Sibyl’s POV
The rain and the sadness left me speechless, and my pale lips quivered.
"Doyle..." I looked at Manolo and cried even harder.
"Don't be afraid, where is he? You take me to his room." Manolo's voice is soft and powerful.
I stood shivering, pointing in the direction of Doyle's house, and then I ran ahead, regardless of the mud and water on my dress.
Manolo followed me closely and grabbed my arm just as I was about to fall.
"Doyle..." when I got to Doyle's room, I smelled something musty. His servants stood at the door, their faces sad and their heads bowed.
I pushed the servants aside and went to Doyle's bed.
Doyle's cheeks were red with fever. He closed his eyes, furrowed his brow, and uttered a low voice of pain.
"Open the south window. He needs some fresh air," Manolo told his servant. He went to bed, touched Doyle's forehead, frowned, and said, “He's had a fever for at least two days.”
