My body trembles as I close and lock the cell door, the clang of metal like claws on a chalkboard as a million fire ants race across my skin. Each step away from my mate is like walking over hot coals, and I know it’s the gods punishing me for what I’ve done.

I try to push the feeling to the back of my mind like I’ve done hundreds of times before, but by the time I make it to the main floor of Slaine’s palace, I’m no better off than I was when I first left her. The soldiers dotting the hall give me shifty looks as I pass by on the way to my room, their faces saying everything they’re too scared to—something is wrong with me.

And they would be very, very correct. But it’s not to do with anything they could comprehend.

Those curious eyes track me all the way to my room in the far corner of the palace, and long after I shut and bolt the door. As soon as I’m alone, I let loose the snarl that’s been building in my chest all day, letting out a fraction of the anger I’ve been forced to suppress.

I hate it. I hate it all.

Turning on my heel, I stalk over to the corner of my room where a small blue table sits, blending in with the bare stone walls. My hand wraps around the neck of the crystal canister sitting atop it—my only decoration—and I place the opening to my lips, taking a massive swig of the shimmering blue fluid inside.

The welwig sap burns my throat on the way down, but it’s accompanied by a wonderful warm tingling sensation in the tips of my fingers and toes. The headache brewing for most of the day subsides as the knots between my shoulder blades melt away. Closing my eyes, I take another sip of the viscous liquid and slump to the floor, leaning my head back against the cool stone as the drug flows through my system.

I like to use this time to empty my mind—clear away any assumptions or nagging thoughts that hinder what I set out to accomplish—but as I sit here alone, all I can think about is my mate. What she’s thinking, what she’s feeling, what she’s… everything.