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“We’re not certain yet, but we’re in the process of looking for answers.” He turns his attention back to Cassian. “For the time being, we’d like to keep you overnight.”

“Is he going to be okay?” Sophia asks, her voice small.

“I believe he’ll be fine. His oxygen levels are normal, and we didn’t find anything particularly concerning in the tests. We’d normally give him an antiviral medication and send him on hisway, but we’re not certain how Lord Chevalier’s body is going to respond to it, so we’d like to keep an eye on him.”

Sophia nods, clasping her hands in her lap like she’s trying to keep from wringing them.

“I expect news of my hospitalization will be kept confidential?” Cassian says.

“Of course,” the doctor assures him. “And when I consult my colleagues, I will be sure to omit your name.”

“Thank you.” He returns his arm to his eyes, finished with the conversation.

But Dr. Anderson isn’t done yet. He asks Cassian a dozen questions. Though usually cordial, Cassian isn’t in the mood to chat, and his responses are clipped.

When he’s finished, the doctor excuses himself, promising that a nurse will be in to administer the antiviral and pain medication soon.

“Go back to the hotel,” Cassian tells us when we’re alone again. “You don’t have to babysit me.”

“Are you sure?” I ask.

“This is no way to spend your wedding night.”

Like that matters now—half of it is already over anyway.

“I won’t be able to sleep with you all staring at me,” he insists.

“The doctor said he’s fine.” Noah stretches his back as he stands. “There’s no reason for us to sit in these miserable chairs any longer.”

“Okay…” I cover a yawn with my hand. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” Cassian says. But when Sophia joins us by the door, he says, “Not you.”

Sophia glances at us, unsure. “Me?”

“Yes, you. You stay.” This time, the words are a command.

Sophia’s face lights up, and she scampers back to the chair by his bed, eager to play Florence Nightingale.

And then Cassian adds, “Until I’m seated on the throne, you’re not leaving my side.”

She blinks at him. “Because…”

He pulls his arm back and gives her a droll look. “Because I don’t trust you.”

The radiance leaves her face, and she harrumphs, crossing her arms and glaring at the wall.

I press my lips together to keep from smiling and turn toward the hall. “Call us if you need us.”

“Or don’t,” Noah says, sounding slightly annoyed now that we know that Cassian isn’t dying of a rare disease.

We walk down the quiet white hall, greeting the occasional doctor or nurse that we pass. It smells like sanitizer, as all hospitals do.

“If Gerald has people watching us, we’re in for trouble,” Noah says.

“Why exactly?” I ask.

“They’ll claim he’s not healthy enough to take the throne. Or worse—that he’s not vampire enough.”