I can’t stop now. Every inch of me is screaming to sit down, but I can’t. I’ve used all my energy and power on keeping Mor alive, and my power is limited. Even if I’ve slowed the process greatly, the poison from that monster is still making its way to his heart.

My walk has turned into a run, and Emily is doing everything she can to keep up. We rush forward, down the hill, into the clearing. The sight of the city and its lights gives me some energy.

“Hang on. We’re going to get you help,” I whisper to Mor. The soft, muddy ground slowly transform into hardened stone, and we find ourselves on a wide road, leading straight into a cluster of short, stout buildings made of a thick, sturdy material.

The air around the city smells of cooked meat and burning wood. Smoke rises from several structures, and the flicker of lights in the tall, open windows is comforting. Here, this small city stands, defying the treacherous nature around it. I just hope they have a cure for this poison. We’re so close to that monster, I am sure we can’t have been the only ones who’ve run into it.

Several people mill about on the streets, meandering. All stop and freeze when we pass by, staring with wide eyes.

Do they recognize me? My paranoia starts to creep in. Baromenians are not favored in the Centaurus Galaxy, but if they recognize me as the prince, we could have some problems. My father could be alerted to my location, and we’d just be sitting ducks.

“Why are they looking at us like that?” Emily asks, increasing her pace to keep up with mine.

“They must not get a lot of visitors,” I mutter, looking around. “We need to find a doctor.”

I haven’t ever seen these people before. They are small, no taller than five feet, and yellow, with white eyes and hair. Their noses are squashed flat, and their lips are extremely thin. I hope they speak Standard.

I approach one who’s brave enough to hold eye contact with me. “We need help for our friend,” I say slowly, pointing to Mor. “He was poisoned by the bird monster in the jungle.”

The man’s mouth opens, and he points a finger at me. His whole body begins to tremble. “Baromenian,” he croaks.

Great. I roll my eyes. “Yes. We aren’t going to hurt you.”

The man backs away into a run and disappears into the fearful crowd.

Well, that went great. I sigh and whip around. “We need help!” I shout. “My friend has been poisoned.”

My pleas are met with nothing more than silent stares and looks of fear. My father’s rule has known no limits. How much have these people suffered, and why?

“Please. I will give you money!”

“There is no need for that.” One of them breaks through the line. He is old, with only wisps of white hair and a bent back. He hobbles forward holding a curved wooden cane. His ancient eyes examine us carefully, and he twirls his long beard around a finger. My impatience is growing. The old man coughs, then taps the top of his cane.

“An Omicronian, a Baromenian, and—what are you?” He stares at Emily with confusion.

I become immediately defensive. “She’s with me.”

“You are no ordinary Baromenian, either. You bear the markings of the Emperor himself.” His eyes squint, “Pri—”

But he doesn’t finish. His words have already spiked a mass frenzy among the citizens. Their voices grow loud, in a panic. The old one slams his staff against the road. I clench my jaw.

“Look,” I cut him off quickly. “Let’s work out the details later. My friend needs help now!”

“What happened?”

“We were attacked by a large winged bird thing?”

“Ah, yes. He has the black poison in him. There is not much time. We will help you.” His eyes study mine. Does he want something?

It doesn’t matter now.

I glance over at Emily. I hate how fearful and confused she looks. “Thank you,” I say.

The old man nods and begins to walk, wobbling through the mass of people. They part quickly, avoiding me, clearly frightened by my presence.

“We haven’t had a Baromenian, let alone one of such prestige, visit since the Great War, when our land was enslaved and stripped of its resources by the emperor.”

“I promise, I have no authority or power, or any sort of prestige.”

The old clicks his tongue. “Then you are in denial.”

“Sure, Grandpa.”

We are led down the street, to one of the grey buildings. A strange sign has been carved into the wooden door. I assume it is the symbol for a doctor or healer. We wait for a second, and then it swings open.

A fat woman whose hair is piled on top of her head in a large mess, with hundreds of wrinkles carved into her face, appears on the other side. She looks rather upset by the late disturbance, but then her eyes fall on me.

I sense the extreme fear in her heart. She shakes her head and tries to shut the door, but the old man presses his hand against it and forces it to remain open. She stumbles backward and begins to curse under her breath.

The old man speaks to her in strange clicking sounds. She looks nervously between him and me.

I try to give her a reassuring smile, but it’s not going to work. Who knows what terror she has felt at the hand of my father who I, unfortunately, resemble exactly?

She eventually nods, motioning to an old wooden table inside the small room. I gently place Mor down. He lets out a groan, and his head rolls to the side.

“Looma will see to your friend,” the old man begins. “She is our healer.”

“Thank you.”

The room is stocked with shelves holding various jars and containers filled with strange liquids and substances, all different colors and consistencies. Several candles line the walls and give off a dim, flickering light.

The woman looks at Emily and motions for us to leave the room. She points to a door down a narrow hallway. Her aged hand trembles with the motion.

“This is where you will be staying the night,” the old man says. He comes with us to the tiny room. The bed is no larger than a child’s, but there's a wide window that lets in a cool breeze, and a chair in a corner. A simple room, I guess, meant to be used by patients during their stay.

Emily walks in and sits on the bed. She’s been so quiet.

I watch for a moment. “Will you be okay in here?” I ask her.

She nods. “It's better than sleeping outside.”

I begin to follow the old man back down the hall. I want to be there for Mor and make sure this woman knows what she’s doing.

But the old man spins around and jabs his staff into my chest. “No, Baromenian, stay here. Looma must not be disturbed while she heals your friend. The infection is bad.”

My fist clenches tightly. I want to protest, but instead, I sigh and lean against the wall. I can’t risk getting in the way. This Looma is already scared shitless by my presence.

I scratch my chin. “Do you have a ship we can buy?”

He narrows his eyes. “We may.”

“Look—I need it. I’ll pay you.”

“I can work something out, perhaps. But if we help you, you must help us.”

“What?” I ask.

“We need money and trade to return to our planet’s shores.”

“I will see what I can do.”

It’s a lie. He’s helping us because he thinks I’m still the prince. He smiles and bows.

I shake my head and look up.

Looma stands over Mor. She sees me, then slams the door shut.

I close my eyes; all I can do is hope for the best. I return to the small room, where Emily is lying on the bed. She looks young and vulnerable, like a child. I don’t know what to say or do.

Is she still mad at me? She lifts her head and watches me.

I sigh and slide to the floor. “This is all my fucking fault!” I murmur. I hit my head against the wall several times. I should be the one taking care of Mor, but here I am, sitting on my ass. I take a deep breath and examine my leg. The wound is starting to heal.

“You got him to safety,” Emily whispers.

“I brought both of you here to this shit place.” I look out the window, avoiding Emily’s hovering gaze. I don’t like her seeing me like this—weak. “I should have left when I had the chance. None of this would have happened. Mor wouldn’t have gotten hurt, and I wouldn’t have fallen in love with you.”

I bite my tongue. I can’t believe I said that out loud to Emily. I shake my head and start to laugh. Love? Is that really what came out of my mouth?

“I honestly don’t know why I just said that. No—that’s a lie. I do know why. Because it's true. I love you, Emily.”

It feels good to say. She might as well know.

I look at her, and all I can see in the darkness is the outline of her face. I am relieved we can’t see one another.

But the tension of silence hangs in the air. “You can sleep on the bed.” I stretch out on the floor.

“You love me?” she finally asks, breaking the silence that’s formed between us. I thought she had fallen asleep.

I let out a breath. “Yeah. I’ve loved you since the first time I saw you in that damn cell.”

Another long pause falls between us. “What does that mean?”

My hand reaches for hers. I want to be near her, to know she is okay and still here with me because soon, she will be gone to Omicron.

I have to take her.

She saw the way those people looked at me in horror. I am not a good person.

“I don’t know,” is all I can think of to say. I sit up and try to get close to see her in the room. Her skin is soft and warm under my hands. My stomach twists with longing and the need to be close to her.