Page 16 of The Royal Curse
Heavy footsteps and a couple of soft thumps sounded from my right: Andreas bringing my bags.
“You need to get dry, Your Hi—my lord,” he said, clearly mindful of the open door. Good for him. I didn’t have the energy to remember my own name, let alone someone else’s fake title. “Do you need—” He stopped abruptly. “I’ll be next door. I’ll be back to look in on you in a few minutes.”
The flames crackled and spat merrily, and the door clicked as Andreas left.
Do you needprobably referred to helping me get undressed. Fuck. I shook my head, shoved myself up out of the chair, and creakily bent to open my bags. Nothing could possibly be more motivating than the prospect of Andreas, all big and silent, tugging off my boots, running his hands down my legs to strip my stockings…I’d die of awkwardness.
The room boasted a decent-sized dressing table by the window, so I hoisted one bag up there and then went back for the other, the one that had fallen.
As I set it on the table, I caught a whiff of mint and vervain.
My cheeks went burning hot and my whole body flushed. Damn it, damn it, please no…
Fumbling, moving too hastily for any kind of speed, I tore at the bag’s fastenings, cutting my finger on the buckle and cursing. The waxed leather saddlebags had been carefully crafted to be waterproof and to seal tightly. That had kept the smell mostly inside.
But as I tugged it open at last, the scent rose up so strongly it choked me, and my head went floaty.
I knew what I’d see when I set the lamp on the windowsill above and looked closely in the depths of the bag, but it still sent another shock through me. When I pulled out the stack of shirts on top, I saw that the velvet-lined steel case holding my potion bottles had torn in half at the hinges, the lid hanging askew—probably, I realized, from Andreas falling on top of the bag rather than from the original drop off the cliff. And all three of the bottles were broken. Two had shattered completely, and the third had cracked.
Oh gods, perhaps, perhaps—and yes, most of that third bottle had leaked out, soaking the velvet and my clothes. But a few tablespoons remained in the bottom, less than half a dose. It’d keep me sane until tomorrow night, probably.
And then…
The bastard gods definitely hadn’t been done with me today.
I didn’t know how long I stood there staring into the bag, shivering with cold in my wet clothing, and seeing and noticing nothing around me—but that was how Andreas found me. His pounding on the door and calling out for me had vaguely registered, but not as anything important. It wasn’t until he took me by the shoulders and tugged me around to face him that I snapped out of it a little bit, blinked, and focused on his intent, serious eyes and worried frown.
Those big hands on my shoulders transmitted heat even through my clothes, the only two points of anything but frozen chill on my body.
“Your Highness, you need to change, you need to get warm,” he said. “What the hell have you been—”
His impertinent scolding didn’t even matter at this point. “The bottles broke, Andreas.” My tone came out so flat and dull that I sounded like I was commenting on the wallpaper.
“—doing in here—theywhat?” He probably didn’t even notice the way his hands tightened on my shoulders, tightened until his grip hurt. “The bottles. Your potion. Those bottles?”
“Yes,” I said, through lips almost too numb to form the word. All of me felt that way, down to my gods-cursed soul. “Those bottles. Of course those bottles!”
With a wrench, I pulled myself out of his grasp and turned away, planting my fists on the table and letting my head hang down, because it was either that or collapse into his chest and sob like a baby.
Andreas had risked his life to retrieve the potion for me. He’d almost died. For a moment, I’d thought he had.
And it hadn’t made any difference at all.
But I couldn’t give up, damn it. We’d made it to a decent-sized town, at least; Perona serviced all of the trade that went over the pass. Other routes might be more popular, but this one still had its share of caravans and travelers, not to mention a respectable population.
There might be an apothecary here capable of making more.
“Do you think—” I began, at the same moment Andreas said, “Your Highness, I think—”
We both stopped. The weight of his gaze prickled the back of my neck, and the heat of him spread down my back. He stood so close behind me that he could’ve shifted his weight and been pressing against me, so close that I almost didn’t have room to turn around again.
My breath came faster as I said, “Do you think you could go out and—it’ll be a miserable errand, in the dark, in the freezing rain. And probably pointless, too. To look for a mage or an apothecary, someone who might have a stock of what I need?”
“I’ll go at once, if you promise me you’ll change into dry clothes and get warm while I’m gone. Falling ill with pneumonia won’t help the situation. And if there’s no one here in town, I swear to you I’ll go wherever I need to,” he added in a rush, for once sounding less than calm and in control. “I don’t care what that woman said about the flooding, my horse and I can swim the river. I won’t sleep until I find someone and bring back what you need. Please don’t worry, Your Highness.”
Oh, for—he didn’t understand a fucking thing about it, and yet he’d be willing to risk his life, again, on a fool’s errand. Didn’t he have any common sense at all? Something warm ignited just below my breastbone. Annoyance, or gratitude? Both?
I turned, forgetting how close he was, and glared at him. Andreas actually rocked back on his heels. Well, I’d learned my glare from my mother the queen. He ought to.
