Standing in the cold hush of his study, the name Killian surged to his lips before he could stop it.
Not Eiden.
But Killian.
The boy who had woke up bore her fire, not Vespera's ice.
As he sat in the plush chair, his fingers gripped the arm rest tightly, the wood creaking under the pressure of his mounting concern.
Just days prior, Killian had awoken from a nightmarish slumber, the echoes of terror etched across his features.
He had been thrashing about, mouth partially agape as he gasped for breath, clutching his head as if trying to fend off unseen predators.
Blood had mingled with his cries, speckling his lips.
The Duke felt as if someone had crushed his heart.
No...not again.
This was the second time his youngest son was poisoned.
He called the royal physican in a rush, his face a mess.
Eiden succumbed to a coma, and when he finally woke up, he very being felt differnt.
Eiden felt altered, as if an entirely different soul had slipped into the body of his son.
