Markus
The drive back to the palace felt endless. Mason kept glancing at me from the driver’s seat, but I didn’t say a word. My head was spinning from all the whiskey. The world outside the window blurred into dark shapes and streetlights. Every bump in the road made my stomach turn, but the real sickness was deeper — in my chest, where the empty space used to hold my mate.
When we finally stopped in front of the palace, I pushed the door open before Mason could help me. I stumbled out, waving him away.
“I can walk,” I growled, even though my legs felt like they belonged to someone else.
“Markus…” he started, worry thick in his voice.
“Go home, Mason. That’s an order.”
He hesitated, then drove off slowly. I stood there for a moment, breathing in the cool night air. It didn’t help. No
