Francis entered the patient ward with determined steps, his presence barely causing a stir amid the beeping of machines and the muffled sounds of the medical staff at work. Cloaked in his protective gear — a facemask, eyemask, gloved hands, and a crisp white coat — he resembled a soldier ready for battle rather than the royalty he was.
As he moved past the beds, his eyes took in the condition of the patients. Some were on ventilators, others received oxygen through less invasive means, but all were engaged in the same silent fight against the relentless virus. The air was heavy with disinfectant, which stung his olfactory nerves a little but didn't mind much.
Francis paused beside the bed of a young woman, her breathing labored even with the assistance of the machinery supporting her. He noted the care with which the nurses adjusted her pillows, the quiet words of encouragement they offered even though she was too weak to respond.
