Page 42 of Healed By the Grumpy Elf

Maeve steps closer again and places both hands lightly on my chest. I can feel the heat of her palms through my shirt, and my breath catches at the directness of her gaze. Those green eyes seem to look straight through the careful facade I spent my entire life building.

"Why did you come to Saltford Bay?" she asks, voice steady but gentle. Not accusing, simply wanting to understand.

The question cuts straight through my defenses. I hesitate but not for long. I’ve already decided to tell her everything. She deserves nothing less.

I look away from her beautiful face and out the window at the darkening forest, tall pines swaying gently in the evening breeze.

"You already know I was a doctor at the High Court, but I don’t think you know that I was the royal physician. The health of the royal family rested firmly on my shoulders," I begin, keeping my voice neutral as if reciting someone else's biography. “It's a position I worked my entire life to achieve. An accomplishment my whole family could be proud of.”

I pause, watching as the wind plays with the branches. Memories come back to me in vivid detail. The beautiful halls of the High Court, my elven colleagues, all working with the highest ethics of scientific achievement. My patients, too.

"My family has served the royal court for generations. My father was a court physician before me. It was expected that I would follow in his footsteps, and I did."

"And did you like it?" Maeve asks softly from behind me. "Being the royal physician?"

The question catches me off guard. No one has ever asked me that before. Loving my job has never been part of the equation.

"I was good at it," I answer after a moment. "My skills were unmatched. I took pride in that."

"That's not the same thing as liking it," she points out.

I return my gaze to her. "No. It's not."

She takes one step closer until our bodies almost touch. This close, she has to tilt her head all the way back to keep her gaze locked with mine. Her sweet breath fans my lips and I can’t look away from her lips.

Still, I continue.

"Five years ago, the Duke and Duchess of Nurenbatin brought their son to me," I say, my voice growing quieter. “He was their only child. Eight years old.”

I tear my gaze from Maeve’s beautiful face and stare out the window, but it’s not the forest I see. It’s the face of a young boy, thin and in pain.

“He first came to me complaining of a sore belly and a recurring fever. For weeks, I ran every test known to man, but nothing ever yielded any result.” I shake my head against the terrible memory. “Then I ordered a genetic test, and it came back with a result that shattered both their world and mine. The boy had Selenic Wasting Disease.”

Maeve gasps, but I don’t dare look at her. I need to finish this tale. It’s the first time I tell the whole story, in all its sadness and grief.

“As you seem to know, there was nothing to be done to save him. Within months, his condition deteriorated while the duke and duchess tried everything under the sun to find new treatments. I tried everything I could to prolong his life, but no matter how hard I tried, he slipped away little by little.”

I stare at my hands, hands that failed to save that child.

“A month before his death, a traveling healer got hold of the duchess’ ear and began to take advantage of her grief.” Anger floods me, just thinking about the duchess, her desperate hold on hope andthe man who lurked in the shadow like a predator. “He sold her all sorts of potions and ointments, spells and other nonsense to cure the boy.”

I say these words flatly, without emotion.

“I opposed it at every turn, but the more desperate the duchess became, the more aggressive the healer was. She, in turn, began accusing me of incompetence and of voluntarily preventing her son from healing.” I swallow, the memory of my last altercation with the grieving duchess still vivid in my mind. “All those useless remedies were disturbing to the boy and in the end, I had no choice but to turn to the duke and tell him that his wife was the victim of a scam artist. He shut the healer out and away from his son and wife, but she never forgave me. The boy died shortly after, of course.”

Maeve remains silent, listening. Not offering platitudes or telling me it wasn't my fault.

"The duchess was devastated. She needed someone to blame. I was the obvious target of her ire." I look out at the darkening forest again and take a deep breath.

"I could have fought it. Defended myself. My brother, Fenrys, wanted me to. He's a senator of the Elven Council, with considerable influence. But the duchess had lost her only child. What purpose would it serve to force her to face the truth?"

"So you left," Maeve says softly.

“So I left.” I nod. “I chose exile so she wouldn't have to look at me as a constant reminder of her grief.”

I meet Maeve’s eyes directly. I need her to understand this. "I didn't run because I was guilty. I ran because sometimes mercy is more important than justice."

As I finish, I find myself completely exposed before her, vulnerable and open in a way I haven't been with anyone in years. Maybe ever.