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“Here,” she says while he studies the label. “This syrup is meant for high fevers and sore throats. Regarding blocked or runny noses, the shelves remain empty at the moment.” She lets out a sigh, looking over the glass vials. “The weather has been unpredictable. Warmth stayed for several days, and then the bitter cold returned during the nights. Many of the maids and a few guards arrived here with the same illness.”
Cael nods, his fingers lifting to deliver the question. Are they well?
“I have not received concerning reports,” she replies with a shrug of her shoulders. “They remain in their quarters to rest.” A faint laugh escapes her lips. “I swear to Riverath, I feel the onset of a chill myself. Perhaps that is old age speaking.”
Cael considers her words, deciding he will arrange for another nurse to assist her so she can rest more often. For now, he signs again. Do you have a small towel and a basin for the fever?
Nurse Elsher nods at once. “Of course.” She turns toward the desk and reaches beneath it, pulling out a plastic basin with a folded black towel resting inside. “These were stocked only an hour ago.”
Cael accepts the basin and towel, balancing them carefully with the bottle of medicine already in his hands.
“Thank you for your hard work, Your Highness,” she says with a warm smile, inclining her head. The gratitude catches him by surprise. “Though I assure you, I and the other nurses would be glad to help Her Highness if needed. Do not overwork yourself.”
Cael gives a small nod, taking the glass vial from her palm. He leaves the dispensary and steps into the quiet hallway, his thoughts racing back to Elara. Caring for her frame has become an instinct rather than a task he promised to fulfill. He wants to be useful to her welfare in every way he can manage, to show her that his care does not depend upon a crown, a sword, or a voice.
The thought of her waking alone with a worsening fever unsettles him. His heart races at the image of her green eyes. For the first time in his life, he possesses a companion he can feel close to, someone whose presence inspires the words and verses he locks away.
He makes his way back toward her quarters, yet his pace slows halfway through the grand corridor. Memories surface from years prior, from moments when Kaera would fall ill as a child. He would sit beside her bed with a warm cup of water between his hands, waiting while she stirred enough to drink.
Cael makes his way toward the kitchen adjoining the family dining hall. When he opens the heavy door, darkness and silence greet his frame. He lights the candles along the walls, casting a warm glow across the spacious area.
At the far end stands a smaller door. Cael crosses the kitchen and steps inside. This second kitchen is more compact, its walls lined with tall cabinets reaching almost to the ceiling. He remembers exactly where he left it. Opening one of the upper cabinets, he retrieves a thick silver flask wrapped in heavy boiled leather to keep water warm. He purchased the vessel years ago after falling ill during a harsh winter, then secured a second matching flask for Kaera. This spare remained untouched in the cupboard, waiting in case a need arose within the household.
He sets the bottle upon the marble counter before retrieving a small black pot from a lower cabinet and placing it on the stove. Soon the water reaches a gentle boil. He dips two fingers into the pot, testing it against his own skin before nodding, satisfied it will not scald her. Carefully, he pours it into the insulated bottle before sealing the lid.
“Your Highness?” A red-haired baker calls from behind, holding a tray of light caramel brown and pink striped pastries. “We prepared your favorite strawberry croissants. There is no special occasion, yet the staff wishes to offer this token for your past assistance.”
The dessert never originated in Riverath. Elias introduced the sweet to Cael at ten years old, bringing the recipe to the palace during a rare visit of comfort. Cael's body stills, a wave of caution passing through his frame. He realizes six pastries rest on the silver tray, warm and flaking beneath the light.
“We made two for your frame and Her Highness,” the baker continues, her voice lowering. “We wish to offer them to the King, yet we fear the risk to his health. Queen Maereth is unhappy. She entered the kitchens this morning for breakfast and scolded the entire staff without cause.”
Another baker steps forward, his voice a whisper. “We are concerned, Your Highness. She inspected the provisions herself.”
Cael’s eyebrows furrow with concern as he takes in their honesty. He lifts his free hand to sign. I will speak with her. Do not let this trouble your minds. You performed no wrong.
The staff smiles with relief. “Thank you, Your Highness. We pray for the quick healing of your princess. Nurse Elsher informed us she prepares further syrups for her care.”
Cael inclines his head. Hesitant to delay while Elara suffers, he takes the warm tray. With the medicine, basin, towel, and silver flask gathered securely within the strength of his arms, he returns upstairs toward her quarters. By the time he reaches the heavy door, a portion of the unease inside his chest disappears.
At least now, he has everything Elara needs.
He eases the door open, hoping not to disturb her sleep. He finds her sitting upright against the headboard, her eyes half open as they wander sleepily across the chamber.
“Cael?” she murmurs.
He closes the door behind him and crosses to the bedside. Setting everything on the table beside her, he lowers himself onto the edge of the mattress before lifting his hands. How do you feel?
Elara swallows carefully. “My throat still hurts.”
His brows draw together. Sleep. You need more of it.
Elara shakes her head. “I am not tired anymore,” she mumbles, her voice still thick. “I think I have rested enough.”
Worry returns immediately. Cael presses the back of his hand against her forehead once more. Her temperature has not changed.
“What are those?” she asks, her gaze drifting toward the insulated bottle, the plastic basin, and the folded towel.
Cael picks up the silver flask. The boiled leather wrap remains warm beneath his hands. He unscrews the cap and pours a small amount of hot water into the metal vessel, deep enough to serve as a cup. He offers it to her lips.
