20. Nicolette

Farrow had grown silent and he’d drawn tightly within himself. Over an hour had passed since we’d left the mage’s camp, and the pleasantly loopy man he’d been when I’d shoved him onto his horse was no more.

Now, he had his hands buried in Mint’s mane, and his fists were clenched so hard that his knuckles turned white.

He gave me a sharp “no” every time I questioned him, asking if he was in pain, but how could I believe he wasn’t? Sweat coursed down his face and bare chest in rivulets, and he panted as if he couldn’t catch any air. His skin was flushed and eyes dazed as he glanced around himself with a drugged kind of agony.

The man was most certainly tormented.

I don’t know why he was being so stubborn and denying it.

My first instinct was to just kiss him and end his ailments, but since Mydera knew he was my true love, I had a bad feeling she’d instilled some kind of counteractive magic to prevent me from healing whatever this was.

What if kissing him made things worse? I didn’t