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“Excellent, Your Highness. We’ve finished the cleaning process. I’m going to ply a numbing cream to this and a soothingbalm.” I appreciated that the woman was calmly telling me every step, and I wondered if this was standard protocol, or a style she’d picked up from Ayla. My mate always checked in with her patient and made sure they understood what was happening to them. Despite being the ‘Healing Hermit’, she’d always had a good bedside manner.
“You’re likely going to feel pressure and more pain, but I do promise it will ebb after a few minutes. After that, we’re going to need to give you a rejuvenation potion for your blood loss and then pack this wound with gauze.”
I was surprised I had enough energy to look up. I wanted to ask her why she wouldn’t just stitch it up, but I still had the bit in my mouth.
“We can’t close the wound from the outside because it’s larger than a palm’s length and made of silver,” she said, as if reading my mind. “We’re going to need to pack it with gauze and enchant it to make sure the injury doesn’t close overnight.”
I was sure, meanwhile, that if I was with Ayla, she could close it.
“Where is he?” I heard a voice cry. “Where is my son? My gods, is he dead? He can’t be dead!”
I looked to Oren with panic, and he moved to the door just in time to catch my mother as she burst through the door.
I’d never seen her so disheveled. Her normally impeccably styled hair was loose and tumbling around her shoulders. She was in her night clothes, with a thick bathrobe hastily thrown over it. Even her feet were bare, a single sock half stuck on one of them.
But it went beyond her clothes. Her face was pale, sticky with sweat, and her eyes glowed a deep gold. I had no idea how she was still able to speak so clearly when I could see her nose had begun to elongate, and her fangs were all sticking out of hermouth at odd angles, too big for the human arrangement they were in.
“You shouldn’t see this, Your Majesty,” Oren said softly, his tone caring in all the ways I knew he could be. I’d be forever grateful for my best friend in every way possible. “He’s all right and being taken care of, I promise.”
“Unhand me!” she shrieked, ripping herself out of my friend’s arm and rushing to me. I figured it was hopeless to stop her and offered her my good arm. She took my hand, crying with what smelled like a mixture of fear and relief.
“Oh, my darling. My sweet Nikki. Is it true? Was it an assassin who tried to hurt you?”
I wanted to lie to her, to ease the pain etched in her face, but what was the point? She would find out eventually. As much as I loved my mother, she was still Queen Brielle of Camdaria, and she needed to know if killers were after her family.
“Yes.”
“Who would do this?”
“I don’t know, but we’ll find out soon enough.”
“I can’t believe he hurt you like this. I…” Her breath hitched. “I worry the capital isn’t safe for you after all, and I was selfish to ask for you back here.” Then she was crying, big tear drops slipping out of her golden eyes, dripping down her face. When was the last time I’d seen her cry this much? My mother showed plenty of emotion, but she’d always been so refined with me. So… composed. “I just missed youso much.”
Despite all the pain I was in, I felt guilt pile on top of it. I’d spent too much time away from home. But what choice did I have? I sympathized for my mother; I did. Our situation forced us to make our choices, and the paths we’d taken doomed us to be apart. But maybe from now on, my absences didn't have to be so long, and it certainly wouldn't hurt to write my mother once in a while.
My sister.
Maybe even my niece. She couldn't read yet, but I was certain Seraphina or even my mother could read letters to her. That way, once she got older, the habit was already established, and I wouldn’t be the ghost of an uncle who abandoned her to an indifferent mother.
Some changes were in order, but first thing was first.
A potion was pressed to my mouth, then another, then one went into the open wound. I tried not to look at how it sizzled, but it was fairly hard to ignore the bubbling against my skin. If I hadn't seen so much in the military, and if I hadn't walked away from multiple battles with my own grievous wounds, I probably would’ve thrown up right then and there.
It was all so much. From my mother crying over me, to Oren's concerned glances, to the whispering among the attendants about their prince being attacked. I just wanted to be a captain again, where my injuries weren't a matter of national importance.
I had much darker thoughts as well. Was my father the one to send the assassin after me so soon? It seemed like rushing, and though my father was many things, he wasn’t an impatient man.
“Your Highness, it seems your heart rate is spiking higher than I am comfortable with, period. I'm gonna give you something to help put you under now that we no longer need you awake. Just be aware when you wake up, your arm will be fully bandaged, but the wound will still be open and packed with healing ingredients, as well as blessed gauze.”
At least I got a little warning. I nodded to the healer and tried to relax as they injected something into my arm. It worked surprisingly fast and, within a minute or two, I felt myself slowly pulled under in a gentle dark caress, where even the burn of silver couldn't touch me.
I woke slowly, expecting to feel a lot more hungover and beat up than I did. The first thing I was aware of was itching, specifically in one of my arms. I reached, but something intercepted my hand, cool fingers intertwining with my own. I roused myself back to the surface.
I'd been expecting Ayla, so I was quite surprised to see Seraphina there instead, looking worried.
“Hey there,” she said, her voice soft. “You’ve had quite a night, haven’t you?”
“You could say that,” I said, taking the bottle of water she offered me. “How long was I out?”
