He prepares a small syringe at the bedside cart and gives Lily the dose with practiced gentleness. She does not wake.
“How serious is this likely to be?” I ask.
He hesitates. “Most cases are mild,” he answers. “Most children come through fine in a day or two. A small number have severe cases. Severity tends to be related to the child’s overall strength going into the fever. Children who are stronger going in tend to come through quicker…Twelve hours,” the physician repeats gently. “I will check in every two hours. Send for me at any change.”
He bows slightly to Viktor and steps out.
Madam Petrova sets down a large basin of cool water, a stack of soft white cloths, a small thermometer, fresh towels, a tray of tea, and quietly slips out behind him.
I shrug off my cardigan and drape it over the back of the small bedside chair. I dip the first cloth in the basin of cool water and wring it out and fold it in half. I move to her bedside, and I sit down on the small wooden chair beside her, and I begin.
I press the cool cloth to her tiny forehead, gentle as I can.
Viktor watches me with a surprised look, like he is realizing, in real time, that I am not going anywhere.
He sits down opposite me in the matching chair.
I am also surprised. I suppose I had expected the Crown Prince to give orders, defer to the physician and retreat to his study for updates. Royalty is not supposed tositat sickbeds. They have staff for this.
The afternoon stretches into evening.
Madam Petrova brings food. Neither of us eats much.
I make tea. Viktor drinks it without comment.
At one point Lily wakes long enough to whisper, “Papa?”
“I am here,malenka.”
She drifts off again, her tiny fingers tightening on Max.
The lightat the windows changes. Gold afternoon into pink dusk into soft dim evening. The sconces dim. A single soft lamp burns on the bedside table.
Madam Petrova arrives with clean clothes. For both of us. She has thought of everything.
We take turns stepping into the small adjoining nurse’s room to change. Viktor goes first. He returns in soft pajama pants and a clean dark shirt with the cuffs rolled back to the elbow again, his hair tied loosely at the nape of his neck.
I take my turn and come back in soft cotton lounge pants and a thin sweater. I bring my hair down out of its bun and put it up again, looser, because the bun was starting to give me a headache. I remove my makeup and wash my face.
I come back into the nursery.
Madam Petrov is now directing two quiet porters who arrive with comfortable armchairs to place on either side of Lily’s bed. Small wooden side tables have appeared at each chair. A reading lamp is on each table. A neatly folded throw blanket is over the back of each chair.
Madam Petrova looks up at me from where she has just placed the last basket beside one of the chairs. “You will be here a while, dears,” she says softly. “May as well be comfortable.” She gives my arm a small, steady squeeze as she passes me.
Viktor is already in his armchair, holding the cup of tea I made an hour ago.
I sit down in mine.
A small thick hardcover book is on the side table next to Viktor’s chair. He must have asked Madam Petrova to retrieveit from his study. He picks it up and settles it on his lap. The leather cover gleams in the lamplight.
I lean over slightly. “What are you reading?”
He shows me the spine. It is in Krovenian, which I cannot read, but the cover has a small embossed image of a mid-twentieth-century European city skyline.
“It is a history,” he says quietly. “World War Two. The Krovenian volume.”
“The Krovenian volume? Is this the one where… “
