Book 9: Queen of Wishful Thinking

Sarah

Time is an illusion. I’ve never slept so much in my entire life. 

My body feels weak and heavy as I linger on the edge of sleep, refusing to let myself succumb to the inky, black, depthless slumber I’ve been experiencing for days even though my body is begging for it. 

I know it’s the tea. It has to be. It’s the only thing I’ve been able to keep down since spiraling back to reality, and Cosette has a habit of hiding her nasty herbal concoctions behind copious amounts of honey and cream. 

A burst of pain launches me back into alertness. I sneeze loudly, ripping my eyes open to find myself face to face with Blake, who’s gripping my nose with an iron fist. 

He beams at me, his eyes going all squinty with delight. 

“Did you just stick your finger all the way up my nose?” I ask, arching my brow at him. 

He sucks in his breath and does his best impression of laughing, which comes out as a broken