Cold Hands, Warm Heart

FIFTEEN

We rushed back into the palace. Lying at the base of the stairs was Cadno. There was a gash on his forehead, and his eyes were foggy with shock. I guess departing shall have to wait.

"Don't move His Highness!" I yelled to the guards approaching him.

They cast me suspicious glances but did as I said.

"Your Highness," I said. "I am an herbalist; may I examine you?"

"Yes," he said, his throat tight. His breath smelled of expensive whiskey—the kind that my father could only buy once a year for Christmas.

Good. The prince is alert and responsive.

"Wonderful, sir. Try to keep as still as possible, please." I crouched beside him, studying the extent of the prince's injury. The gash is not severe. I stabilized his head with both of my hands. "Can you wiggle your feet for me, sir? And your fingers?"

He did so, seemingly with no effort.

I nodded to myself. "Excellent, sir. That means you have not acquired a spine injury."

I made eye contact with some servants. "I need alcohol and a handkerchief. Someone, please, come forward and hold His Highness' chin."

They nodded and scurried away. The two girls returned with a bottle of wine and a piece of lacy fabric. I soaked it red and placed the handkerchief on his cut.

A hand landed on my shoulder. "Nurse, I can take it from here."

I scowled at the man touching me. "And may I ask who you are, sir?"

"He's my private doctor," Prince Cadno replied through gritted teeth.

"Yes," the doctor answered. "Now get out of my way, Nurse, so that I might treat him, hmm?"

I clenched my jaw to keep my insult from escaping my tongue. Do not talk to me like a child! "Of course, sir. His Highness has a superficial wound on his forehead, but no spine injury. I have not checked His Highness for other broken bones or his head for—"

"Nurse, please. Allow me to treat the Prince."

I reluctantly rose from the marble and stepped back. I have a bad feeling about this doctor, but I couldn't figure out why.

Someone led me away—the familiar scent of honey wrapping around me. Gwyneira told me she must ask the staff questions. I deduced that it was to figure out if there was foul play involved, but I knew it was only a drunken fall.

I spotted three small figures peeking out over the banister. I hurried up the stairs. Those children shouldn't see their father like this. "Hello, Your Highnesses. I am Khorshid," I greeted, blocking their view. "Where is your nanny?"

The oldest boy, Prince Arnaud, I assume, spoke, "In her room."

"Should we go to the gardens, Your Highnesses? I believe the doctors and such would appreciate their space."

"But I want to see Father," Prince Rahim, Fiammetta's twin, spoke.

"Your father is fine. Come—let's go and see if we can find some pretty flowers for him."

The two youngest took my hands, and Prince Arnaud led the way. I told a passing maid to inform the queen where we were going. "Okay, Your Highnesses, I want you to pick a plant, and I will tell you about it. Think of it as a lesson in botany, okay? In the end, we will decide which ones to present to your father."

Grins split across their faces, and they raced off to find flowers. For the next few minutes, they approached my bench, and I offered them information. The light in their eyes warmed my heart. I hope I have children like that someday.