Page 61 of Shadow Mark
Lenore sat up straighter. “Seriously? You trust me?”
Harol frowned, which wasn’t concerning because that was his default expression. “Trust is not the issue. The media believes that you are the king’s mistress.”
“I could be his friend, you know.”
“Don’t be ridiculous. The king does not have friends,” he said with such certainty, like it was an irrefutable fact.
Which was just sad, in Lenore’s opinion. Sad, but the more she understood the way this particular world worked, the more she recognized it as true.
“You will spend a day or two in his rooms, acting as my eyes and helping His Majesty through the last and worst stage of his condition. No one will question it.”
“The media will just titter about a three-day sexcapade,” she grumbled.
“It is a solid plan. It will work.”
“And will ruin my reputation.”
“Since when do you care what others think?”
The question took her aback because she didn’t care. Why was she clutching her pearls like a nineteenth-century mama trying to marry off her five daughters?
“My professional reputation. No one will take me seriously if they think I’m the king’s…” She searched for the right word. Not a bit on the side. Eventually, she settled on “Mistress.”
“Those people would never take you seriously because you are human.”
“Oww.” Lenore placed a hand over her heart, acting as if she had been struck. “You’re just hitting with the hard truths this morning, aren’t you?”
Harol took the footage down. “This must be done quickly and quietly. I would happily masquerade as the king’s lover if that had a chance of being believed.”
“Fine. Walk me through it,” she said.
The guards let her in without a word. An unexpected benefit of having a scandalous reputation. Lenore had been prepared to fight and use the emergency medical override to enter Baris’ suite, which would have been less than ideal as it would leave an entry in the palace’s security logs. Instead, the guards seemed almost grateful to see her arrive with a duffle bag filled with supplies.
Lenore announced herself as she entered.
Baris was in rough shape. He slouched in a chair in front of the open balcony. He wore only a pair of sleep pants. Dark bruises covered his chest and shoulders, turning his gray skin into a mottled purple and black canvas. Light and shadow played across his skin, giving the illusion of movement.
No. Not an illusion. The bruises moved.
“Baris?” She crouched down in front to get a better look. The bruises writhed and twisted under his skin. Not bruises. The dying symbiote.
He mumbled a response.
“May I touch you?”
“Do what you must.”
She reached for his wrist. The symbiote swarmed to where their skin connected, growing darker. He was feverish. She didn’t need a thermometer to know that. When she pulled her hand away, her fingers were coated with a gray fluid. The dead symbiote secreted through his pores. Harol told her to expect it, but it was still alarming.
This was definitely worse than what she saw last night.
“Any vomiting?”
“Not since last night.”
“Good.” Her primary goal was to get some calories into him and keep him hydrated. “You should be in bed.”
Baris shook his head. “I can’t sleep. My skin itches.”