I wince at the way the nurse dabs the cotton on my injuries. She is too rough. Thankfully, she is a tiny girl, with not much muscle strength in her arms. The King left earlier after assuring me that he will apprehend the perpetrator. He looks uninterested, though. I doubt he really wanted to seek justice for my sake. I wonder… if I die, will people celebrate?
"Let me do it," Calais offers.
I turn to look at him as he takes the cotton from the nurse. This time, I feel better. His hands are gentle despite his muscular arms, contrary to the nurse.
Still, with his reaction earlier, it will be safe to assume that he wants me dead more than wanting to make me his wife.
"You should have complained to the nurse," he comments.
"And risk more nasty things being said about me?"
"People will talk about you even if you try to prevent it."
I snort. "I wonder why is that."
