Page 46 of Rise of the Vicious Princess

If that was the case, then Reuben and Mother were both in for a reminder that Charis had a sword for a spine.

Baust met Charis, Tal, and the stable boys at the entrance to Charis’s wing. He followed them into the small bedroom just off the entrance to Charis’s bath chamber, his physician’s bag in hand.

“Set him down on the bed. Gently.” Charis whipped the coverlet off the bed and tossed it aside. “Put him on his right side so the arrow doesn’t touch the mattress. We can’t risk it going in any farther.”

When the stable boys had Tal situated to Baust’s satisfaction, Charis sent them on their way and rang for a trio of maids to gather supplies for the physician. Hot water. Rags. And a list of things from his office.

“I can help,” Charis said.

“The maids can help, Your Highness.” Baust gently probed the skin around the arrow. “It went pretty deep into the muscle, but I don’t think it hit bone. That’s good.”

“The maids aren’t going to help. I am.” Charis’s voice was firm, but her touch was gentle as she crouched in front of Tal, whose mouth was pressed into a thin line of agony.

“Your Highness, this is unseemly work—”

“This boy saved my life. Tell me what you need, and I’ll do it.”

“Cut his shirt away from the arrow and then take it off.” Baust turned to direct the maids, and Charis used his scissors to carefully cut Tal’s shirt away from the arrow wound.

“Give him a swallow of this for the pain. And then hold him steady.” Baust pushed a small jar of red liquid into Charis’s hands and dipped a rag into hot water and then into a bowl of something that looked like brown water and smelled sharp and unpleasant. Charis poured a swallow of the red medicine into Tal’s mouth as Baust began packing damp, medicine-treated rags around the buried arrowhead. Was it wrong to be thankful that the shortages that had every other physician in the city rationing their supplies hadn’t yet touched Baust’s considerable stockpile?

“Hold him steady,” he barked as he pressed down on the rags with one hand and grasped the arrow’s shaft with the other.

Charis wrapped her arms around Tal’s shoulders, pulled his head against her neck, and held on tight as Baust slowly and carefully worked the arrow free. Tal’s body went taut, his breath stopping in his throat as he clenched his fists into the back of Charis’s dress and hung on. When the arrow finally slid out of his shoulder with a slick, wet sound like that of the sea gently slapping against a rock, he slumped against Charis, his body shaking.

Baust pressed the rags over the wound, and they quickly soaked through with blood. “We have to get this wound stitched quickly. Keep him still.”

Charis held Tal steady as Baust’s nimble fingers pulled the wound closed with his needle and thread. Tal bit his lip and closed his eyes but gave no other indication that he was in agony. When Baust had finished cleaning, stitching, and bandaging the wound, he wiped his face with his handkerchief and then set another bottle of brown medicine on the side table.

“Red medicine with every meal for pain management. Brown medicine at night to help him sleep. I don’t know how much blood he lost, but I wouldn’t recommend strenuous activity for at least a few days. His body has had quite a shock.”

“Thank you.” Tal’s voice was hoarse with pain and fatigue, but he turned to meet the physician’s gaze.

Baust’s smile creased the smooth roundness of his face. “Anything for the boy who saved the princess.”

When Baust left, Charis called for some maids to clean the chamber and left briefly to discard her ruined purple day dress, wash her face and hands, and then dress in a simple green frock before returning to Tal’s room. She found the floors gleaming, new sheets on the bed, all evidence of Baust’s tools removed, and Tal lying down, his face still unnaturally pale.

As the door closed behind the maids, leaving Charis and Tal alone in her chambers, her knees went weak. Sinking to the floor beside his bed, she laid her head on his blankets and fought the tremors that shook her.

She could have died.

Tal could have died.

Death to the warmongering princess! the archer had screamed.

She closed her eyes as she once again heard the terrible wet thunk of the arrow striking Tal. Felt his weight crash down upon her as she hit the ground, expecting another arrow to find its mark.

How long did she have before someone else tried to kill her? Weeks? Days? And what if the arrow had missed Tal’s shoulder and struck his heart instead?

Nausea rolled through her, and she swallowed hard as she felt Tal’s hand gently come to rest on the top of her head.

“Your Highness?” When she didn’t respond, he shifted in the bed, sucking in a little gasp of pain, and said, “Charis?”

It was the first time he’d ever used her name, and she lifted her head, though the room swam at the edges. His hand fell to the blanket again.

“You could have died.” Her words came out sounding like an accusation, and Tal smiled weakly.

“Comes with the job description.”

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