Chapter 25 #2
Hector’s arm closed around her with brutal urgency. He drove her away from the path of the horse, taking her weight and the fall together. The ground hit her shoulder. Air left her lungs.
The horse thundered past.
For a moment there was only dust and shouting.
Poppy pushed herself up, dazed. “Hector?”
He was on the ground several feet away.
Too still.
“Hector.”
She crawled to him first, then stumbled, then reached him on her knees. His cane lay beside him. His dark hair had fallen across his forehead. His eyes were closed.
“No,” she said, and the word came out small, useless. “No. Hector.”
The stable yard erupted around her—men running, Aurora crying, Princess wailing—but Poppy heard all of it as if from underwater. She touched his face. Then his shoulder. She was afraid to move him and more afraid not to.
“Hector, wake up.”
He did not.
Poppy bent close, her hand trembling against his chest until she felt it rise.
Once.
Again.
She closed her eyes for half a second, then opened them.
“Send for the physician,” she said, and this time her voice carried. “Now.”
Hector woke beneath an impossible weight.
For several seconds, he could not place himself.
There was warmth pressed across his chest, a small elbow lodged somewhere near his ribs, and hair tickling his chin.
His head ached with a dull, punishing throb.
The room smelled faintly of linen and something medicinal.
Not the stable yard, then. Not the sharp dust. Not the horse.
He shifted.
The weight made a distressed sound.
“Do not move,” a small voice commanded.
Hector opened his eyes.
Light blurred. Shapes gathered slowly: bed hangings, pale walls, a small dark form sprawled across him with absolute ownership.
“Aurora,” he said, his voice rough.
She jerked up. Unfortunately, she used his chest to do it.
He grunted.
“You are awake!”
“So it seems.”
“You must not die.”
“I shall take that under advisement.”
Her small hands pressed on either side of his face. “Poppy said you were only sleeping, but not regular sleeping. Physician sleeping. That is worse.”
“I have no intention of doing any more physician sleeping.”
The door opened at once.
Poppy entered quickly, then stopped as if the sight of him awake struck her harder than she had expected. Her dark blonde hair was not as tidy as she usually kept it. Her blue eyes moved over him, searching. Only when he looked back did she breathe.
“Aurora,” she said softly, “you are crushing him.”
Aurora looked down, horrified. “Am I?”
“A little,” Hector said.
Poppy came to the bed and lifted the child with care. Aurora resisted just long enough to throw her arms around his neck.
“You saved Poppy,” she said fiercely.
Hector’s throat tightened. “I tried.”
“You did. You are a hero.”
“I am not certain—”
But Aurora had already turned. “Princess! He is awake!”
There was an immediate commotion from the other side of the room. Hector heard quick steps, Poppy’s warning of “gently,” and then the bed dipped again. Princess was brought close enough to pat his shoulder with both hands. Aurora climbed back beside him despite Poppy’s attempt to prevent it.
“My girls,” Hector said before he could think better of it.
Poppy went still.
He felt the words settle in the room. Not claimed by law. Not by duty. Something simpler and far more dangerous.
Aurora did not question them. “Yes,” she said. “And we were worried.”
Princess leaned into him, warm and unsteady. Hector lifted a hand and touched the baby’s back. His fingers trembled, though not from pain.
“What happened?” he asked.
Poppy’s face changed.
“You hit your head when you fell,” she said. “The physician examined you. He says nothing appears seriously wrong, but you are to remain in bed and be watched for symptoms.”
“Symptoms.”
“Dizziness. Confusion. Sickness. Anything unusual.”
“I have a headache.”
“That is expected.”
“I am also being attacked by children.”
“That is less concerning.”
Aurora tucked herself against his side. “I am watching for symp-symp—” She stopped, frustrated.
Hector waited.
“Symptoms,” she finished in a rush.
“An excellent nurse.”
She relaxed at once.
Poppy saw it. Hector knew she did. The silence between them shifted again, full of recognition.
The nanny arrived soon after, summoned perhaps by Poppy’s look or by the increasing certainty that Aurora intended to spend the day atop him as a living poultice. It took persuasion, then bargaining, then a promise that they could return later if Hector remained obedient in bed.
“I am always obedient,” Hector said.
Poppy gave him a look.
Aurora kissed his cheek. Princess imitated her with more enthusiasm than accuracy, pressing a damp kiss near his jaw. Then they were carried and shepherded from the room, still calling instructions back to him.
“Do not sleep too much!”
“Do not get another head!”
“Do not move!”
The door closed.
The quiet that followed was enormous.
Poppy remained beside the bed. She did not sit. One hand rested on the back of a chair, her knuckles pale. Hector could not see the fine details of her face, but he knew the angle of her body. Guarded. Strained. Still afraid.