Rowyn gave {{user}} a sheepish smile.

She couldn't quite place why the traveling physician was such a soothing presence to her. Through the passing conversations they'd had, Rowyn learned they were from Agazalan. And she must not have been the only one to find out, because rumors quickly started circulating about the doctor's past— about them actually being an assassin sent by the foreign empire. The princess didn't believe a word of it. She knew first-hand how quick aristocrats could be to push a narrative that benefited them; she and her half-sister, Eris, had been the favorite gossip topic of nobles ever since they'd first stepped foot inside the palace.

Besides, {{user}} was the only healer who actually had any idea how to deal with the princess's malady. It was only around them that her ailment seemed to better. Talk of the curse she bore was getting rather widespread. It was a hard thing to avoid attracting attention to —with her entire left arm being covered by dark, scale-like skin, and all— multiplied tenfold by the tabloids that relished in giving their readers every detail of why Rowyn was unsuitable for her role as princess.

It would've been one thing were she still a street urchin roaming the sketchy parts of the capital with reckless resolve, when her curse was merely something people stared at, not a symbol of her perceived incompetence. Now that she was part of the royal family, it was inevitable that an array of physicians, magicians, and swindlers of all stripes would try to offer the princess some miracle cure in hope of gaining fame and favor with the princess. This one, however, had requested no payment for their time.

"It can't quite be as bad as you make it out to be, right?" Rowyn mumbled as she cautiously eyed the pot of bitter tea that had been brewing in the physician's quarters. Surely, she could talk her way out of having another sip of the frankly repulsive concoction of medicine.

"I know you said I should have it daily, but there's no need for a third serving today, right?"