The fever has decided that through no way is Renit Marron going to get through without a substantial amount of sweating or vomiting. And he hasn't. Every hour of the night, whether he's sleeping or awake, the vomit finds him and he leans over the side of the bed and hurls. He wears nothing other than his undershorts to keep himself from sweating profusely and I'm left with the duvet and two spare blankets as I curl up on the other side of the mattress and hope the vomit doesn't find its way in my direction.

His moans and groans waft into my dreams, stopping them before they start. I'm glad to have his presence there, awake and protesting to the scorching fever, as that makes me unable to have complete nightmares about Celestine or the king looming over me with a sword, the blade dangerously close to scraping my skin and impaling my heart.

Every time I open my eyes, I find Renit staring at the ceiling. His breathing is labored through the night and his skin is slick with sweat. The stench of him hovers over the vomit, at least, but that does nothing when I have to dump the bucket on the other side of the village multiple times through the night. I walk out there, relieved to smell the fresh air, only to be hit by the bitter smell of Renit's vomit.

Upon noticing my grimace on the way back, Tesha chuckles from where she sits atop a stone building. If I wasn't taking care of a sweaty, fever-stricken, cranky prince, I might join her and gulp down as much alcohol as she'll let me before hopping back down. But Renit needs my help—he was there for me so, in return, I'll do the same for him.

He doesn't want the company. I've never witnessed someone get pissed so fast but Renit, he's a completely different story. The fever didn't take well to him and the same can be said for the other way around. Renit cannot stand to have an irregular body temperature and no matter what I do—cold washcloths, stripping him down into nothing but his undershorts, removing the blankets, sitting him outside the front door to breathe in the cold night air—it doesn't work.

Sweat continues to pour off of him like a leaking faucet and more times than I'm able to count, I've wiped the droplets from his forehead before they fell into his eyes.

Each hour is excruciatingly long. I drift in and out of sleep, as does Renit until he wakes up with the need to hurl. More times than not, I find myself filling a rusted cup with water and forcing him to drink so he doesn't become dehydrated from emptying his already empty stomach. This is more vomiting than I did when enduring the Grounding bond, and Renit being over three hundred years old, a warrior on a battlefield that stood as his father's executioner for that many years—he's not taking very well to the conditions.

I can't say I blame him. He fights every drink of water until I yank on the bond and force him to do it, otherwise he'll vomit again and taste the acid from his stomach rather than the apple I force him to eat, too. It's all we have. There are no other foods I could provide him with; Alaric wouldn't give them up, anyway.

The rebel commander was only here for a few minutes before disappearing back through the door. Immediately seeing the bruises and cuts along my left side, he blamed Renit for almost killing one of their strongest assets, in which I told him to get the hell out if he planned to make Renit a steaming, sweaty mess. Not in result of the fever, but at the need to claw Alaric's eyes out. He'd threatened it once Alaric left. 

Our visitors have filtered in and out throughout the night. Once they saw Renit vomit, they decided they had better things to do than stick around and help the banished prince feel like himself again. It'll be a long road before that happens.

Dalis and Citlali came first and helped clean the wooden bucket for another bath in case Renit, or myself, needed a small break from the fever, the vomiting, or any other symptoms he might develop within the next few hours. Both witches were silent, they hardly spoke, but each has troubles they must get through. Dalis is still dealing with Celestine's death, she embraced me this time and asked how I was doing. I believe I'm faring better than the witch of water.

On the other hand, Citlali blames herself for my wounds. If she was there, she might've saved both of us from substantial injury, and it didn't matter how many times I reminded her that we ordered her to leave. She'll forever blame herself for both of us nearly dying. Hours later, once I fell asleep after they left, I had a nightmare about Renit falling. I wasn't able to save him. Luckily, as soon as his body slammed against the ground, Renit hurled into the bucket and startled me awake.

When he's not able to sleep, Renit opts for wandering around our residence. There's not much to do, he has tidied up everything from the blankets at the bottom of the bed to our spare clothes hanging in the armoire. He dragged a cloth over the table and removed the top layer of dust that hadn't been disrupted by our forearms or the wooden chest sliding across it from hours before. That, he placed on the shelf and closed the lid so he might never have to view anything that involves the crystal again.

His steps across the room are unhurried and shuffled, his shoulders are slumped, and he can barely lift his feet off the floor. The dark strands, unruly when Renit doesn't style them, stick to his forehead and around his scalp. He has run his fingers through it too many times, as have I until he groans and complains I'm too hot to be near. But laying on the bed doesn't help matters. The sheets aren't cold enough; the pillow isn't chilled; the cold air leaking in from the open windows is too warm for a summer's night.

It's not until the morning hours when the sky begins to creep across the eastern side of Arego, that I finally fall asleep. I sleep hard enough that I don't hear Renit's vomiting and I don't have any nightmares. Nothing will disrupt the easy rise and fall of my breathing or my hands tucked underneath the side of my face, my legs gathered tight against my chest.

On the other side of the bed, Renit is dealing with his own troubles. I won't bother changing the sheets on the mattress once this fever is over and done with, and at one point, I'm startled awake by shaking. Endless, violent shaking.

I open my eyes to find Renit's back turned to me; the tattoos stretching over his muscles. Like me, he's tucked tight into a ball and everything else, the ruffled hair, the lack of clothes and sheets, is the same. Except one.

Crawling over to him, I grimace at the cold puddle of sweat and place my hand against his forehead. No fever. But his teeth are chattering. His brows are furrowed and with each violent shake, Renit's cheeks puff out in pain.

"Renit," I whisper. At the sound of my voice, another violent shiver consumes him and he groans. I mumble his name again and his teeth chatter louder to drown out my voice.

His eyes don't open until I run my fingers down his face, likely the only bit of warmth he has felt since the chills started. The banished prince, after facing battle and death alike, has passed the stage of the fever and is moving onto the coldest winter he's ever experienced. His toes will freeze, no amount of clothes will be enough, and body heat is his only way out.

Upon realizing he made it through the night, evident so by the sunlight streaming in through the open window, Renit groans. He squeezes his eyes shut, and like every muscle in his body is constricting, rolls over slowly in his own puddle of sweat.

"You did it," I say softly.

He can barely speak past the puffing of his cheeks. The tip of his nose is red. "I'm not...done yet."

I don't have to ask him to remove himself from the bed so I can change the sheets. He stands himself and with his arms wrapped tightly around his abdomen, walks to the armoire and tugs two shirts, a pair of pants, two pairs of socks, and a jacket from within. Through the shivering, the endless chattering, and the headache already stiffening his muscles, Renit dresses in more layers than necessary.

To avoid any snapping, I bite down my smile at how pathetic he looks. Is this how I appeared when I went through the Grounding process? Both princes were there, providing their warmth, but Renit's lasted long into the night, holding on so tight as if I might fall off the bed. I nearly did, more than once. It wasn't until he pressed his hand against my stomach and pulled me against him towards the middle of the bed that I didn't fear slamming against the floorboards anymore.

Once the sheets are replaced, Renit sits back down on the edge of the bed and I tug the blankets and duvet over his body. "Can you..." He begins, his voice cut off by the chills wrapping around his spine like vipers. "Sh—shut the..." A growl releases from his throat and he stands, shuffling over to the window to slam it shut himself.

I wipe at my nose and keep my head down as I walk to the kitchen to avoid him witnessing the smile on my face. Over my shoulder, I manage to say without giggling, "I'll make you tea."

Renit's training went well beyond killing. He can catch the slightest hint of an expression on someone's face, even with their back turned in his direction. "Why are you laughing?" He barks, his stare flat in my direction. Well, as flat as it can be with the chills. "I didn't—I didn't laugh wh—when you—" Renit clenches his hands tight, eyes blazing with lightning, and plumps himself down on the edge of the bed.

"Actually, I recall you laughing when I had the chills," I call to him from the kitchen, past the stone wall of the stove. "This is payback for training, for the Grounding bond, for everything."

I heat water over the flame and drop in the tea leaves. On my way back towards Renit, a huddled lump underneath the blankets and duvet on the bed, I grab two slices of bread and cheese. Upon me handing them in his direction, Renit shakes his head.

"No," he says.

"You have to eat. You vomited up your guts last night, you must eat something to replenish your strength," I fight back.

The door opens behind me with hardly a knock and Renit's eyes scarcely lift in that direction. Tesha smirks to herself and bites into a crisp, red apple as she enters. Following behind her, too closely for them to be anything other than lovers, is Citlali. She doesn't smile at Renit, but she does express relief upon realizing I'm still alive and moving around. Either that, or my wounds are starting to fade into my skin. The immortal strengths work in mysterious ways.

Tesha sticks out her bottom lip and stops at the side of the bed, gratefully taking the food from my hands so I can return to the tea. "Is the prince sick?" She asks in a childish, pouting voice.

Renit responds with a bout of chills. "One more word, and I'll—"

"What?" Tesha squats down so she's at eye level with his huddled mass of blankets. Only his face sticks out from underneath. "What are you going to do?"

I crane my neck to view Renit's expression, finding his eyes blazing with anger. The only words he can muster are, "You're not worth it."

Her smile looks like it conceals daggers. She tosses the food onto the bed and Renit snatches it, revealing his hand only for a moment before it's gone again underneath the cover of warmth. Tesha strolls into the kitchen, Citlali following closely behind, and they both lean against the counter, a relaxed and dazed look to their eye.

I don't want to ask.

"We're heading out tomorrow," Tesha informs me. "That's the only decision so far. You and Renit are going, for sure, but since you're leading the mission, we need you two to assemble a squad."

With a wooden spoon, my mother's, I stir the tea beginning to turn a pale shade of brown. Renit hates tea, yet he'll have to drink this if he wants to feel better. Honey flavored and perfect for warming his soul and his body. Everyone knows he'll need to drop the cranky attitude before we leave tomorrow, chills or not.

"That depends," I respond over my shoulder. "Who wants to go? More importantly, whoneeds to go? The lesser, the better."

A crunch sounds, and I know that to be Tesha taking another bite into the apple. At least I believe that to be the case until I turn around and find that Citlali has taken it from her and the sniper, a human that hasn't seen enough of this world to be as brave as she is, smirks at the witch of ground. Whatever happened last night...I don't want to know. If anything at all.

Tesha comes out of her trance and watches silently when I strain the leaves and pour the tea into a porcelain cup. As if she forgot my question, Citlali nudges her arm and Tesha blinks. "Right. Well, there are some that need to go. Others must stay here and keep an eye on the village since this is our base. Citlali will stay; she's our first line of defense." Tesha gives a pointed look in her direction. "I'm still up in the air, Bren is willing to go, but he doesn't necessarily have to, Binx is definitely going, Dalis is staying..." She goes through the list of names, rolling her neck all the while.

"Me, Renit, Binx, possibly Bren, and possibly you," I repeat in my own words. "What about Alaric?"

She rubs at the back of her neck. "That's up to you. Well, technically, that's up to him but it can go either way. He can stay or he can go. Wherever you think he'd be most useful."

They follow me back into the room and I hand Renit his tea. It's the only bit of warmth in this entire room so he snatches it and sits up on his elbow to take a sip. The steam rises into his face but he smacks his lips in silent appreciation. Just as another chill breaks out, causing the liquid to spill over the rim, he shoves the cup back into my hands so it doesn't make a mess. Hiding my smile once more, I set the cup on the table so he can easily access it.

Like a turtle returning to its shell, Renit huddles underneath the blankets. The moving blankets, considering he's still shivering.

"Alaric will be most useful in either regard. If he wants to stay here and protect Arego, then he can. If he wants to go to the castle and make a statement to his king, then that's fine, too," I say. They stand next to the table, both watching me carefully. It didn't occur to me until now that my limp is gone.

"He is the commander of the rebels," Citlali proposes. "And the king still doesn't know he's alive if his men haven't spread the word or even recognized Alaric to begin with."

Tesha absorbs every word like its water and she hasn't had a drink in days. "That's true. We've done all the work, it's time for that witch to do something for the cause." The apple core waves around limply between her two fingers.

"He's going then?" My final question so I can tend to Renit.

Tesha, already walking towards the door, opens it for Citlali. "I'll see what I can do."

They hardly offer a goodbye, nothing more than a wave and a silent joke in Renit's direction that leaves the two of them giggling with a devious grin as they depart, silently shutting the door behind them. I turn on my heel towards the bed. The lump has stopped shivering, for now.

Renit doesn't move when I pull back the blankets and sheets and slide underneath them. Only when I arrive at his back and run my hand over his forehead does Renit turn towards me with another shiver rocking through his bones. He tugs my body against his, face digging into my neck, and his bone-crushing arms wrapping so tight around I can hardly breathe. An embrace like this isn't going to provide the relief he needs, but body heat, my body heat, is what Renit is searching for. The same when I had the chills, all I wanted was his warmth or Silas's—whoever was more willing.

"I don't like her," Renit muffles against my neck.

My body rocks with his as I laugh. "You're just pissy today, is all."

His response is a grunt and a huff of cold breath. I run my hands up and down his back and he twists his legs with mine, sticking his hands between my thighs to gather the warmth there. Nothing intimate, sexual—Renit is too lost within his own mind to think of those things. In the end, they might help, but it'll be more effort than what it's worth to complete what he really desires.

I do what I can to provide relief. The chills subside once our bodies are acclimated together and they're less severe, enough for Renit to remove himself from the dark crevice of my neck to drink more tea.

"I don't want to take Bren," he says after a sip of tea. His back rests against the wooden headboard, carved intricately with someone's knife. The design is choppy and misplaced, but in their defense, they had tried to beautify something that was otherwise plain. "He'll just get in the way."

"Bren is an asset. He's strong in more ways than one, and he's a wise leader amongst the rebels. They look to him. Bren is going, whether you want him to or not."

"And you're fine with putting your friend in that unnecessary danger?" The cup hovers near Renit's mouth, the steam rising being his only source of warmth beside the heaps of blankets covering his body. It's impossible to tell where his body actually starts.

I arch a brow at him in silent displeasure. "I'm not fine with putting either of you in that necessary danger, but it's the only choice we have. Bren is another set of eyes; we can use him in getting your brother out with lesser complications."

The corner of Renit's lips tug up in a snarl. "Fine." He drinks the last bit of tea and sets the cup back down with shaking fingers. "Come, I need warmth."

His fist wraps around my shirt and tugs me back against him, colds hands immediately sliding up the back. I hiss and Renit chuckles against me, once again tucking his face into my neck. That will be his permanent residence for the next few hours.

I massage over his sore muscles and start calculating what is to come. We're leaving tomorrow. The comfort of Arego will be no longer and, if we're not careful, we'll come face to face with the king. All that matters is getting Silas out alive, the rest will be a question we'll face. A risky question, but it's part of being in the rebellion.

Bren or Renit shouldn't have to go in there. I want it to be me, and only me, but I know that's not possible. They'll never allow it, but as I always do, extra precautions are set in place to keep them—either of them—from ending up in the king's hands.