CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Callum’s face is pale, drained of all color. He wets his cracked lips and utters, "My king," His voice hoarse. Attempting to sit up as I approach, he fails, thumping back into the bed. I notice the wet towel on his forehead, and a water witch by his left seems to be treating him. She bows in respect, and I wave her off.

“How?” I ask, standing by the foot of his bed, finger on my nose to block the pungent smell of the healing herbs.

"I pissed off a witch."

"And she made you sick?" I question, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes."

"Hmm, I didn’t know they could do that."

"Me neither. I'm sorry, Your Majesty, for missing court these past two days, but as you can see, I'm actually sick."

"Yes, I can see that, Lord Easterlin. I wish you a quick recovery."

"Thank you, Your Majesty. Don’t worry; I'll be fine before The Bloodmoon Gala. It’s an important day for my daughter, and no witch sickness will stop me from attending."

I nod, not expecting such confidence. He doesn't seem concerned, even though r