The Reckless Reign (Book 3, The Culled Crown Series)

Chapter 35

Reubinon Palace, Pellarmus.
Four days after the attack.

Whatever was in the tonic Annalise had given me was strong, because I could barely keep my eyes open as I ate the toast and broth that was delivered to my room. Once my stomach was full, I slept deeply for almost another full day. The next time I really woke up, I was done being in bed. Walking was still a painful, slow thing; but mentally, I was ready to join the fight again.

Cohen was still unconscious—his body struggling to heal against the three bullets he'd taken. When I woke up on the evening of the fourth day and announced that I was going to see him—to see Nadia and speak to Darragh—Annalise didn't argue.

I could tell she wanted to though.

She was endlessly patient with me and helped me to bathe and dress—all the while holding back her protests and disagreement. I could see it on her face even without her speaking. She worried for me. Worried I might be overdoing it. I'd seen that same worried expression on my mother's face countless times throughout my life, sometimes directed at me, sometimes directed at my brothers'.

I ignored Annalise's worry just as I had always tried to ignore my mama's.

When I emerged from the bathing room, my hair dripping and my clothes still slightly twisted in places, Isla was perched in Heidi's abandoned armchair. She turned to face me, her brown skin warming further as she saw the silently resigned look on Annalise's face.

The two girls exchanged a knowing look as the princess got to her feet and took up a place on my other side. Despite my desire to appear strong and capable, I leaned heavily into Isla. The skin and muscles in my side strained and cried out at every step, the stitches pulling painfully.

The princess of Pellarmus smelled like clove cigarettes and brandy; and as she maneuvered me around the chair and onto the foot of the bed, I felt the press of the small, cigarette box in her dress pocket. I did my best to hide a smile.

"Been out for a smoke, Isla?" I asked, keeping my voice low enough that Annalise wouldn't hear as she went in search of my boots.

Isla made a face, "Don't act so smug. We all have bad habits. Mine is smoking, yours, it seems, is being a nuisance."

"Being a nuisance?" I said, feigning offense.

She nodded, her accent thick as honey as she mutter, "You heard me."

Her sour expression softened as she watched Annalise shuffle through the large armoire. The healer's blonde hair was pulled into a messy bun at the top of her head today. Stray pieces of it fell across her flushed cheeks and curled in wayward strands down her back. The white apron of her uniform hugged the curve of her hips and accentuated her feminine build.

She was beautiful.

And I could tell that Isla saw it too.

As Annalise stood up and turned to face us, I noted the way her eyes went to Isla before they moved to me. There was a strength to that look—an intentionality behind it that had Isla straightening slightly. The shy smile on the princess's face made it clear that they'd been introduced before—and were clearly well enough acquainted that Isla felt bold enough to say, "I thought you'd agreed to let Monroe die if I increased your pay?"

My mouth fell open. "Hey!"

Isla laughed loudly but Annalise only shook her head. She crouched in front of me and made quick work of lacing my boots for me. When she stood up, she gave Isla's shoulder a firm shove. The princess caught her wrist and pulled her forward, nearly onto her lap. For a moment, Annalise's expression faltered and grew serious. Their closeness, the proximity of their bodies—the look on Isla's face...