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Maybe it’s even worse than I think.
“I’ll take her home,” I try. “I thank you greatly for your help this far and am forever in your debt. But now that I am here, I’ll do whatever she needs. At our own home.”
He shakes his head again, not even considering it. It suddenly flashes into my mind that perhaps Anastasia is refusing to go. He did say that she was taking no visitors – is that his idea or hers?
Is she unable to forgive me for not protecting her? It was my job to keep her safe, and I failed her terribly. I can’t really blame her, if so. I can’t forgive myself, either.
“I want to take her home,” I try again. The words bounce around my skull, echoing. I don’t even know why I bother to say them again. I want to take her home, but do I deserve to?
The Prince eyes me, and finally, I see the tiniest glimmer of compassion. But he doesn’t break from his reserved demeanor. He is too used to making hard choices to be swayed by a pathetic, lovestruck dummy like myself.
“Before we proceed in any manner, I will need to confirm with the human. If her version of events paints you as the abuser – even if you simply sat back and let Drir’gen have his way with her – then you will be promptly escorted away with no further contact. I will not tolerate deceit and manipulation,” he warns.
I nod numbly, not sure what else to do. I know that I am telling the truth, of course, so his threat doesn’t concern me.
“But,” he continues, standing abruptly. I stand as well, a traditional display of respect. “If she confirms that Drir’gen is the reason that she showed up here in the state that she did, then I will personally help you correct the mistake.”
There’s a gravity in his pointed look, and I immediately read between the lines.
He wants Anastasia to confirm that Drir’gen is the guilty party. Once she does, the matter will be promptly dealt with.
To be blunt, I’m going to kill Drir’gen. And Laura’s not going to be the one asking to help like I thought.
The Prince is.
117
ANASTASIA
I wake up in a strange room, my entire body feeling shattered. Though my surroundings are unfamiliar, I’m in too much pain to worry about that now. My mind is too groggy, my aches too sharp and pronounced to forget.
If I am in hostile territory, I suppose I will die. At the moment, that doesn’t sound too altogether terrible. I just want the pain to stop.
As my eyes flicker around the room, I hear movement to my side. Suddenly, Laura’s worried face leans over my bed. I smile, though even that small motion causes a fresh wave of pain.
Tears spring to my eyes at the sight of a familiar friend. The Mother guided me here, of all places. Clearly, She was deliberate in her actions. Even for a blessed deity, I am surprised at the greatness of Her caring.
A sense of relief washes over me, knowing that I no longer need to worry. I won’t die here, and I don’t have to concern myself with the fear of further torture. In Laura’s care, I am going to be alright.
It doesn’t take away the pain that I have now. But it deadens it some, makes it feel more manageable. I just have to slog my way through it, until I recover and get my strength back.
“Are you hungry?” Laura asks gently. “I have breakfast ready for you.”
Without waiting for an answer, she turns to retrieve a bed tray from the sideboard of my room. It is already prepared, filled with a rich assortment of foods. I feel a pang of regret at her efforts, knowing that it is more than I can possibly eat in my current condition.
But I am hungry, and excited at the prospect of having food in my empty stomach. As she carries the tray over, I let my eyes rake over my body, assessing my condition.
I can’t see what lies beneath the blanket, but everything seems to be intact. My limbs are all here, and nothing feels broken. I’d have to take the covers off to do a more thorough examination, and the thought of that much movement fills me with dread.
For now, I settle for worrying about the parts of me that I can see. I am covered in bandages, but the light kind that are used on healing skin. I feel no heavy casts or tourniquet, to indicate a more permanent problem.
I imagine my pain is from assorted scratches, scrapes, and bruises. Maybe a sprain, somewhere. Nothing that won’t go away, given enough time and rest.
I let out a sigh of relief, feeling it resonate painfully deep within my bruised ribs. I wince, making a note not to do that again. She holds the tray over the bed, looking at me with a questioning and sympathetic expression.
“I’m okay,” I assure her, talking slowly to not irritate my jaw. It feels bruised and swollen. “Sore, but okay. Great, I guess, now that you’re here.”
She smiles at me tenderly, carefully arranging the tray across my lap. “I was so scared when you showed up at our door,” she admits. “But I’m so glad you did. If you had to be anywhere, in your condition, this was the place to be. We have access to all the best, and you’ll be fixed in no time,” she promises.
