frown.
"How do ye feel, lad?" the old woman asked. She pulled back blankets to peer at his chest, ignoring the burst of protest from Dominic.
"Keep a civil tongue, witch! This is your king!"
Grimacing, the old woman glared at the interruption. "Nay. He's a lad and one that should count himself lucky to be breathing 't all."
Their squabbling made Liam's head ache and he raised his hand, shocked at how heavy it weiqhed. "Please, don't fight. It's all right, Dominic. She means no disrespect."
Dominic's eyes narrowed in warning at the witch before softening as he looked at the teenager. "Aye, Majesty. As you wish."
With much muttering, the woman examined her patient. Surprisingly, her touch was gentle, causing little pain as she removed bandages from Liam's chest.
In an attempt to distract him, Dominic leaned closer. "You're a very lucky young man, my liege. Had the Invader's blade been a finger span off, you'd be in the afterworld, as well."
"How long has--" Gasping at the sudden sharp pain in his chest, Liam ground his teeth. "How long has it been?"
Dominic left off glaring at the witch to answer. Face saddened, he said, "Four days, Majesty. Your guard, Sim, was knocked unconscious and left for dead. When he woke, he found you still breathing."
Try as he might, Liam couldn't remember the cause of his pain. There had been war, his family fleeing the Invader. Shaking his head, he admitted, "I don't recall."
"And doubtful ye would, lad," the witch stated with a grin. "Ye'd been spitted like a pig for feast. If'n your man hadn't found me, ye'd be feedin' the ravens now." Finished with her ministrations, she laid a clean cloth over the wound. "Ye need to drink this, lad."
A stinking cup was held to his lips and he recoiled.
"Drink it, Majesty," Dominic urged. "Your kingdom needs you whole and hale." Watching the young man obey, Dominic smiled. "When you're well, we'll begin the task of returning you to your riqhtful place."
Prince Liam Dulce Caesar Alfric, heir to the Dulce throne, drifted off to sleep as Dominic held his hand.
Waking was a slow process, muscles languid from sleep. The urge to stretch too much for her, Katerin followed her body's instruction. Sighing, she luxuriated in the feel before cracking open dark eyes. Vague light filtered through the cracked shutter, reminding her where she was, what had happened. Dread filled her heart and she searched for the cause.
Ros was nowhere to be seen, the blankets on that side of the bed tossed to one side, a hollow on the pillow where she'd laid her head. Sounds from outside were heard - quiet movements of camp just awaking, low voices as people talked quietly while others slept.
Rising from bed, the brunette breathed a sigh of relief. You're being a ninny! Ros hasn't hurt you in any way. Katerin shook her head, moving to the shutters and peeking through the crack. She could see the circus owner by the fire, talking with some of her troupe, reaching out to tousle Wilm's head. It presented a very familial picture and a smile crossed the small woman's face as she watched. Cad or no, she has a wonderful way with her people.
Reminded of the owner's less than proper remarks and looks, Katerin stepped away from the window. "Time to get dressed," she murmured, "before Ros comes looking." She opened her cupboard and pulled out the borrowed clothing. In minutes, she was dressed, tucking the blouse into her skirt. The brunette looked back inside and removed her shoes and the sack.
Settling on the bed, she rummaged among her meager belongings and removed a brush. After several minutes, her hair appeared somewhat normal. She pulled it back, tying it into a knot before returning the brush to the sack. Katerin paused, fingers finding her doll within and caressing the flaxen hair. It had been silly, grabbing Isabella the night of the attack. Should have grabbed food. Or another weapon. Shaking her head, the brunette pushed away the need to cry, thumb running along a
"How do ye feel, lad?" the old woman asked. She pulled back blankets to peer at his chest, ignoring the burst of protest from Dominic.
"Keep a civil tongue, witch! This is your king!"
Grimacing, the old woman glared at the interruption. "Nay. He's a lad and one that should count himself lucky to be breathing 't all."
Their squabbling made Liam's head ache and he raised his hand, shocked at how heavy it weiqhed. "Please, don't fight. It's all right, Dominic. She means no disrespect."
Dominic's eyes narrowed in warning at the witch before softening as he looked at the teenager. "Aye, Majesty. As you wish."
With much muttering, the woman examined her patient. Surprisingly, her touch was gentle, causing little pain as she removed bandages from Liam's chest.
In an attempt to distract him, Dominic leaned closer. "You're a very lucky young man, my liege. Had the Invader's blade been a finger span off, you'd be in the afterworld, as well."
"How long has--" Gasping at the sudden sharp pain in his chest, Liam ground his teeth. "How long has it been?"
Dominic left off glaring at the witch to answer. Face saddened, he said, "Four days, Majesty. Your guard, Sim, was knocked unconscious and left for dead. When he woke, he found you still breathing."
Try as he might, Liam couldn't remember the cause of his pain. There had been war, his family fleeing the Invader. Shaking his head, he admitted, "I don't recall."
"And doubtful ye would, lad," the witch stated with a grin. "Ye'd been spitted like a pig for feast. If'n your man hadn't found me, ye'd be feedin' the ravens now." Finished with her ministrations, she laid a clean cloth over the wound. "Ye need to drink this, lad."
A stinking cup was held to his lips and he recoiled.
"Drink it, Majesty," Dominic urged. "Your kingdom needs you whole and hale." Watching the young man obey, Dominic smiled. "When you're well, we'll begin the task of returning you to your riqhtful place."
Prince Liam Dulce Caesar Alfric, heir to the Dulce throne, drifted off to sleep as Dominic held his hand.
Waking was a slow process, muscles languid from sleep. The urge to stretch too much for her, Katerin followed her body's instruction. Sighing, she luxuriated in the feel before cracking open dark eyes. Vague light filtered through the cracked shutter, reminding her where she was, what had happened. Dread filled her heart and she searched for the cause.
Ros was nowhere to be seen, the blankets on that side of the bed tossed to one side, a hollow on the pillow where she'd laid her head. Sounds from outside were heard - quiet movements of camp just awaking, low voices as people talked quietly while others slept.
Rising from bed, the brunette breathed a sigh of relief. You're being a ninny! Ros hasn't hurt you in any way. Katerin shook her head, moving to the shutters and peeking through the crack. She could see the circus owner by the fire, talking with some of her troupe, reaching out to tousle Wilm's head. It presented a very familial picture and a smile crossed the small woman's face as she watched. Cad or no, she has a wonderful way with her people.
Reminded of the owner's less than proper remarks and looks, Katerin stepped away from the window. "Time to get dressed," she murmured, "before Ros comes looking." She opened her cupboard and pulled out the borrowed clothing. In minutes, she was dressed, tucking the blouse into her skirt. The brunette looked back inside and removed her shoes and the sack.
Settling on the bed, she rummaged among her meager belongings and removed a brush. After several minutes, her hair appeared somewhat normal. She pulled it back, tying it into a knot before returning the brush to the sack. Katerin paused, fingers finding her doll within and caressing the flaxen hair. It had been silly, grabbing Isabella the night of the attack. Should have grabbed food. Or another weapon. Shaking her head, the brunette pushed away the need to cry, thumb running along a
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