Her Royal Physician

by McKenna James

  I could still remember the horror on everybody’s faces at a fire broke out on the ship. The pilot was dead, along with three other crewmates. The fire wound up injuring dozens of others. The other planes sitting on the tarmac were at risk of exploding as well, but I knew I had to help as many people as I could. I was only doing what was right, what I’d been trained to do, not because I wanted some fancy medal. My team needed my help, so I sprang into action without a second thought. I dragged as many men out of the danger zone as I could while others tried to put out the fire. With the disaster now a forethought in our memories, the Idolian Royal Navy wanted to commend me for my efforts.

  I normally would have been very excited. It was an honor to be awarded the Idolian Medal of Honor. The only problem was that the ceremony was supposed to be taking place at the palace.

  As I followed the other recipients into the throne room to prepare for the ceremony, a million questions raced through my mind. Was I going to see Giselle? Would she even speak to me? Would she even remember me? It had been so long since we’d seen each other, and our last encounter hadn’t exactly been memorable for all the right reasons. She said that we were just a fling. Why would the princess of Idolia bother to remember a nobody doctor like me? Granted, I was getting a shiny new medal, but Giselle was probably used to seeing shiny, expensive things—what, with her royal status and all.

  I wasn’t going to lie. I was definitely panicking. I didn’t know what I was going to do if I happened to run into her. Should I go up and say hello? Should I stay in line with the other recipients like nothing ever happened? Giselle probably never even thought about me. What if she didn’t end up attending the ceremony? Was it in a princess’ usual line of work to see to award presentations? Or was that more of a monarch’s job to do?

  If Giselle didn’t show up, maybe I could convince someone in the palace to deliver a message to her. Maybe I could convince one of the many servants roaming the halls to slip her a note. But if I did that, what the hell would I even write? Hi, remember me? Do you still like me? Check the box yes or no.

  I shook my head. How ridiculous.

  I still had time to figure out what I was going to say. I’d try to speak to a servant before I left the ceremony. There was supposed to be some sort of celebratory banquet held right after, so perhaps then I could get my message sent off. I just wanted to express to her how much I cared about her and that I thought about her almost every day even if my attempt was going to be fruitless.

  I hoped she was well. I hoped she was happy.

  I looked about the throne room in the hopes that I could catch a glimpse of the princess somewhere. The inside of the hall was lavishly decorated. I was frightened to sit in the provided seats because they appeared to be made of expensive mahogany wood that were embellished with golden etchings. There was a giant crystal chandelier hanging above our heads. At the very front of the room sat a massive throne made of gilded woodwork. I’d only ever seen the throne in textbooks throughout school, so seeing it in person was really awe-inspiring.

  A flourish of trumpets sounded, notes echoing and bouncing off of the tall ceiling and cold floor. A few of us, myself included, turned to see the guards at the entrance of the throne room moving aside to open the huge double-doors. I held my breath as a couple of flag bearers entered first, holding up the insignia of the Idolian Royal Family. A bubble of hope rose up from my chest and lodged itself in my throat. Maybe Giselle was going to be here today. Maybe I was going to finally see her again after all this time.

  My palms were abnormally sweaty and cold, and my heart wouldn’t stop racing in my chest. The anticipation was going to kill me.

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  Giselle

  Award ceremonies. In a word: boring.

  I understood the significance of the Medal of Honor. The people I would be shaking hands with today deserved them. They were heroes, selfless people doing incredibly things. I really should be proud of their achievements because of how well they represented the Crown and country. But there were so many long-winded speeches before we ever got to the actual handshaking part, and our current Prime Minister wasn’t exactly the greatest orator to ever grace my ears.

  Prime Minister Bolton was an older man, maybe twenty years older than my father. He was so frail and skinny that I sometimes wondered if a strong wind could blow him right off his freakishly tiny feet. He spoke with a raspy voice that was so dry it honestly had me craving a glass of water as I sat and did my best to listen.

  I was positioned at Father’s side in an ornate chair made of white birchwood. It wasn’t as fancy as the actual throne, but I wasn’t exactly jealous of Father. I knew for a fact there were several spots in the thinning cushioning where feathers liked to poke out uncomfortably. How Father managed to endure the discomfort was still beyond me. The award ceremony was only supposed to be an hour long, so it wasn’t like Father was going to have to endure it for very long.

  Even though my mind was a million miles away from here, I made a conscious effort to sit up as straight as possible. The tiara on my head, one that used to belong to my mother, was heavy. I was particularly worried it would crush my neck flat if I sat improperly. As Prime Minister Bolton began with his opening remarks, I glanced out the window of the throne room that overlooked the royal gardens. Depending on the weather, I liked to daydream about some foreign land where I could vacation without interruption. If it was hot outside, I liked to daydream of snowy mountains and a cabin by a frozen lake. If it was cold outside, much like it was today, I liked to daydream about sandy white beaches where I could lounge for hours with a margarita in my hand.

  And when I was particularly bored and dreams of distant places couldn’t quite cut it, I allowed myself the rare luxury of dreaming about Leo.

  I used to dream of the Obsidian Vow, sneaking around to spend time with him. Except in my dreams, it was just the two of us. There was never any worry about being caught. We could roam about the ship and explore and enjoy each other’s company at our leisure. I did my best to recall every kiss we exchanged, tried to remember the way his hands felt on my body. It had been so long since I last saw him that the memory of his face and the sound of his voice were beginning to fade. Each day that passed, a little bit more of him was washed away. His face in my mind’s eye was starting to become generic, blurred around the edges. And when he spoke, I couldn’t recall his timbre.

  What I did remember was how he made me feel. Even though we were stuck on that ship, trapped thousands of miles away from land, I’d never felt more free. My heart skipped a beat at thoughts of his sweet caresses, at the way he looked at me with such fondness.

  Nathanial, who’d been standing just off to the side of the raised platform, cleared his throat in my ear. I nearly jumped out of my seat, jarred abruptly from my thoughts.

  “Are you feeling alright, Princess Giselle?” he whispered in my ear.

  “Yes, my apologies.”

  Father gave me a sideways glance, but said nothing. Prime Minister Bolton didn’t seem anywhere near finished with his speech.

  My eyes wandered, drifting from nameless face to nameless face. I had to admit the attendance was pretty impressive. Several rows of seats had been completely filled, the back section reserved for members of the press. There was a line of ten or so seats off to the side, reserved for our guests of honor. They came from a diverse background of occupations—some were police officers, others were military; all were everyday heroes. The man at the very end of the row had been staring at me since the start of the ceremony, but that wasn’t anything out of the ordinary. I imagined seeing a member of the royal family up close was as amazing as meeting a celebrity.

  The man at the end of the row was dressed in a formal navy uniform, several badges and medals already decorating the lapel of his blazer. He had his hat drawn down low, so I couldn’t quite make out his face from the angle at which I sat, but there was something oddly familiar about him. Maybe his uniform reminded me of
Leo. They had the same broad shoulders and muscular arms, but all military seemed to be built that way. He looked a bit haggard, like he’d seen things that couldn’t be unseen. I supposed that for a war hero, that wasn’t too uncommon. He had dark bags beneath his eyes and an incredibly hard jawline. What struck me most about the man was the bluish green of his eyes that held my gaze with ease.

  Eyes that burned with a passion, eyes that made me feel whole.

  My mouth fell open slightly as lightbulbs flicked on in my head. There was a reason he looked familiar. I knew this man. And by the looks of it, he hadn’t forgotten me at all. I held my breath when Prime Minister Bolton finally wrapped up his speech and called the medal recipients up to meet Father. I was supposed to shake everybody’s hand and congratulate them, say a few words of praise to come across as amicable and a woman of the people. But the line moved so darn slowly that I felt like I was going to explode if the process didn’t speed up a bit.

  Prime Minister Bolton announced everybody’s name to the crowd, each receiving an applause for their valor. We made it all the way through the list until, finally, a familiar name rang in my ear.

  “Lieutenant Commander Leonard Pratchett.”

  My heart stopped when he stepped up onto the platform. Leo bowed to Father, whose shoulders became rigid. Father paused ever so slightly before placing the medal over Leo’s neck. I wondered if Father recognized him. Judging by the stiffness in his face, I had to say yes.

  “Congratulations, young man,” he mumbled. “Idolia thanks you for your service.”

  “Thank you, Your Majesty,” Leo said.

  His voice. Deeper, gruffer than in my dreams. A chill slithered up and down my spine and left me paralyzed where I stood as Leo walked over to shake my hand as all the other recipients had.

  My hand slipped easily into his, the warmth of his palm spreading across my skin. Something electric ignited within me, sending shockwave after shockwave through my system. The air I breathed felt like fire in my lungs, but I enjoyed the burn. It was the most alive I’d felt in almost a year. My heart was racing so fast in my chest I was scared it would fall right out. Leo’s kind eyes locked with mine, and I knew I was a goner. I didn’t realize until that very moment just how much I missed him. And now that I had him, I didn’t want to let go. I wanted to hold onto his hand forever.

  “Princess Giselle,” he said slowly. He looked as surprised as I was. “Thank you for the honor.”

  “Pleasure’s all mine,” I whispered back.

  “How have you been?”

  It was a simple enough question, but I didn’t know how to answer.

  “Good,” I breathed—alive. “You?”

  My knees nearly buckled out from under me when Leo smiled. How was it even legal for someone to look as handsome as he did?

  “I’ve been good,” he answered.

  Father coughed. At first, I thought it was because he didn’t approve of Leo’s lingering. I was inclined to ignore Father and continue to stare into Leo’s eyes, but then he fell into a fit of coughs. Out of the corner of my eye, I happened to catch a speck or two of red covering Father’s hand. I turned, immediately concerned.

  “Father?”

  He tried to wave me away like it was nothing, but one look and I could tell that wasn’t the case. His face was incredibly pale, white as mountain snow. Father’s eyes were bloodshot from the strain of coughing so hard, and he was leaning over to one side like he could no longer support his own weight. Father collapsed to the floor, and an audible gasp rose out of the audience. Some of the nosy reporters at the far back pushed and shoved their way forward to try to take a picture, but the royal guards were quick to step in and put a stop to their nonsense.

  I dropped to Father’s side and placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking him. “What’s wrong?” I cried. “Father, are you okay?”

  Terror gripped at my heart when he didn’t answer. He couldn’t. He was too busy choking on the blood he was spitting out. I whipped around and looked at Leo.

  “Please,” I begged. “Please, help him!”

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN

  Leo

  I was at the king’s side in an instant, dropping to my knees to get a better look. One of the royal guards tried to drag me away, thinking I meant King Maximillian and Princess Giselle harm, but I snapped at them, “Let go! I’m a doctor.” They unhanded me to let me inspect the king, but they hovered nearby just in case.

  King Maximillian had aged since the last time I saw him, the condition of his health having deteriorated significantly since the Obsidian Vow. His skin was dry and flaky, pale bordering on gray. There were patches of discoloration on his skin and heavy bags beneath his eyes. His hair was thinning and starting to leave a giant bald spot atop his head. He’d put on a bit of weight around the gut. But the more I looked him over, the more I realized the extra bulge wasn’t because of overeating. There was something wrong on the inside, a swelling of the belly that I couldn’t diagnose properly without further examination. King Maximillian continued to cough up blood. Even non-medical professionals knew that was a very bad sign.

  Giselle was on the verge of tears, doing her best to wipe at her father’s mouth with a beige handkerchief she had on her person. I wished we could have met under different circumstances. I was genuinely over the moon to see her again. But now wasn’t the time for some long-overdue reunion. Her father was suffering, and as a doctor, I needed to make sure he received the medical attention he required. As some of the royal bodyguards quickly ushered everybody out of the room, I reached down to check the king’s pulse.

  King Maximillian snatched me by the wrist and squeezed harshly. “Don’t touch me.”

  “Father,” sniffed Giselle, “please. He’s only trying to help.”

  “I’m fine,” he hissed through clenched teeth.

  “Father,” she warned. “Let him examine you.”

  I cleared my throat. “With your permission, Your Majesty. You may need to go to the hospital.”

  “No. No hospitals.”

  “Then please allow me to examine you, Your Majesty.”

  King Maximillian coughed and rolled his eyes. “Fine,” he spat begrudgingly. “Just not here.”

  Giselle looked up at a couple of bodyguards. “Can you take him to his room?”

  They nodded and promptly helped the king onto his feet, supporting him by slinging his arms over their shoulders. I followed closely on their heels, venturing down the massive palace halls to the king’s chambers. The palace was so spectacularly huge that I was worried I’d lose my way, but I grew increasingly aware of Giselle’s presence next to me as we all rushed after her father. I didn’t dare reach out to her, even though I would have given anything to wipe the look of worry off of her face.

  Just as we were about enter the king’s chambers, he raised his hand at his daughter. “Wait here.”

  “But, Father–”

  “I don’t want you in there. Understood?”

  The guards helped him inside. Giselle pressed her lips into a thin line, obviously distressed. I wanted to place a comforting hand on her shoulder, but thought against it. Nathanial was right behind us, having followed his king closely. I didn’t think the private secretary would much appreciate any physical contact.

  Giselle sighed. “Please take care of him.”

  I nodded. “I’ll do my best. I promise.”

  The doors closed behind us. The guards helped King Maximillian lie down in his large four-post bed. Luxuriously soft pillows and silk quilts covered the mattress. Huge floor-to-ceiling windows on the northern wall allowed the sunlight to stream in, illuminating all of the interesting artifacts and art pieces about the room. The floors were a polished white marble, the walls were covered in expensive purple and gold wallpaper. There was an en-suite bathroom just to our left and a private study full of ancient books to our right. If I had more time, I would have loved a tour, but I knew now was neither the time nor place. Besides, a commoner like me was lucky
to be standing before the king. I didn’t expect anyone to lead me around like an honored guest.

  Nathanial and I made our way over to the king.

  “I’m going to need you to lift your shirt, Your Majesty.”

  With a sigh, King Maximillian pulled his shirt up over his stomach. It was swollen, just as I suspected. I placed my hands on his stomach and felt around, noting when and where the king grimaced in pain.

  “Can you describe your discomfort?” I asked.

  “Painful,” he spat.

  “What have you eaten today?”

  King Maximillian shrugged. “Same thing I always do. Nathanial has me on a strict diet full of fiber. Lots of veggies, too much oatmeal.”

  “Have you been experiencing any nausea?”

  He nodded. “Yes.”

  “For how long.”

  “A while.”

  I frowned. “Can you be more specific?”

  King Maximillian grumbled, “A while. I’ve been like this for a very long time. A couple of years.”

  “Years?” I echoed in disbelief. “Did you go see a physician like I suggested back on the ship?”

  He curled his face up in disdain. “I meant to,” he stated flatly. “But I haven’t had the time.”

  “You should always make time when it comes to your health, Your Majesty.”

  “Don’t patronize me.”

  “I don’t mean to come across as patronizing, Your Majesty.”

  “Do you know what the hell’s wrong with me?”

  I sighed. I had my suspicions, but I didn’t want to say anything and cause any undue stress. I looked to Nathanial and said, “Can I borrow a piece of paper and a pen?” After a moment, Nathanial managed to produce a ballpoint pen and a note block. I scribbled down a number and handed it to the private secretary. “Call this number. Set up an appointment. Tell them that I referred you. Since you’re the king, they’re obviously going to make the time for you.”