Ralph fought to roll to his side, but his stiff, sore muscles screamed at him to stop. He struggled, floating somewhere between waking and sleeping. His body begged him to lie still while his mind flashed images he wanted to forget. The prince, vomiting his stomach’s vile-smelling contents into a porcelain bowl, wreathing, bent in half and moaning in agony. D’ArtAnna pouring entire potion vials past his dry parched mouth, coaxing him to swallow. She laid flawless alabaster ston...