Laughter echoed off the orange-tiled walls of the hallway as Filip Isayev walked out of the dining room, arm in arm with Princess Yelene and Princess Kasha. The princesses’ guards and ladies-in-waiting trailed exactly ten feet behind them, not uttering a sound.
Princess Yelene placed a pale, slender hand on her childhood friend’s shoulder. “Oh, Filip, it’s been wonderful to see you again,” she said in her native language of Starevan.
“And it’s been wonderful to see you,” Filip responded, his accent matching the princess’s. “Starev has been so dreary since you left.” His dark blue eyes drifted toward Princess Kasha as he added in earnest, “But I am glad you’ve found happiness.”
Princess Yelene turned toward her wife, and the two princesses shared a smile.
“Will you be joining us in the parlor?” Princess Kasha asked her wife’s childhood friend.
“I would love to, but I’m not feeling well. I’m going to retire to my room.”
Princess Yelene’s brow creased in concern. “Shall we call for a healer?”
Filip shook his head, white-blonde curls falling in front of his eyes. “I doubt it’s anything serious. I’m sure some rest is all I need.”
“Well, I hope you feel better tomorrow,” Princess Kasha responded.
Princess Yelene smiled at Filip. “I look forward to spending more time together before you return to Starev.”
“As do I,” Filip said.
The princesses walked arm in arm toward the parlor at the end of the hall—the trains of their evening gowns trailing behind them. Filip went in the opposite direction, to the stairs.
Once alone in his suite, Filip shrugged off his white and blue dinner jacket, letting out a low groan as he did. He had been truthful when he told the princesses he wasn’t sick enough to call for a healer, but his feelings of illness worsened during the walk back to his suite, and now he felt awful. Sweat dripped down his body—drenching his white dress shirt—and his stomach cramps were so painful that it took everything in him to not curl in on himself.
He pushed his now-damp curls off his forehead. He knew the food in Sunait would be much spicier than he was used to, but that can’t be the reason for his sudden illness, could it?
Before he could think another thought, Filip vomited. Dark red liquid and chunks of meat spewed from his mouth and covered the stone floor.
Filip stared at the contents of his stomach in confusion. He didn’t recall eating or drinking anything that would cause the red color.
He studied it for another moment before his stomach dropped with the realization that the red color wasn’t food or drink.
It was blood.
Filip turned toward the door. All he had to do was open it and call for help. The palace was full of people. Certainly someone would hear him. He grabbed at the doorknob, the brass cold in his slick hands even in the early summer heat.
Before Filip could turn the knob and pull the door open, he vomited again. This time, with such force that some of it came out of his nose. The acid burned his nostrils, and chunks of blood and congealed blood were stuck in his nose.
This wasn’t good. This wasn’t any normal illness caused by eating undercooked meat or spoiled fruit. Something was very wrong.
Before Filip could realize what this might mean, his legs gave out from underneath him. He fell to the floor. His head met the blood and vomit-soaked marble with a sickening crack that echoed through the otherwise silent suite.
ns216.73.216.141da2
and then Add to home screen.