalontis. He was a warrior, barely twenty years of age. Dark-blond hair fell past his ears, nearly touching the tops of his shoulders, and his brown eyes were kind.

He wasn’t familiar to me…yet my soul reached for his.

Troy scooted over and Theron sat at my side. Malik, although cautious, let the man place his hands on me. And how amazing his hands felt. My body shuddered from the cold, but just a simple touch from him had me calming.