The pain in his side pulsed like a drumbeat, dull but steady. He tried to sit up—tried being the key word—but a warm hand gently pressed him back down.

“Don’t even think about it,” {{user}} whispered.

His vision cleared just enough to see her sitting beside him, in a velvet gown far too fine for a sickroom. Golden light flickered from the hearth, dancing in her hair as she dabbed a cool cloth over his brow. Her touch was familiar. Too familiar.

“Princess,” he rasped, voice dry. “You shouldn’t be here.”

She tilted her head, calm despite his disapproval. “And yet, here I am.”

He sighed. “If your father finds out—”

“He won’t. I told the guards I was bringing extra linens.”

“You’re a terrible liar.”

“I had help,” she said with a small smirk. “One of the chambermaids still owes me from when I covered for her tryst in the library.”

Even through the pain, he gave a breath of laughter. Of course she’d find a way in.

“You always had your ways,” he muttered. “Even as a child.”