Wolf Princess Sold to the Dragon King novel Chapter 286

Chapter 286: Healing Hot Tub On Clusterfuck Carousel

"Guinevere."

Her skin was wrong. Cold where it should have been warm, grey where it should have been golden, and the dark veins under her eyes were spreading in real-time.

Nothing.

"Guinevere. Open your goddamn eyes."

Her lashes fluttered. Green locked on him for a second, dull and blurry, the eyes of someone staring up from the bottom of a well.

"There you are. Stay with me. You’re okay."

She wasn’t okay and he fucking knew it. His wolf was losing its goddamn mind and Nicholas wasn’t far behind, but melting down right now was not going to help her.

Her mouth moved and what came out was barely a whisper.

"I’m s-sorry."

His throat closed. Something cracked inside his chest that had nothing to do with the dark magic or his heart starting back up again. The pressure behind his eyes was so immediate, so savage, that he stopped breathing for a second to keep it in.

"Don’t you dare apologize to me right now," he finally managed.

Her eyes shut, her head lolled to the side, and the rest of her went limp in his arms with the absolute surrender of a system that had been running on fumes and had just burned through the last one.

No. Hell no. He hadn’t clawed his way out of death, puked up dark magic, and restarted his own goddamn heart just to watch her flatline in his arms like some cosmic punchline.

"No. Guinevere. I’m here. Hey. HEY."

Then the white fog that had been holding their asses up decided that was the perfect second to fuck off and dissolve. His stomach lurched before his brain caught up. The solid nothing they’d been lying on went from firm to gone with zero transition and gravity remembered where it left off.

They were falling.

Wind hit his face and ripped the white hair across her body like a banner. His arms crushed her against his chest on reflex, locking her into his body the way a man locks a door he never intends to open again.

The white void, he realized, was actually a cloud. The second they dropped out the bottom he got a view that made him question if he’d been roofied or just smoked from Satan’s personal bong.

Floating islands. Dozens of them. Connected by threads of light that hung between them like bridges built by a drunk god with a geometry fetish. This entire day had been one long, uninterrupted clusterfuck-carousel, and the ride was still spinning.

"WHERE THE HELL ARE WE?"

The wind stole the question and gave him nothing back.

CRACK.

He didn’t know what that crack was or the light that flashed. All he knew was one second they were plummeting.

The next—

CRACK.

Water. Impact should’ve been concrete-level punishment. But instead warmth and gold light swallowed them.

Nicholas’s back found the bottom. He hauled them both upright and spat out a mouthful of gold that tasted like sunlight, and thought, What in the absolute hell is this crap?

A warm bath. After dimension travel, cardiac arrest, and terminal velocity. Sure. Why not. He’d stopped questioning things three catastrophes ago. The water settled at his chest. At her neck. She was limp against him, her head on his shoulder.

He looked up and blinked a few times. Wood. No windows or door. No source of light except the glowing golden pool they were in and the walls. It looked like they were in the center of a tree if he were to guess but he had no fucking idea.

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