41. Adelina #2
I try. Her face blurs. That frightens me enough that my breathing catches.
“Take a breath,” she orders.
I do.
“Good,” she says. “Slowly now. In through your nose.”
“I cannot miss the appearance.”
“We will discuss that after Maelin sees you.”
“No.” I grip the desk harder. “Please do not tell him.”
Queen Elowyn goes still. Her eyes hold mine. “Kaedryn?”
My throat works painfully. “Please.”
“Adelina—”
“He will think I’m making excuses. He will think I’m hiding something again. He will say I’m weak.” The words spill out because the dizziness has loosened something I meant to keep locked. “He said I make his house look weak. I won’t. I can do better. I can be ready. I only need a moment.”
The queen’s face goes pale with fury. Not at me. I know that now.
Still, I flinch from it.
She controls herself at once, knowing where my fear has gone.
“You are not weak,” she says.
I look down. “If I were not weak, this would be easier.”
A sound leaves her, low and wounded.
The door opens before she can answer, and Maelin enters with Linnea and Mirelle close behind her.
Maelin’s hair is half-pinned, her healer’s satchel clutched in one hand, her expression already sharpening as she takes in the lamp burned low, the desk covered in copied passages, the untouched bed, and me sitting in the chair in a nightgown with bare feet and no color in my face.
“Of course,” she mutters.
Queen Elowyn looks up. “She nearly fainted.”
“I gathered.” Maelin kneels beside me, already reaching into her satchel. “Princess, may I touch your wrist?”
I hesitate.
Maelin looks up at me. “Only your wrist. I need your pulse.”
The queen remains in front of me, steady and calm.
I nod.
Maelin’s fingers settle lightly over my pulse. Her mouth flattens. “How long did you sleep?”
“I do not know.”
“At the desk?” she asks.
I look away.
“That answers that.” She tuts.
“I’m well enough to attend the appearance,” I argue.
Maelin says nothing for a moment. Then she looks at the queen. The silence between them frightens me.
“I am,” I insist. “Please. I will attend. I will not cause trouble.”
Maelin’s expression softens, but it does not become less serious. “That is not what anyone suggested.”
“It’s what matters,” I reply.
“No,” Queen Elowyn says quietly. “It’s not.”
I want to believe her. I do not know how.
Maelin releases my wrist and reaches for a small vial filled with amber liquid. “You are exhausted, underfed, and likely dehydrated. I can steady your body, but I cannot conjure nourishment or rest into it.”
“I ate last night.”
Maelin looks at me. So does the queen. Even Linnea, standing near the door with her hands clenched in her skirt, looks at me.
Heat burns in my face. “I tried,” I say, so quietly I barely hear it myself.
Maelin’s voice gentles. “I know.” She uncorks the vial. “This will help with the dizziness and nausea. Small sips.”
I take it because refusing would make the morning more difficult. The tonic is bitter and sharp, with a grassy aftertaste that makes my stomach revolt at first, then slowly settle.
Maelin watches every swallow. “Good. Now broth.”
“I’m not hungry.”
“I did not ask if you were hungry.”
I look at her.
She arches one brow. “Healers are allowed to be rude. It keeps patients alive.”
The queen chuckles.
Linnea hurries away and returns with a tray faster than seems possible. A small bowl of steaming broth. Soft bread. A cup of water with sliced fruit floating in it. The smell makes my stomach clench, but not as badly as the rich food at dinner.
Maelin takes the tray and sets it on the desk in front of me, directly over the protocol page I had been copying. The ink is dry. The rule disappears beneath the bowl.
“Broth first,” she says. “Then bread.”
I lift the spoon. My hand shakes. Queen Elowyn sees it and says nothing. Maelin sees it too and says nothing. That kindness is more difficult than correction.
I sip the broth. Warm. Simple. Salted lightly. No heavy sauces, no rich cream, no spices pretending to be elegance. It settles better than I expect.
Maelin watches until I take another sip. “And again.”
I obey.
The room slowly returns to its proper shape. The dizziness fades from a dark wave to a faint unsteadiness at the edges of my vision. My foot still throbs from striking the desk. My back aches. My head is thick with exhaustion. But the terrible floating feeling begins to ease.
“There,” Maelin says. “Your body remembers what food is. Remarkable.”
Mirelle lets out a tiny laugh, then looks horrified at herself. The queen smiles faintly.
I stare at the broth because if I look at any of them, I may cry. “Please don’t tell Prince Kaedryn.”
“I will not speak to him before you eat, drink, and let Maelin decide whether you can safely attend,” Queen Elowyn says.
My spoon stops.
Maelin glances at her. “That is a bargain I have not agreed to.”
The queen looks at her.
Maelin sighs. “Fine. I will decide first. Then we will discuss the options.”
Panic lifts again. “Please.”
Maelin’s face turns serious. “Princess, I will not lie about your health if you are in danger.”
“I am not in danger.”
“You nearly fainted because you slept at a desk after barely eating for days.”
I lower my head.
She softens again. “That is not a moral failing. It is a body asking for care.”
Queen Elowyn reaches toward the papers on the desk and gently lifts the top sheet. “You copied this all night?”
“I needed to know what to do.”
“For court appearances?”
“For everything.”
Her mouth thins. I wish she would stop looking like that. I would rather she be angry. Anger has edges I know how to avoid.
This sorrow leaves me nowhere to stand.