Page 3 of Turret

I reluctantly submitted to Melina’s fussing as she fluffed my pillows and made sure I was comfortable before finally stepping back, granting me some much-needed air from her suffocating attention. “I’ll prepare your fever remedy and will return shortly.” She paused halfway to the door to cast me a pointed look of warning. “I expect you to still be there when I return; no sneaking out of bed.” She gave Quinn an equally stern request to babysit me and relaxed at his confirming nod.

I sighed. “You’d think you were my mother rather than my handmaiden.”

Her nose wrinkled at the mention of Mother, whom she had a rather unfavorable opinion of ever since her magic had trapped us here. “A mother perhaps, but certainly not likeyourmother.”

She dipped into a curtsy and departed. I gave her a few moments to be well away from the closed door before casting Quinn a desperate glance. “Is there any chance I can convince you to ignore her wishes and let me out of bed before she returns?”

I scowled as he firmly shook his head, dispelling my hopes. Admittedly I wasn’t at all surprised; when it came to his duties as my guard, nothing could sway him. Yet annoyance prickled me all the same. I struggled to sit up before a wave of dizziness forced me back against my pillows.

“So much for protecting my well-being as faithfully as you protect me physically,” I grumbled.

His brows drew together. “What do you mean?”

“You know how much I hate being bedridden, and yet you made no move to stop my warden.” I knew it was unfair to call Melina that when she only had my best interests in mind, but it was difficult to think of her as anything else when I had hours of being trapped in bed left to endure.

He frowned, clearly offended I doubted him, but I was too grumpy to offer an apology. He was silent a long moment before he bridged the distance between us and settled in the chair constantly at my bedside. Normally it was reserved for Melina, whose primary duty when bouts of illness arrived was to keep me company, but Quinn occupying the seat was a welcome change; there was something comforting about having him closer than his post usually allowed.

He leaned his elbows on his knees and gave me a rather serious expression. “As much as I want you to be happy, I care too much to risk your health any further. You can’t deny you’re not feeling well.”

I pursed my lips, hating to admit he was right; I could only ignore my dizziness and pulsing headache for so long. “I’m feelingwell enough,” I finally ventured, for it was the best I could offer with any semblance of honesty. “Enough not to be trapped in bed for the remainder of the day, as if I haven’t already spent most of morning here or all of last evening; I haven’t left this room in days.”

“Three,” he supplied promptly. “That’s not so very long.”

I glared at him and he had the sense to look contrite. He scooted his chair closer and leaned forward.

“I know this is wearying for you, Gemma, but we only have your best interests in mind. Despite your wanting otherwise, the truth of the matter is you’resick.”

How I longed to have any other word applied to me. “Perhaps I want to be something more than an ill princess.”

He blinked at me in clear surprise. “But you already are.”

His words were meaningless, for they did nothing to discount the reality of my life up until this point. Memories of my childhood were measured not in years and milestones, but in different bouts of illness, constant visits from physicians, endless treatments, and long periods trapped in my room while my siblings enjoyed life beyond the confines of four unchanging walls. Being in this tower was no different.

It was wearying only being known as the sickly princess: worrying over me was my family’s primary pastime, our subjects continuously smothered me with prayers and well wishes rather than knowing me for anything else, and even other royalty and visiting foreign dignitaries always ensured they asked after my health; I hated the fact that news of my constantly being unwell had traveled even beyond our borders to penetrate the other royal courts.

It didn’t help that in truth I myself didn’t even know who I was beyond my illnesses, and that thought was the most frightening of all. Perhaps that was why I was no longer bothered by the fact I would likely never escape this tower; it didn’t matter whether or not I ever did, for my life would be the same regardless of whether it was within these walls or beyond them: monotonous and measured solely by my fluctuating health.

Quinn’s expression hardened, as usual attuned to the direction of my thoughts. Thanks to his years serving me, I could never hide anything from him; the man was far too perceptive, knowing me on a deeper level than my absent family ever had. “Don’t give up hope. You deserve more than to be trapped in this tower, Gemma.”

I was in no mood for a repeat of this conversation. “How can I not when there is very little hope to be found? Even if wecouldescape, how would I ever make it home if I can’t even be out of bed for more than a few hours?”

“I’ll carry you the entire way.” By the way his eyes blazed, he didn’t speak in jest.

“Such a noble effort would be a waste if I have nothing at home to look forward to; I’ll only continue to spend most of my time trapped in bed.” My composure was faltering, causing my words to come out bitter.

“I know you’re frustrated,” he said gently. “No feeling is worse than the helplessness of being trapped by a condition you can’t escape. But please believe me, Gemma, we’re not trying to cause you distress.”

I knew he meant well and that it was unfair for me to take my frustration over my circumstances out on him when I knew he’d change them if he could. I lowered my eyes in remorse. “I’m just sotiredof this.”

“I know.” Gentleness filled his expression with every word. “I understand you’re frustrated about being in bed again, but we only encourage it not to torture you but to ensure you’re well. I know it’s difficult to maintain hope when you’ve already endured it for so long, but losing hope will only make things more difficult.”

“It feels like I’ll never be anythingbutunwell.” The thought of having my life consist of nothing else was too unbearable to even consider. I nestled under the covers as a fevered shiver ran through my body.

“Trust me, I understand that fear more than you know.” His expression had taken on a faraway look and I suddenly wondered whether we was still speaking about me or something else entirely. The look didn’t linger before he blinked rapidly and returned his attention to me with an encouraging smile, but something about it appeared forced.

“Is something bothering you?” I asked.

“It’s nothing.” He cleared his throat, and when he next looked at me all signs of his sudden melancholy had disappeared, making me wonder whether I’d imagined the emotion. “I understand your concerns, so please allow me to reassure you: despite your fears, I truly believe your illness won’t mar your life forever; one day you’ll overcome this and live the life you desire.”

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