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There’s a pause, and I assume he’s waiting for my response. Instead, Constantine reels off instructions, although they might accurately be described as orders.
“You can come through and use the same procedure to enter as the last time you were here.”
“Um. Okay…”
“And you’ll be here within the hour?”
“I’ll try my best.”
“Please do. He’s counting on it.”
The call cuts off, and I’m left with a whirlwind of questions.
If he's stable, why does he need me there? I was under the impression I’d be coming to the palace next week, or maybe next month, if the King even remembered inviting me. But immediately, in the aftermath of a medical incident?
This is strange. And terrifying. My eyes fall down to my clothes, which are slightly too casual for a royal audience. But I decide that they're good enough.
I quickly freshen up, grab my bag, and leave.
When I arrive, the palace gates are more harried than usual, with a flurry of activity among the people in the guard house, suggesting a heightened state of alarm. I notice more security officers wandering the perimeter compared to before.
“Greetings. What is your business?”
“Um. I’m Dr. Eleanora Lawson. The King invited me.”
“Ah, right, yes, Dr. Lawson. One moment.”
I wait while they go into the guardhouse and process my ID and credentials. About a minute later, the guard comes back.
“Dr. Lawson, you're clear to go. They’ll be waiting at the grand entrance. Do you know how to get there?”
I nod. “Mm-hmm.”
He nods, and the gates open. A member of security dressed in regalia lets me in and leads me to the King’s palatial room with a bow.
He's propped up against huge silk pillows in possibly the largest bed I've ever seen. A whole wall of windows framed by plush drapery brightens the room.
I curtsy as soon as our eyes meet.
“Ellie, don't worry about the formalities. Please come closer. You're a sight for sore eyes.”
I walk over to a loveseat near the bed. “I’m glad to help the sore eyes. But I’m more worried about your heart. How are you feeling?”
“Please, take a seat,” he says calmly. And nothing about his almost jovial face betrays that he was recently under intensive medical care.
I oblige, place my bag next to me, and fold my legs at the knees. “What happened, King Francis?”
“Oh, I got a little worked up, that's all. Got into a bit of a heated argument and that caused my blood pressure to shoot all the way up.”
“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that. I hope you’re feeling better. And calmer.”
He chuckles. “Turns out the rush of emotions affected my blood pressure. Blame it on the heart.”
“I’m glad you’re back in your quarters and not in a hospital. That’s good, right?”
“They did give me a pretty stern warning to keep calm and avoid stressful situations. But what do you recommend, as a doctor?”
“Well my expertise is obstetrics and gynecology, but I'd say they are spot on.”
