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Sariel’s lessons started the next morning, and they were grueling. Politics, economics, geography, language, etiquette - I never knew so much went into being royalty. He brought stacks of massive textbooks to my room and split his time with reading them to me, quizzing me on what he’d just read, and indulging my numerous questions. At midday, I had a break for lunch and exercises with the doctor, and then the lessons began again. I wondered when Sariel was supposed to get his work done with this schedule.
And then Chevalier came at two thirty, and I knew.
“King Chevalier,” Sariel said, inclining his head respectfully as he closed the textbook on his lap. “Punctual as always. I believe we are due for another visit from the doctor as well,” he added, his expression souring.
“Sorry. He gets a little overbearing sometimes, but I’m sure he won’t interrupt as much tomorrow,” I said apologetically.
“One can only hope,” Sariel said through his tight-lipped smile, standing up and heading for the door. “Before I take my leave, I would like to discuss your wardrobe.”
“My wardrobe?” I asked, my cheeks warming involuntarily. Theresa had spent a long time on the topic of my undergarments the previous afternoon - specifically, that I had none, since she threw out what I had before we left Flandre’s estate. She and Belle had a lot of embarrassing suggestions about what to get and who should buy it for me.
“Yes. I realize you cannot stand for a fitting yet, but I think it prudent to have the seamstresses begin work on your wardrobe now so you have a few pieces ready when you are back on your feet. Then they can make alterations as needed.”
“I can’t just buy something from a store?” I ventured, although I already knew the answer. The noblewomen I’d seen all shared one thing in common: a custom-made, perfectly tailored wardrobe. The higher the rank, the more extravagant the clothes. For me, having lived until now with one worn, patched dress, two if I was lucky, it was a little overwhelming.
“You may,” Sariel said, amusement flickering in his lavender eyes, “but occasions such as the coronation ceremony require more elaborate dresses than what you will find in any store. Unless you have any specific requests or preferences, I will leave the composition of your wardrobe up to the seamstresses.”
Chevalier had seated himself on the sofa, flipping through the textbook Sariel left there as if this conversation didn’t concern him, but I knew Sariel wouldn’t have waited to discuss this until he arrived for a reason. Without his input, though, I couldn’t fathom what that reason might be.
“Um, there is something,” I said hesitantly, wishing he weren’t here. “I…have a lot of scars, so…everything needs to be…modest.”
“Modest,” Sariel repeated.
I nodded.
“How modest?”
I bit my lip nervously. “Long sleeves, long skirt, nothing backless.”
“I see.” He pushed the bridge of his glasses up his nose thoughtfully. “Would short sleeves and long gloves be sufficient?”
I looked at my upper arms, imagining the scars through the sleeves of my nightgown. “Maybe,” I said slowly, bringing one hand up to measure with my fingers, trying not to wince from the movement in my shoulder. “But the gloves would need to come up to here.”
“Perhaps it would be best if I sent the seamstresses here to speak with you directly,” he said.
“That would probably be best,” I agreed.
“What are you doing?” the doctor exclaimed, appearing in the doorway and rushing to my side.
“Sorry,” I sighed, straightening my arm again. “But you said I could do more exercises if I felt up to it, and I feel up to it.”
“Under supervision,” he reminded me. “And it’s been less than two hours, so you need to rest a few more hours before we do them again. You shouldn’t even be sitting up right now.”
“But I feel fine,” I insisted.
“If that will be all,” Sariel interjected, “then we will resume our lessons in the morning.”
“Thank you, Sariel. I’ll see you tomorrow,” I said to him, and to the doctor, who was arranging my pillows for me to lie down, “Please don’t do that. I don’t want to lie down right now. I’m fine.”
“Young lady,” he started.
I sighed heavily, bracing myself for his lecture. He sighed, too, his brow furrowing and digging the wrinkles in deeper across his forehead.
“You feel fine. That doesn’t mean you are fine. I have treated injuries similar to yours before, and I know that this is a pivotal time in your recovery. Your mind is restless, and your body is feeling better than it has since this happened. But pushing yourself too hard will at best delay your recovery, at worst, cause irreparable damage. So, do as I say and lie down.”
I did, reluctantly, and without looking in Chevalier’s direction. Getting a scolding from the doctor was always embarrassing, more so in front of others, especially since I was certain he didn’t treat all his patients this way. It was hard to picture him fussing over soldiers the way he fussed over me.
“You’ve treated injuries similar to mine before?”
“Yes, I have,” the doctor said, feeling the shoulder I’d moved and down my arm to the thick bandages over my wrist. “Although usually in the form of a knight thrown from his horse and then crushed underneath it when it fell.”
“So, that’s what that feels like,” I said dryly.
His mustache twitched as he moved to examine my other shoulder and arm. “You are fortunate to be alive. The horse should have killed you.”
I smiled up at him. He wasn’t angry at me, just worried. “I guess it’s a good thing I don’t know horses that well.”
“You’re still in trouble,” he said sternly, his gray eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “But you’ve done no damage, so as long as you behave, we can work on your exercises again later.”
“What about standing?” I asked hopefully.
“Not yet. Maybe in a few days. But if I find you crumpled on the floor because you tried to stand on your own, I will tie you down to this bed, and King Chevalier will help me do it.”
The light, joking tone of his voice faded to the background as three images flashed through my mind in quick succession, each one making my heart pound louder in my ears than the last. Jack, pinning me to the bed underneath him, my wrists trapped in his unforgiving grip above my head; the two men hidden in the darkness, wrestling me to the ground, gagging me and binding my wrists and ankles; and the dungeon, pitch black and cold as I hung from the tight manacles around my wrists. I couldn’t breathe. The bandages around my wrists were suffocating me.
“Princess Ivetta. Princess Ivetta!”
I jolted out of the waking nightmare, staring up at the doctor’s wrinkled, familiar face. Sunlight poured through the window. There was no darkness, nobody waiting to attack me, nothing but calm and quiet.
“Poor choice of words. Just don’t do it, okay?” he said with an encouraging smile.
I nodded, willing my heart to stop racing. “S-sorry.”
He shook his head. “I should be the one apologizing to you. Now, is there anything you need before I go? Or anybody you want to see later?”
I took a deep breath to clear my head. Chevalier was already here; Theresa would be back later with my dinner, if she didn’t come back sooner. Were daily visits from the princes continuing, then? I was still stuck in bed, and if I had too much time to myself, my mind wasn’t always friendly. It wasn’t always friendly even when I was with others, as was just illustrated.
“I wouldn’t mind seeing Licht,” I said, and then I hastily added, “If it isn’t too much trouble for him.” He probably didn’t want to see me, anyway, but I was hoping the few words we’d shared on the carriage ride yesterday were enough to make him stop avoiding me.
The doctor nodded, although there was a question in his eyes. “I’ll see if he’s available. If you need anything, King Chevalier, I won’t be far.”
I looked over at the sofa as Chevalier snapped the textbook shut with a dull thud. His face was as smooth and inscrutable as marble. I bit my lip nervously, wondering what he thought of all that, and the door clicked shut behind the doctor. Chevalier stood up and came to my side, sitting on the edge of the bed and taking my hand.
“How was your first day as king?” I asked tentatively.
“You’re still a nuisance,” he replied, the corner of his lip pulling up into a hint of a smirk that eased the tension immediately.
“Well, you still need a challenge, don’t you, Chevalier?” I teased, feeling a smile tugging at my lips, partly from seeing him, partly from trying his name out on him for the first time without his title. It sent an awkward squirm through the butterflies in my stomach for the split second I waited for his reaction. The way his crystal blue eyes lit up made the butterflies erupt in an explosive flurry of wings.
“I like how that sounds,” he murmured, leaning in to place a soft kiss on my lips.
“Good, because I like to say it.”
“Say it as much as you like, but it will not get you out of trouble with the doctor.”
I sighed as he pulled away. “I promise to behave and do exactly what he says.”
Chevalier chuckled. “He is a skilled physician, but the primary reason I’ve left him in charge of your care is his proficiency in working with stubborn patients. If you are to be ready for the coronation ceremony, you will need to follow his instructions to the letter.”
Well, there was no point in denying that I was stubborn, so I let that comment slide. “When is the coronation ceremony?”
“One month. Sariel will see to your preparation. You may still be unable to dance at the ball, but you will have to socialize with the guests.”
My stomach twisted into knots. “And I only have one month to prepare?”
Chevalier’s confident smile and sparkling blue eyes told me he wasn’t worried at all, and, after talking with him for a while, I was less worried. Still worried, but it seemed doable. I was already good at talking to people. With Sariel’s coaching, a fancy dress, and a month’s preparation, surely I could pull off being a princess for one night.
Except it wasn’t just one night. It was the rest of my life.
The next two weeks flew by. Sariel’s lessons in the morning, lunch and exercises midday, followed by more lessons until Chevalier or one of his brothers came to visit me, and then more exercises - I didn’t get much time alone, and I definitely wasn’t bored. The seamstresses stopped by to measure me and discuss my wardrobe, and when the first pieces arrived, Theresa was as excited as I was to see what they’d made. Colorful dresses in light fabrics for summer, decorated with ribbons, bows, frills, ruffles, or left plain, with flats and heels to match, made me feel more like a princess than anything else. I could stand long enough for a fitting by the fifth week of my recovery, and short walks around my room were within my repertoire as the six-week mark neared.
But the more movement the doctor allowed, the harder it got to stay in bed.
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