Prince Andre paced his private quarters, his heart pounding with anxiety. He knew he was in over his head the moment he brought Islinda here instead of seeking help. But he had no choice; the situation was too delicate. His instincts told him that this was the right move, but doubt gnawed at him nonetheless.
Islinda lay motionless on the bed, her skin pale but still warm. Andre's thoughts raced as he stared at the gaping wound in her chest. The last time she had been injured, she had self-healed—a secret only he, Aldric, and Theodore knew. No one else in the palace was aware that Islinda was half-Fae, and in the chaos that had erupted, revealing that information would be dangerous.
The clash at the arena had been too well-timed to be a coincidence. Someone wanted Islinda dead, and Andre had no doubt it was Queen Maeve. The timing was perfect—just as Aldric was about to kill Valerie, the attack occurred. Queen Maeve would never let her investment in her precious son go to waste.
