Kiva moved stiffly as the queen led her deeper into the room, her mind struggling to comprehend Ariana’s reaction to their meeting. The queen knew exactly who Kiva was — and where she’d come from. Surely Ariana couldn’t be so accepting of an escaped criminal, even if Kiva had earned her freedom. No monarch would want an ex-felon living in their home, and they definitely wouldn’t want one befriending their children, their heir. And yet . . . there was no mistaking how genuine the queen’s expression was as she smiled at Kiva before turning her attention to her nephew.
“Caldon, be a dear and try not to get blood on the lounge,” Ariana said over her shoulder. “Last time the servants had to replace the upholstery, and I’m rather fond of this fabric.”
Caldon uttered a dry reply that Kiva didn’t hear, too numb to what was happening. That feeling only grew when she rounded the side of one couch to see Tipp curled up in a ball, snoring softly.
Ariana reached down to run her fingers through his glossy red hair, quietly telling Kiva, “The poor darling was so distressed that we had to give him a moradine tonic to keep him from joining the search parties. I couldn’t bear to move him, not until you’d had a chance to see him and know he was all right.”
Kiva’s heart clutched. She hated that Tipp had been so afraid for her, and was reluctantly grateful for the queen’s intervention. Moradine was a strong sedative, prompting a swift and dreamless sleep. The young boy would likely be out until morning.
Not wanting to disturb him, Kiva followed the queen toward a second lounge, where a tray of food was waiting. Her stomach rumbled as Ariana prepared a muffin for her, loading it with cream before handing it over.
Seeing the Queen of Evalon wait on her like a servant, Kiva’s mind blanked of thought, leaving her with nothing to do but raise the muffin to her mouth as Ariana began questioning Caldon about how he’d found her. They were interrupted partway through by the arrival of a young woman, perhaps a year or two older than Kiva, dressed in the familiar white robe of a Silverthorn healer.
“Your Majesty,” she said, offering a respectful curtsey. Her pale skin had a rosy glow to it, and while her features were too sharp to be considered classically beautiful, her heart-shaped face, russet-colored eyes, and ashy blond hair pulled back into a messy bun were captivating enough to make Caldon watch her with keen interest.
“Thank you for coming so quickly,” Ariana said, standing and beckoning the healer closer. “I know it’s late.”
“A healer never sleeps,” the young woman said amicably, her smile lighting up the room. She glanced from Caldon to Kiva, before she made a clucking sound with her tongue. “Looks like we had too much fun at the festival.”
“Not enough fun, if you ask me,” Caldon said, leaning back and sending her a lazy grin full of promise. “But there’s plenty of night left.”
Kiva fought to control her gag reflex. She pulled a face at Caldon when the healer opened her medical bag, causing his eyes to light with amusement.
“I’m Rhessinda Lorin,” the young woman said. Her gaze locked with Kiva’s as she added, “Friends call me Rhess.”
“Lovely to meet you, Rhess,” Caldon said, all but purring her name. Kiva wasn’t sure whether to laugh or groan, her respect for the healer growing when she seemed oblivious to the prince’s attention and instead focused on pulling out her supplies.
“Who wants to go first?” Rhessinda asked.
“She does,” Caldon said, and Kiva didn’t have the energy to argue as the healer took the seat vacated by Ariana, who hovered but kept her distance so as to not smother them.
Rhessinda tipped Kiva’s face toward the light and prodded at the bump. “Can you tell me your name?”
“Kiva.”
“Age?”
“Seventeen.”
“What day is it?”
“Friday.”
“Favorite color?”
Rhessinda’s questions continued until she was satisfied, after which she withdrew a handheld luminium torch and shone it straight into Kiva’s eyes, causing her to hiss and jerk away.
“Ouch,” Rhess said. “That looked painful.”
Kiva shot her a look, and then transferred it to Caldon when he coughed, failing to hide his humor.
“You have a nasty concussion, but I don’t think we need to worry about anything more serious,” Rhessinda declared, dabbing on some aloeweed gel to help with the inflammation, her callused fingers scratching slightly against Kiva’s sensitive skin. “I’ll leave you something for the pain, so you should be feeling a lot better by morning. If your discomfort grows or you start to have problems with vision, balance, nausea, and the like, send word to Silverthorn.”