Princess by Gaelen Foley Page A

had indeed slowed the bleeding. The royal surgeon did not hold with the old herbals and folk medicines, but Serafina had seen them work. When it came time to take up her needle, however, her mouth went dry.
    She could do this, she told herself. She had to. His wound required it. She would do it just the way the textbooks said, just the way the royal surgeon had showed her. She had assisted a dozen times in her eagerness to learn and had even performed the procedure once herself with the doctor looking over her shoulder. Besides, she thought, trying to encourage herself, she was excellent at lace and embroidery.
    With her left hand she pressed the edges of his incised flesh gently together, then brought up the needle, wincing with hesitation when the moment came to pierce him.
    “Hold still, now,” she coached him, stalling. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
    He let out an impatient sigh. “Whenever you’re ready, Your Highness. I thought you knew what you were doing.”
    She shot a scowl at the back of his glossy black head, but his remark gave her the impetus to do what she must. She pricked the bronze velvet of his skin.
    “Ow,” he muttered as she pushed the needle through.
    “Aha, so you are human, after all.”
    “Watch what you’re doing, please.”
    “Thankless rogue,” she mumbled.
    Her hands perspired but were steady as she closed the gash with each careful stitch, fully absorbed in her task as his blood stained her hands. She lost herself in concentration, until at last she tied off the thread and snipped it triumphantly with her sewing scissors. Reaching for the cloth, she wiped away the slight amount of bleeding that had occurred during the procedure.
    “There you are. How does it feel?” she asked as she washed her hands in the second basin, then dried them.
    “Better.”
    “Hmm, now you’re humoring me. Try not to move it too much for a few days.”
    “Right,” he said cynically.
    “You are impossible,” she murmured. She stepped near him again, examining her work.
    It was somehow automatic to run her hand through his hair now that the crisis was past, second nature to bend down and kiss him lightly on the temple.
    “You were very brave,” she murmured playfully.
    Only when Darius tilted his head back and looked at her for a long moment did it occur to her that perhaps she was being too forward with him again. Instantly she blushed, scolding herself. She was not a child anymore who could climb all over him like he was her own pet wolf.
    She looked away. “Never fear, Santiago,” she said with forced lightness, “I shall not hurl myself at you again.” She picked up her scissors and began sharply ripping a clean linen sheet into strips to use as bandages for him. “Ow!”
    “What is it?”
    “I hurt my hand when I smashed Philippe a facer,” she muttered.
    “What?” Darius began to laugh skeptically.
    “You think I’m joking? I got him with my ring. See?” She stepped nearer and held out her injured left hand to show him.
    He took her outstretched hand and examined it, his black forelock veiling his eyes.
    The gold filigree of the setting had bent with the force of the blow. The acorn-sized diamond of her engagement ring was squashed off to the side. The gold band had buckled slightly on an angle, cutting into the tender flesh between her fingers.
    “I punched him. That’s how I was able to get away from them. I ran into the maze. I thought I could hide there. It always worked when I was trying to evade my governess.”
    He lifted his head and stared up at her in frank amazement. “Well done, Serafina.”
    Usually the compliments of men made her yawn, but the simple acknowledgement from him made her blush bright red.
    He gently drew her closer. “Come here. You sit right down, girl,” he murmured. “You should have looked after yourself first.”
    She stammered a self-conscious protest, but she obeyed when he directed her with a nod to the ottoman across from him. Muscles