Page 29 of The Starlit Ring (The Chronicles of Liridin #1)

“I fell and dropped everything,” I explained, face burning with embarrassment. “His Highness was kind enough to accompany me here.”

“You have a bruise,” one laundress whispered to me. The sunlight caught her bright red hair, illuminating strands of honey gold and auburn. Worry shined in her eyes.

“And the next stop is the infirmary,” said Prince Marius, moving to stand beside me. There was a polite eagerness about him. It might’ve been endearing if I’d actually liked him.

I hardly required an escort, but only nodded pitifully.

“Those sheets were Princess Odalla’s,” I told the laundress. “I’m so sorry?—”

“Don’t be,” the laundress whispered. “You’re limping. Did he—” Her gaze flitted to Prince Marius. The question hung in the air like a noxious smell.

“No,” I said quickly. “I fell all on my own. Down the stairs. He just witnessed it.”

The laundress winced. “Take care of yourself,” she said, and she was gone amongst the whipping sheets.

I followed Prince Marius to the infirmary with great reluctance, and only because I had no idea where to find it. My teeth grit together with each step. The laundress was right; I was limping. My head pounded. And somehow, I had to survive the banquet.

Maybe I needed a visit after all.

We passed through the west wing, where most of the guests were staying, and then traversed two flights of stairs, and a long hallway until we came to the infirmary.

It was smaller than I expected, with only twenty or so beds, but then, I supposed that battles didn’t typically take place at the Palace, so extra beds weren’t needed.

An oversight, in my opinion. Goddess knew we didn’t have enough in Olmstead.

A middle-aged woman in a tunic and pants spotted Prince Marius and bustled over to us. “Good afternoon! What seems to be the problem, Your Highness?”

He gestured to me. The rings on his slender fingers caught the sunlight streaming through the windows and glittered. His fingernails were impeccably clean. I fought the urge to hide my hands behind my back. “Hello, Iana. Miss Arina here fell down the stairs. ”

“Oh,” said the healer, clapping her hands. “And you escorted her here? How kind!” She led me to the bed nearest to the door and prompted me to sit. I did, trying not to wince.

“After witnessing it, I could do nothing else,” said the prince, crossing his arms, and coming to stand at my bedside.

I’d think he was downright noble if I didn’t know better.

“How chivalrous ! Well, if you’ve places to be, I’m sure we’re fine here,” Iana chirped, already pawing through the cabinet beside my bed. Bottles of potions, blocks of powders, and tiny vials were neatly arranged on the shelves, like lines of soldiers before battle.

“I can wait,” said Marius, smiling his most dashing smile. “This is my betrothed’s personal guard. I’d like to ensure she’s fit for service tonight.”

“Oh,” said Iana, her voice culminating in a squeak. “Well, we’d best get on with things then.” She turned to me. “Tell me, what hurts?”

“My tailbone,” I said after a long pause, reluctant to admit that my ass hurt in front of a prince. He’d already settled himself into a chair on the other side of the bed, and set about examining his nails, the lacy ruffles of his sleeves. It was as if he hadn’t heard me at all. “And my head.”

“Yes,” she said, trailing her fingers past the cut on my forehead. “I can see that. Well, we’ll get you fixed up!”

And fix me up she did, first by handing me a tonic that smelled like bog water and tasted worse, then asking me to lie down while she ran her fingers over my forehead, chanting something in a language I didn’t recognize.

I’d always hated healers and their chants.

Their gifts were acquired through alliances with the gods, and while I understood that the gods had their requirements, that didn’t change the fact that the chants were incredibly creepy.

The more theatrical the healer, the more horrifying the overall experience.

Iana had a flair for the dramatics. Her words ground against my eardrums, faster and more overwhelming as they went on, until there was nothing but me and the healer, and an endless stream of babble, oppressive and demanding.

I wanted to vomit, but refused to do so in front of Prince Marius, so I just gritted my teeth and rolled onto my belly when instructed, eyes squeezed shut so that tears couldn’t leak out.

Healing hurts. It’s not just the chanting that makes the whole experience so terrible.

Healing magic is an uncomfortable squeeze beneath the skin, like something has slithered between the layers and taken up residence there.

And then there’s the actual pain. A bone knitting back together isn’t a quick process.

Everything that one might’ve felt during the natural healing process is squeezed into the duration of the spell, making every second unbearable.

I whimpered when the healer’s focus turned to my tailbone, which probably wasn’t broken. But the pain was already at the edge of what I could reasonably bear. Now, it compounded into two long minutes, where dozens of pins stabbed straight into my bones.

At the end of it, I was still sore.

Prince Marius spared me only a single concerned glance, which I was eternally grateful for. I didn’t want him gawking at me in my time of agony. I would’ve very much preferred if he had left the room, but I knew better than to hope for so much.

“Come back if anything hurts!” called the healer, waving merrily after us.

I absolutely would not.

“Better?” asked Prince Marius as we turned a corner.

I gave an exhausted nod. “As I’ll ever be.”

“Good enough,” he answered. If his smug grin was any indication, he was quite pleased with himself.