Izan hovered near Elian's bed, his brow furrowed in concentration as he checked over the trays of food. His hands moved quickly, inspecting every dish to ensure the servants had followed the royal physician's instructions perfectly.
Elian watched him with a mixture of confusion and amusement. In all the years he had known Izan, he had never seen him so fussy. His stern merchant prince, known for his stoicism, was now meticulously examining spoonfuls of broth, squinting as though he could detect something sinister within them.
"Izan, it's fine," Elian murmured, still weak from the morning's sickness. His voice was soft, tired.
But Izan barely heard him, his focus entirely on the food. "Are you sure this is the right consistency?" he muttered, more to himself than anyone else. He looked over to Aria, who stood nearby. "Did you make sure they used ginger and honey as the physician ordered? And no salt?"
