Book 19: Kidnapping

Oakley

“Rejection?” Mom’s voice is muffled by the door. It’s a hazy outline through my fogged vision while I lie back on my pillows. Blinking takes a tremendous amount of effort and makes me feel on the verge of collapse, but I keep my eyes open to slits, my gaze glued to the golden highlight surrounding my door. “But… that can’t be right. They were–Prince Ian, he was…. They seemed so happy.”

I don’t recognize the other woman’s voice. It’s softer, lower, more of a rumble compared to my mother’s pitched whines while they argue back and forth. 

At least, I think they're arguing. My mind is a blank slate, fueled by a fever that hasn't let up in several days. 

My arm tingles, then begins to burn, the only sensation I can truly feel beside the ebb and flow of the fever. A sweeping, rolling feeling flows over f