Ingrid's lips curved upward, but her eyes dimmed as she surveyed the stretcher Caym pointed to.
"Are you suggesting I travel on that?" she asked, her voice a fragile whisper as her gaze fixed on the metal frame covered in worn leather, a makeshift contraption that seemed more suitable for cargo than a person.
"I have a task to fulfill. I'll arrange for female knights to escort you back to the palace," Caym replied.
Ingrid's eyes locked onto Caym's, silently imploring him for an alternative. "Can I... not use that?" she inquired.
Caym arched an eyebrow, puzzled. "How else do you propose returning?" he asked.
Ingrid held her breathe and gradually sank back into the comfort of her bed, cocooning herself beneath the blanket. "I'd rather stay here than be carried on that thing," she confessed.
"Do you wish for me to carry you back as I did to bring you here?" Caym asked, his brow raised.
Ingrid reluctantly revealed herself from her fortress of blanket. "You carried me here?" she asked. She finally realized that, indeed, someone must have been responsible for her transportation.
Ingrid's cheeks and ears warmed with a rosy hue as she closed her eyes, feigning slumber. Her heart raced, and an inner turmoil surged within her.
"My honor," she silently cried.
"You must return before noon. A knights' barracks offer no lavish feast for a princess," Caym stated matter-of-factly. "The knights will be here shortly. I strongly advise you against attempting to stand again unless you wish to remain limp forever, Your Highness."
Ingrid strained to catch the fading echo of Caym's footsteps, each sound growing fainter until they melded into the quietude of the room. The door protested with a subtle creak as it yielded to his touch, followed by the gentle, muffled thud as it settled back into place.
She reluctantly opened her eyes, allowing the dim light to filter in. Her gaze traced the contours of the now familiar room, its muted hues casting a melancholic atmosphere.
The new silence hung heavy around her, slowly amplifying the void within her chest.
"Mmm. I despise the scent of medicine," Ingrid murmured to herself, her voice barely audible.
She shifted onto her side, her body sinking into the unwelcoming hardness of the bed beneath her.
"The mattress feels like stone," she complained, her words escaping her lips in a soft exhale.
Alone with her thoughts, an abrupt heaviness settled in Ingrid's chest, a profound melancholy overshadowing the emotions that had gripped her earlier.
"I miss everyone," she confessed, the words hanging heavy in the air as she closed her eyes, lost in the solitude of her thoughts.
"Hey, Ingrid!"
"Hmm?" Ingrid mumbled, her eyes half-closed against the gentle caress of the sunlight.
Ingrid's gaze drifted lazily across the vast field, a sea of golden dandelions swaying in the breeze. Their fragrant aroma wafted through the air, a delicate dance of nature's perfume. The soft sunlight filtered through the cotton-like clouds, casting a warm, honeyed glow over the meadow.
In the distance, framed by the golden sea, stood two children. They were like ethereal beings, their hair as white as the clouds above, and their eyes as blue as the endless sky. Their laughter echoed like a melodious tune across the meadow.
"Hey, Ingrid!" the young boy called again, his voice as cheerful as the song of a lark.
In his small hand, he held a single dandelion, its golden head half the size of a sunflower. His grin was as wide as the horizon as he bounded towards the young girl, his bare feet leaving imprints on the soft earth.
"Look! This one is bigger than the rest!" he exclaimed, his eyes sparkling with delight as he held the flower high.
The young girl, her eyes brimming with anticipation, looked at the flower.
"Wow," she breathed, her voice a soft melody as she moved closer, her footsteps leaving a trail in the sea of gold.
With eager hands, the boy presented the large dandelion to the young girl, his eyes filled with the innocence of a child's joy.
"This is for you!" he declared, his voice carrying the weight of his affection.
However, the girl hesitated, her hands hidden behind her back, a shadow flickering across her eyes like a passing cloud. She stared at the delicate flower.
"What's wrong? Is it ugly?" the boy asked, his brow furrowing with worry.
The girl shook her head, her voice as gentle as the rustle of leaves in the wind. "It is pretty," she said, her words hanging in the air like the sweetest of secrets.
"Then why?" the boy inquired, his confusion etched on his face.
"I feel bad that you plucked it, brother," she confessed, her eyes filled with a blend of love and sorrow. "It would have been a beautiful puffball if you let it be."
A moment of understanding washed over the boy's face, his eyes widening with realization. He looked down at the flower in his hand, his smile fading into a look of remorse.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Ingrid," he murmured, his voice as soft as the breeze that rustled the dandelions around them. "Should we plant it back?"
The girl looked down, her gaze fixated on the fragile stem now snapped in two.
"I don't think it will ever grow back once it's broken."
Ingrid's eyes fluttered open, and the golden meadow, the ethereal children, and the oversized dandelion vanished like morning mist under the rising sun. Instead, the sterile scent of the infirmary filled her nostrils, its antiseptic aroma sharp against the lingering sweetness of the dream.
"What a horrible dream," Ingrid murmured, her voice barely audible, as she slowly sat up in bed.
"Oh, you are awake, Your Highness," a voice, deep and resonant, echoed through the room.
Ingrid's eyes flickered to the source of the voice, where a figure stood, clad in gleaming silver armor that seemed to reflect the sunlight.
The woman was a towering presence, easily a head taller than Ingrid, her powerful frame outlined by the armor that encased her. Her jet-black hair was tightly wound into a neat bun.
"Wow," Ingrid thought, her eyes widening in awe.
The knight dipped her head respectfully, her movements graceful despite the bulk of her armor. "Greetings, Your Highness. I am Roxanna Feroll. I will be escorting you back to the Lily Palace," she declared.
Glancing at the clock, Ingrid realized it was well past noon. "Did I keep you waiting long? You should have woken me up," she said, her brows slightly furrowed.
"I would never dare, Your Highness," Roxanna replied, her gaze fixed on the ground. "I am a knight. You need not worry about me."
A small smile tugged at Ingrid's lips. "You sound remarkably like your Grand Commander," she observed, her smile growing wider. Her eyes wandered to a stretcher tucked in the corner of the room. "But, Dame Roxanne, do you not have a partner? How do you plan to carry me on that?"
Roxanna followed Ingrid's gaze, her brow furrowing in thought.
"That stretcher is reserved for knights, Your Highness. We would never dream of using it for a lady like Your Highness," Roxanna explained, her voice unwavering in its dedication.
A smiled beamed on Ingrid's face. "Ah, the struggles only women can truly understand," she said. "So, how do you plan to carry me, Dame Roxanna?"
In response, Roxanna extended her arms.