The Countess' Captive (The Fairytale Keeper Book 2) by Andrea Cefalo

not the doctor you sent for.”
    Father narrows his eyes. “Galadriel didn’t tell me of this.”
    “We didn’t want to worry you.”
    His lips form a hard line. “Go to the tavern and see who the barkeep sent for.”
    I descend the stairs just in time to see the elderly doctor shuffle his way through the door. I rush over to him.
    “Your services are no longer needed,” I say.
    He eyes me suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
    “You’ve taken too long to get here. We’d sent for another doctor some time ago, and he sees her as we speak,” I lie.
    His silver, caterpillar eyebrows knit. “Oh, and which doctor is that?”
    “I did not get his name,” I say. He’ll keep asking questions if I don’t get rid of him. “I must attend to my mistress. Now be off.”
    He huffs and turns around, grumbling beneath his breath as he lurches back into the street. I inhale, close my eyes, and release the breath. Praise God, it worked.
    Should I send for another doctor? I suppose so. Better to send for a doctor than to have Father catch me lying about sending for one. But there’s no reason to be too quick about it.
    I sink into a chair at one of the empty tables and catch the gaze of two serving girls who must have caught my heated exchange with the doctor. One heads to the kitchen. The other heaves an annoyed sigh as she approaches. It is too late to break my fast and not near dinner. The place is empty, and I’ve interrupted this lull in her day.
    “Dinner won’t be for many hours. Ale or wine?”
    “A doctor actually.”
    A shadow of irritation darkens her face. “You’d already summoned one—and then you sent him away.”
    “That man is a bit old to be a doctor.”
    “He’s the most reputable doctor in the city.”
    “I don’t doubt that he was—twenty years ago. Please send for another one,” I say. “And I will need diluted wine—and bread if you have any left. My father hadn’t a chance to break his fast.”
    The kitchen maid marches off, her blond braid swaying back and forth. She returns shortly after, shoving the bread and wine at me. “I sent for another doctor,” she huffs. “God knows when he’ll get here. I hope your friend isn’t dead by then.”
    “Thank you,” I say.
    Her face pinches for a moment before she shakes her head and walks away.
    Good.
    The longer it takes for a doctor to get here, the longer we are in Oppenheim. Father shall have time to change his mind about this cursed trip and the fragile creature he’s decided to bed with. We might be home sooner than I thought.
    Or maybe Galadriel shall die… I swallow hard at the thought.
    I take the bread and wine to Father, urging him to eat. He sits in vigil at the top of the bed, his jaw clenched and brow knit. I bend and feel Galadriel’s forehead. She’s neither feverish nor clammy. Her porcelain skin glows healthily, but she sleeps like the dead. Realizing there is nothing I can do—not that I would do much of anything even if I could—I leave him with her.
    I keep my door cracked and perch along the edge of my bed. The mug left by the doctor yesterday still sits on the desk. I really should have thrown out the rest of its contents after I tainted Galadriel’s wine. It is evidence against me—if anyone should think to examine it—though I doubt anyone shall.
    I’ve approached the potion a dozen times but hesitate at tossing out the remnants. It glares at me accusingly, and I look away, but the weight of its stare burns into me. “You did this to her, ” it says. “If she dies it is your fault.”
    “If she dies, it is her own fault,” I say, sounding more ambivalent than I feel.
    “You could find out if I’m poison,” the mug beckons. “Just a little taste won’t hurt you too badly. If I am not poison, that is.”
    I approach the desk and look into the mug, staring at the mixture of wine and herbs. I see my own frighteningly curious reflection staring back at me and take a step back.
    “She’s sick,” I