Sarah Z. Creates

The Cooling was being refreshed hourly, but it wasn’t enough. A trickle of sweat tickled through his hairline. The drop wasn’t large — tiny, in fact — but it was enough.

The words swam on the page as the memory engulfed him. That fluttery, heavy feeling in his chest — needing to breathe, to gasp, but unable to seize enough —

He shoved away from the desk, hard enough that the desk itself shifted, sending the pages fluttering nearly to the edges, and lunged to his feet.

“This can wait,” thank the Ancestors his voice was even. He could only hope his face was the same, not betraying the panic that made him want to claw at the sudden restriction of his throat.

“But Your Highness —” that was Julia. The bastard always needed something now. “These supplies —”

“Iago can see to it,” anything, anything to get out of this room. He felt a flash of guilt at foisting off on Iago again —

— the panic surged, nearly strangling him. He began walking away, anger consuming his guilt and taking the edge off his panic.

Yes, that was good. Iago could. Iago would. The panic eased a little more.

“I’ll sign it when he’s done,” his hand was on the door. “I have other things to do.”

Yes, other things. Not that he couldn’t — didn’t know how to be what these men expected. Never that.

Ancestors, he needed a drink.