The Empress' Descent

Chapter 35 - She Unravels

Mustering enough energy, I shoved Derek aside and slumped onto the bed. Unsurprisingly, he relented without resisting, stepping to the side while finding the speck of dust on the side table suddenly admirable.

I cleared my throat. "No, it was nothing. The Duke was simply helping me up. Come in, Anya, and bring your healer."

This girl, I'd told her to get a medical kit so that no one would know. I did not want to raise suspicions within the palace.

A woman in her late twenties walked beside Anya wearing the Temple's dirty-white robe, the golden sun of Solaria dangling from her necklace.

She examined the torn flesh on my leg, flaky with dry blood and angry red welts beginning to form around the deep gash.

The healer clucked her tongue. "What caused this?"

"I fell from a horse," I said dryly.

A corner of her mouth twitched. "Must have been some fall."

"Just get on with it."

As if she did not hear me, she pursed her lips. "Ah. This is not going to be very pleasant. Ten stitches at most. Worry not, my magic can reassure you it will not leave a scar."

"I don't care." I reclined to my pillows. "Do it."

"Very well," she said, setting her medical bag onto the bed.

She pulled out a shear and snipped on the fabric surrounding the wound. Her hands paused midair and looked over her shoulder to where Derek leaned on the bedpost, arms crossed.

Anya did the same. Until the three of us were blatantly staring at him.

The curtains had been pushed aside, allowing the early morning sunlight to wash over his raven-dark hair. If anything, it appeared even darker.

It took a while for him to register. He righted himself, his palm flying to his nape. "Oh, right. I should go. I will be back to check on her later."

Save for the servants, no one would see him walking out of my room around this time of the day.

The healer started to clean the wound, Anya hovering behind her to assist.

"I thought the Lady was engaged to Prince Elian," he said while preparing the needle and thread.

"The Duke had a hand in my injury," I said, almost too believably.

The healer's brow perked up. "So he is as ruthless as they say."

"It was accidental," I retorted. "I told you. I fell off a horse."

"Right." She finally got the thread through the needle. It was a painstakingly long process. Or perhaps she was doing it on purpose. "Bad horsey."

"You know, for a healer you are quite talkative," Anya said as she aided me in stripping and putting on a new dress.

The healer shrugged, a wry smile curling her lips. "Why, you didn't know? Healers are expected to communicate with their patients."

"Indeed, I did not know that healers are such busybodies," Anya spat. "I called you here to heal my mistress. Not ask of her personal affairs."

"I have the right to perform a diagnosis."

"Your diagnosis does not require gossip."

They were now openly glaring at each other. Gods, they were much too similar.

"That is enough," I snapped. "I cannot believe you two have the nerve to fight in front of me."

The two mumbled their apologies. Anya sat down and the healer dug for a vial in her bag, offering it to me.