A Player for A Princess

I don’t know.

All I know is I’m leaning forward in my chair, straining every muscle in my body to hear their words.

Rowan’s jaw is clenched, and anger permeates his tone. “Why did it take you so long to find him? You had GPS! You should have gone directly to him.”

“His watch was missing.” Freddie’s voice is strained. “It’s a miracle we found him at all.”

“It’s a miracle he was so close to the hospital.”

Guilt is heavy in the guard’s voice. “There was so much blood. I thought we were too late…”

The door bursts open, and a small, female doctor emerges. It appears to be the same woman who treated Ava, and I briefly wonder if they have a royal physician. We’re all on our feet.

“Majesté,” she begins in French, speaking to Rowan, but I’ve been here before.

I clutch his arm before she can say another word. “English, please!” I shout.

The doctor is taken aback, but she clears her throat and continues in English laced with a thick French accent.

“His majesty is in hypovolemic shock,” she says. “We’ve given him platelets, plasma, dopamine, and now a steady supply of fluids and antibiotics. Still, he does not wake up.”

White filters into my vision, and I’m going down. Strong arms surround me at once, and Logan carries me to a nearby chair. Ava is beside me, again holding my hand.

“He’s going to be okay,” she repeats like a mantra. “He’s going to be okay.”

I’m not sure she’s right this time.

“What can we do?” Rowan asks, and all of us—the queen, Reggie, my sister, the guards, me—lean forward, hanging on the doctor’s words.

Her voice is grave. “We are keeping him warm, and we are monitoring his kidneys and other vital organs for any sign of failure. If he is a religious man, we have a priest on standby.”

Ava’s mantra dissolves into a little cry. My stomach has relocated to my throat, and I lean forward in my chair until the tightness recedes.

“I’m so sorry,” the doctor says, “All we can do is pray he responds to treatment.”

“I need to be with him.” Somehow I manage to stand. I grasp Rowan’s forearm again. “Let me go back to him. I need to be there.”

Three sets of eyes are on me, and it’s Ava’s voice that tips the scales. “If it were you,” she says softly to the crown prince, and his eyes close as he nods.

“Zelda must go back. He would want her by his side.”

“Of course, Majesté, ” the doctor nods.

She steps to the side, and motions for me to follow her. On shaking legs, I do so. We go through the double doors into a wide, white hall. Fluorescent lights coat everything in a clinical green hue. The air is cold, and a faint smell of disinfectant assaults my nose. We approach a pale wooden door, and the doctor slowly opens it, letting me inside.

When I see him, my heart drops. “Oh, Cal,” I whimper.

He’s so pale. Dark circles stain the skin beneath his eyes, and his full lips are blue. So many tubes run under the blankets to his body. My nose heats, and I carefully pick through the monitors and machines to his side, to where I can touch him. His hand is cold, and I wrap it in both of mine, holding it to my lips.

“He’s receiving a steady supply of antibiotics and fluids,” the doctor says.

A shiny silver stool is in the corner, and I step over to roll it to his bedside. My limbs are so heavy. My entire body feels heavy with despair, but I sit at his side, pressing our palms together, resting my cheek against the back of his hand.

No matter what happens, I won’t leave him. Through the steady beeping of the monitors, the slow rise and fall of the respirator, I’ll be here. I’ll wait as long as it takes until I see his warm hazel eyes again.

An incoherent prayer slips from my mouth before I turn and press my lips to his skin. The doctor touches my shoulder, and a sad smile is on her face.

“I’ll try to find a more comfortable chair. The nurse is available if you need anything. Otherwise…”