The Forged Empire by Samantha Gillespie

A tremor starts in my hands again, subtle but insistent. I clench my fists, willing it to stop.

“My lady?” Anabella appears near the foot of the staircase, her wide eyes fixed on me, worry plain in her gaze.

My pulse pounds harder in my ears, and the air feels thick, suffocating. A bead of sweat traces a line down my temple, and I lift a trembling hand to brush it away. The motion betrays me. My uncle’s eyes narrow, alarm darkening his expression.

“You’re quite pale,” he remarks, his voice softer now but no less authoritative. “Sit down before you fall.”

“I’m fine,” I say, gritting my teeth. “It’s just a dizzy spell—”

The room wavers, and a sharp pain lances through my temple. I dig my nails into the carved wood of a nearby table, struggling to stay upright. Voices fade into a muffled roar behind the pounding in my ears. My legs threaten to buckle, yet I take a step forward . . . feeling as if the crown itself is dragging me down.

“Meredith!” Anabella cries out, her fear breaking through decorum. She rushes forward, but someone stops her—a hand grabbing her arm, likely my uncle’s.

“No one is to approach her!” The command explodes from my uncle’s throat like a war cry, freezing everyone mid-step. “She was inoculated this morning—she could be infected!”

Infected.

Understanding dawns like poison spreading through my veins. They think the inoculation failed. They think I’m a walking plague, a vector of death.

Am I?

My knees buckle as the implications cascade through my mind. The room warps and tilts, faces stretching into grotesque masks of fear and revulsion.

“Please, let me help her!” Anabella’s voice cracks with desperation, cutting through the growing pandemonium. “She’s fainting—she needs—”

My uncle stops her. “Stay where you are, woman, or I’ll have you restrained!”

I struggle to form reassurances, denials, anything. But my tongue lies thick and useless in my mouth. The marble floor begins its inexorable rise to meet me, my legs folding like paper beneath my weight. Colors bleed together, the world smearing into an impressionist nightmare.

“Get the physician! Now!” My uncle’s bellow seems to come from very far away, echoing down a tunnel of gathering darkness.

I’m falling—but suddenly strong arms encircle me, crushing me against a chest that thunders with someone else’s racing heartbeat. The scent of leather and pine fills my fading senses, achingly familiar.

“Get away from her!” the duke roars. “You fool—you’re putting yourself at risk! Guards, pull him back!”

“Try it.” Connor’s voice is a low growl. “See what happens.”

The threat hangs in the air, electric with promise. Even through my fading consciousness, I feel the tension ratchet higher, guards hesitating at the challenge in his tone.

Through the narrow slits of my barely-open eyes, I see Connor’s face swimming above me, those midnight-blue eyes fierce with determination. His jaw is set in stone, daring anyone to test him. His lips move urgently, forming words that reach me only as distant whispers, lost in the roaring tide of unconsciousness.

The last thing I register is his arms tightening around me, unyielding as iron, before the darkness swallows me whole.