Page 14 of Queen to the Sunless Court (Brides of Myth #2)

“Oh, of course.” He reached out and untied the knot at her side. As he began loosening the bandages, she tugged at them. “What on earth are you—” he started, then blanched at the sight of the tip of her wound, now a scar, emerging from beneath. He staggered back, eyes wide.

“The scissors, please,” she asked.

This time, he didn’t protest, a mix of incredulity and curiosity on his face as he turned to the table where his utensils were arranged and picked up a pair of scissors. “I don’t understand…” When he tried to pass them to her, his hand trembling slightly, she shook her head.

“Cut through them. You can do it at a better angle.”

His grip tightened on the scissors, and he slid the tip under the bandages. The blades were cold against her skin, crunching softly as he carefully sliced through the layers of dressings, gradually revealing the flesh beneath.

Just as Morpheus had said, her skin was healed, marked by a long, silver scar.

Panakeios stepped back, his hand with the scissors dropping heavily to his side. “How is this possible?” he stammered, aghast. “When I sewed it up, it was horrendous. It was hardly better yesterday. There’s no way...” He sank into the armchair.

Calliste busied herself with removing all the bandages, ensuring her robe’s flowing sides covered her breasts.

Once she’d freed herself and bunched the bandages in her lap, she traced her scar, trying not to think about Tempest’s claws sinking into her.

One claw must have dug deeper than the others, tearing through most of her skin.

As Panakeios noted, it was a small miracle that her heart and lungs remained intact.

But she was healed now. Having witnessed countless acts of Epione-aided recovery at her temple, she wasn’t much in awe of it.

Panakeios, however…

If a painter wanted to capture defeat, Panakeios would have been the perfect reference. Slumped and pale, he stared at the scar with wide eyes. “How?”

Witchcraft, obviously. The thought almost slipped from her tongue, but that wouldn’t be fair. He fought a battle for me—and won. So she schooled her face to perfect neutrality. “Do you want an honest answer?”

“Of course,” he muttered. “What else would I want?”

“Divine aid.”

He attempted a derisive snort, but it sounded deflated. Then he rose, approaching her with caution, his eyes trained on the scar. “May I…” he swallowed. “May I touch it?”

She shrugged. “Go ahead.”

Panakeios traced it gently. “Incredible,” he murmured. “If…”

She met his gaze and raised her brows. “If…?”

“Hard to understand.”

“What’s hard to understand about divine interventions?”

“Aren’t they reserved for… well… heroes? Royalty?”

“Men, you mean?”

“That’s probably what I mean,” he admitted.

He saved your life, she reminded herself, grounding herself in gratitude again to keep resentment at bay. “Apparently, not only men can be favored by the gods. But if a scar replacing a grievous wound from the day before doesn’t convince you, nothing will,” she replied calmly.

“But how did you sustain it?”

“That is for the king’s ears only.”

He huffed and straightened, annoyance flickering in his dark eyes. “As is the truth about the prince’s condition, I take it?”

“I understand your curiosity, but I can’t satisfy it right now.” She kept her expression neutral.

“But it’s not an ordinary illness?”

“No. That’s why you couldn’t help him. And I assure you, I’m not using witchcraft.”

“I know that,” he said grumpily, then pressed his lips together. “But why you ?”

She tried not to sigh too audibly but failed. “Look, physician—”

“No, what I meant is…” He inhaled deeply, as if preparing to dive into deep water. “Why you and not… Dione?”

Her brows arched. “Who?”

He bit his lips, contemplating something. It took him a long time to respond. “You know her as Leontia. But I…” His expression grew more complex. “I know her as Dione, because this was her name years ago.”

It was her turn to stare. “You know Leontia? But how? She never mentioned knowing you to me.”

“I’m not surprised,” he said ruefully, his gaze downcast. “So why didn’t she come to Anthemos? Did she refuse on, ahem, any account?”

She spent a few more moments trying to decipher his expression, but couldn’t understand why the Head Physician of the School of Asklepios seemed so conflicted and embarrassed at the same time. “Are you going to explain why you’re asking me this?”

“I’d rather not. But I would appreciate your answer.”

But she was far too intrigued to let it go.

If Leontia had been just a mere acquaintance from years ago, this surely wouldn’t warrant the slight blush rising on the physician’s cheeks.

And although she couldn’t determine Panakeios’ exact age, it might have been similar to Leontia’s, which raised an interesting question. “May I ask you your age?”

“So stubborn.” He muttered under his breath. “I’m five summers older than she is.”

“Oh.” Now she buzzed with curiosity. “And you knew her in the past?”

“Yes,” he replied gruffly, though the blush on his cheeks was clearly not going anywhere. “So… why didn’t she come here? She’s the Head Priestess, if I’m not mistaken.”

“She made a sacred vow that forbids her from leaving Mount Hellecon.” This much you are allowed to know.

“And you?”

“I haven’t—yet.”

“Ah.” He nodded absently, his eyes distant for a while before they flickered back to her as he took a deep breath. “I don’t suppose you know if she owns a silver bracelet with rubies?”

“How do you know about her favorite bracelet?” she blurted out, surprised.

“Her favorite?” He straightened up with a spark in his eye. “Are you certain?”

“I’m certain that I’ve never seen her without it, so I’m guessing it must be her favorite,” she replied evenly, more intrigued than she’d like to admit. “So how do you know about it?”

“It was a gift from me. And… that’s all I can say.” He sighed, rubbing his face. “Well, since you don’t require any more assistance from me, I’ll inform the king—”

“No.” Her breath hitched at the thought of Theron arriving with all the inevitable questions she’d have to answer. The later, the better. “Let me, um, wash first. Do you know Melitta?”

“Do I know Melitta?” he echoed, sounding almost offended. “I believe we’re acquainted. I delivered her when she was born.”

“Oh, did you?” She stared at him. If he was in his late fifties, then it wasn’t impossible that he would have attended Gaiane’s labor. “Could you ask her to come and help me wash?”

He moved to the table and began gathering his utensils, packing them methodically, his expression guarded. “I will. Until next time, Priestess.”