Cold Hands, Warm Heart

FOURTEEN

"Gwyneira!" I gasped, clutching the unconscious woman in my arms. I checked her pulse: steady. I studied her chest—it's rising.

Prince Halim threw me a horrified look, and I responded with an equally confused one. Why did Gwyneira react like that? "What-what happened?" he squeaked.

"She's fainted, sir."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure."

I supported her with one arm, and with the other, I dug through my small collection of herbs. Remind me to thank Dr. Aitor for making me bring a small set everywhere as a new apprentice.

"Fair warning, sir: This is going to smell awful."

I took out the cork and waved the vial under her nose. Drakondia—a vile-smelling flower to revive fainting patients. Gwyneira jerked upright—coughing and sputtering. Good, she's back.

"Oh, Lord, put that away," Prince Halim gagged. I gave him a sympathetic smile and shoved the cork back in the bottle.

"Your Majesty, are you all right?" I asked, looking down at her. "Would you like for me to fetch the royal doctor?"

She stared at me, her icy irises piercing right through my soul. "Khorshid, is that you? Is that truly you?"

I frowned. I didn't think Gwyneira hit her head when she fell—I caught her. "Yes, Your Majesty," I said in a low voice. "It's me. Did you, by chance, hit your head, ma'am?"

"No." Her eyes raked over my face, disbelief shining in her eyes. "I-I can't believe that you are here," she whispered.

She reached out her hand, grazing my cheek. Her cold touch snapped me back to that day that we made love in my bed. I was suddenly very aware that she was still in my arms. Her breath fanned over my cheek.

Prince Halim cleared his throat. I snapped out of my trance. "Gwyneira, you know of Mistress Lysandra?"

"Mistress... not Madame," she murmured, faint enough so that even I had a hard time hearing her. She finally broke eye contact, looking at her brother. "I do."

"How?"

"Khorshid, please take me to my room. I am exhausted, and I would like some silence and rest."

I nodded, not about to defy my sovereign. Or the love of my life. "Yes, Your Majesty—of course."

I guided Gwyneira to her feet. Her legs shook, and she grabbed back onto me once more. Her clutching my arms reminded me of the first time we met: boys surrounding her shaking body in the forest.

"Halim, I am fine. There's no need to fuss," Gwyneira said as Halim went to follow us. "Khorshid will help me in any way that I require. She is a Green witch; she can heal me further if needed."

Halim reluctantly nodded and watched us move in the opposite path. Gwyneira didn't utter a single word to me—except to give directions. She was deep in her thoughts. Her grip didn't slack in the least; I wanted to believe it was because she was afraid to let me go. But that's preposterous.

Gwyneira's room was close to what I expected. She had a massive four-poster bed with a frost-blue canopy. I tracked the swirls and bumps on her intricately carved bed frame. How many hours did that take to whittle?

On the opposite wall was an already stocked enormous fireplace for the leisure of the Queen. I stared out of her floor-to-ceiling windows, noticing it overlooked the garden. How many gallons of sand did that take to smelt in Tarni?

Gwyneira swathed her room in velvet and silver and everything shiny. There was even a fully stocked mahogany bookshelf. French doors led to a balcony that was about the size of my room in Daley.