Lauretta’s pov I jerked awake so suddenly my hand pulled the drip down.
The female doctor came to my side at once, her brows furrowed in worry.
“Miss Blackfur, you’re okay,” she softly reassured, carefully pricking me again with the cannula and adjusting the drip on its stand.
I swallowed.
My throat was painfully parched.
It felt like my throat was burning.
“Mrs Blackfur, all I need from you now is to rest.
I know you’re curious, but trust me you’re fine.” I shook my head, my eyes misty for reasons unknown to me.
“Water,” I mouthed.
The doctor raised her eyebrows in question.
“Water,” I managed to scrape the voice from my throat.
“Nurse,” she called out.
Immediately a pretty and petite woman in a white gown and cap entered the ward.
“She needs some water.
Get her some.
Make sure it’s warm.
Patient hasn’t had solid food, stomach has shrunk.” The nurse nodded and left the ward, leaving me with the doctor who placed her stethoscope on my chest, writing down her observations.
I couldn’t move.
My muscles ached from the smallest of movements.
My head was pounding so hard it felt like a gong was being banged next to it.
Whenever I closed my eyes I saw flashbacks of the man that kidnapped me, the sound of the plate crashing on the floor, the cold darkness that had swallowed me after.
The nurse returned with a small cup of warm water.
The doctor helped lift my head just enough so I could sip.
The liquid burned going down at first, then soothed the rawness a little.
I drank slowly, every swallow an effort.
When the cup was empty the doctor set it aside and looked at me with a firmer expression.
“You’ve been unconscious, Mrs Blackfur.
Your body is still very weak.
I’m going to have the nurse move you to a private recovery room now.
It’s quieter there.
You’ll be more comfortable.” I tried to speak again but only a rough sound came out.
The doctor seemed to understand.
“Nurse, prepare a wheelchair.
Transfer her carefully.
No sudden movements.
Keep the drip attached.
I’ll check on her again in an hour.” The nurse nodded and left, returning moments later with a wheelchair.
Two more attendants came in to help.
They lifted me as gently as they could, but even that small shift sent fresh waves of pain through my back and legs.
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from making a sound.
The doctor watched closely the entire time.
Once I was settled in the wheelchair they pushed me out of the medical ward and down a long corridor.
The walls were pale stone.
Soft lights glowed overhead.
Every turn of the wheels felt too loud in my ears.
My head still throbbed.
The flashbacks kept trying to pull me under again—rough hands, the smell of blood, the moment everything went black.
We reached a quieter wing.
The nurse opened a heavy wooden door and wheeled me inside.
The room was larger than the ward bed space.
There was a proper bed with clean white sheets, a small table, a window with thick curtains drawn halfway, and a door that led to what I assumed was a bathroom.
The air smelled faintly of herbs and soap.
They transferred me onto the bed with the same careful movements.
The nurse adjusted my pillows, checked the drip one more time, then spoke softly.
“A maid will be sent to assist you shortly, Mrs Blackfur.
Just rest until then.” I gave the smallest nod I could manage.
The nurse and attendants left, closing the door behind them.
The quiet that followed was almost worse.
Alone, the pounding in my head grew louder.
I stared at the ceiling, trying to piece together what had happened, how long I had been gone, why my body felt like it belonged to someone else.
Time passed.
I couldn’t tell how much.
Eventually the door opened again and a young woman stepped in.
She wore a simple grey dress with an apron, her dark hair pulled back neatly.
“My lady,” she said in a soft voice, dipping her head.
“I am Elara.
The doctor sent me to help you.
Would you like to bathe?
It will help the aches.” I looked at her for a long moment.
Part of me wanted to refuse, to stay exactly where I was and not move again.
But the stickiness of sweat on my skin made the idea of clean water almost desperate.
“Yes,” I whispered.
The word scraped out.
Elara moved efficiently but carefully.
She helped me sit up first, supporting my back the entire time.
Then she eased my legs over the side of the bed.
Every movement hurt.
My muscles trembled.
She never rushed me.
When I was steady enough she guided me toward the bathroom, one arm firmly around my waist, the other holding the drip stand so it rolled with us.
The bathroom was simple but clean.
A large tub already filled with warm water waited.
Steam rose gently.
Elara helped me out of the thin hospital gown.
I felt exposed and weak, but she kept her eyes respectfully lowered and her hands practical.
She supported me as I stepped into the tub, then let me sink down slowly until the water covered most of my body.
The heat soaked into my aching muscles almost immediately.
I closed my eyes and let out a shaky breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
Elara stayed close.
She washed my hair with careful fingers, rinsing away the sweat and fever.
She soaped a soft cloth and cleaned my arms, my shoulders, the bruises that still darkened my skin in places I didn’t fully remember getting.
She was quiet the whole time, only speaking when she needed to ask me to lean forward or tilt my head.
When she finished she helped me stand again, wrapped a large towel around me, and guided me back to the bed.
She had already laid out a simple soft nightdress.
She dried me gently, helped me into the clean clothes, then eased me back against the pillows.
The drip was reattached.
My body still hurt, but it felt less like I was trapped inside something filthy.
Elara pulled the blanket up to my waist and adjusted the pillows once more.
Then she hesitated, standing beside the bed with her hands folded.
I looked at her.
Something in her expression had changed.
The kindness was still there, but underneath it sat a careful worry.
“Is there something else?” I asked, my voice still rough.
She glanced toward the closed door, then back at me.
Her voice dropped lower.
“My lady… I was told I should not speak of it, but you have the right to know.
Especially after everything.” My stomach tightened.
“What is it?” Elara swallowed.
“Your mother… she was taken.
Yesterday nights.
Soldiers went to the southern settlements under the King’s direct order.
She was arrested and brought here to the palace.
She is being held in the lower cells.” The words did not make sense at first.
They hung in the air between us like something heavy.
“My mother?” I repeated.
“Yes, my lady.
And the man who was with her… the one they say was close to you before.
He was taken as well.
Both of them.
The King ordered it after receiving news about… about the traitor Gerald being sheltered in the South.” My heart began to pound so hard I could feel it in my throat, in my temples, in the places the drip needle sat under my skin.
“Malachi did this?” Elara nodded once, eyes full of quiet pity.
“Yes.
He believes your people may have been involved in hiding the traitor.
He wants answers.
They are both in separate cells.
No one is allowed to speak to them yet.
Not even the Queen Dowager.” I stared at her.
The warm water and clean clothes suddenly meant nothing.
The pounding in my head returned twice as strong.
Images of my mother’s face flashed behind my eyes— the last time I aw her, the letter.
Elara reached out as if to touch my hand, then thought better of it.
“I’m sorry, my lady,The doctor will be back soon.
Try to rest if you can.” she said before leaving the room leaving me alone with my racing thoughts.
I stood up from the bed immediately she left almost as if a spirit possessed me, how dare Malachi do this, I had to do something, there was no way I would let that cruel bastard hurt my mother and Lennox.