They were ushered into the King's chambers by his closest aid as honored guests. The heavy atmosphere made a nervous Meti visibly shake with each step she took as they drew closer to the four-poster bed at the center of the large room. All the curtains had been drawn, leaving only candlelight and a fireplace to bring some warmth to the otherwise depressing room. Her little heart trembles at the sight of two fearsome dragons fighting over a sword on a tapestry above the King's bed. The flickering flames from the fireplace made them look more lifelike, their aggressive eyes following her every move.
"Sire, I have brought the doctor from Horian's village. He came with his daughter." The butler leans close, announcing their arrival to the dark silhouette hidden behind the drawn canopy.
"Tell them to come closer, I am yet to hear of a doctor who's skilled enough to diagnose a patient from such a distance." The voice behind the silk drapes sounds weighty with age, there is a constant whizzing after each word as though he were short of breath.
"Right this way" the butler who had purposely told them to keep their distance upon arriving at the castle suddenly changed his tune, urging them to get closer to the King's bed. Meti tried to stay behind, she wouldn't be the one treating the King, there was no reason for her to be so close, but the butler pretended to be deaf. He pushed both father and daughter to the King's side.
"They are here now your majesty."
"Good, pull back these blasted curtains so I can have a good look at my savior."
"Of course, your majesty" The butler gave them little time to prepare their racing hearts before abruptly pulling aside the curtains shielding the bed from view. As professionals they had to hold back their expressions. The old man laying propped up by many plush pillows looked half withered away. He tried to appear charming and welcoming, but his wrinkled face couldn't hide his grimace. The hideous wound at his side was too alarming to overlook, claw marks digging deep enough to expose his bones with black blood seeping out all over the sheets beneath him. It's an astounding feat that he's still alive, fighting such a fatal injury for so long without succumbing to it.
"As you can see Doctor, I am not in the best of states to greet you."
"Of course not your Majesty, I wouldn't dream of it." Her father frantically bows, worried about the strange wound. He looks towards the butler and asks, "Why is it still like this? The capital hosts the biggest chapter of the holy church, why have none of their healers come to close the wound?"
The butler clearly wants to roll his eyes and pick fault with her father, but he refrains in the presence of the King. "It's not that they didn't come, it's that they came and couldn't do anything. The wound is strange, it refuses to heal even with divine power."
"I see." His answer worries her father even more. Despite his skill in medicine her father's name is not widely known because of his unorthodox methods. He is a rare man of science with no magical power of his own, using tools and herbs to heal others rather than magic. Most people following the teachings of the church, who feel this new branch of learning is a challenge to their divine authority, would call him a charlatan or a quack. For the King to seek him out for such a dire wound means things must have reached the point of desperation. To be under such working conditions is not comforting at all.
"Let me see what I can do, Meti please get me some clean water and pure alcohol to sanitize my work area." He tries to give her an out, a few easy chores to keep her out of sight but the sharp-eyed butler is quick to catch on.
"Oh, I don't believe that will be necessary, why trouble the little lady. I heard from a very reliable source that she is quite gifted as well. You raised her well." It's meant to be a compliment, but why does it sound like a curse coming from the lips of this butler.
"Ah, just in time. I would like you to meet my assistant, Lady Yolanda. She is the head maid, in this castle her authority is second only to mine. She can easily get the junior maids to provide those items for you."
They turn around to see a familiar woman gracefully crossing the threshold, her back is stiff and held upright, her long hair tightly pulled up in a neat bun. Gone are the patches to her weathered gown, almost like the person they saw on the coach was a figment of their imagination. Meti and her father are both horrified and shocked to see the crying mother appear here. She coldly chuckles when she notices their wandering eyes looking for the child from before.
"No need to worry, he was not my son but the child of a distant relative. The king's health is of upmost importance, we couldn't risk exposing him to untrained hands so we decided a test must be given beforehand. I can vouch that the young miss passed with flying colors, I doubt the man who could raise such a bright young lady would be unqualified."
"Thank you, I'm grateful for your vote of confidence in me." Meti sees the smile on her father's face doesn't extend to his eyes. His hand is tightly balled into a fist at his side, just out of sight. If there is one thing her father hates, it's insincerity.
"Is the child fine now?" Meti asks, truly worried about the frail boy she saw.
Yolanda nods with a tight smile but her old eyes are cold and detached. "Yes, he's right as rain, running and playing with the rest of them. One would never know he was bedridden just a few days ago."
…
"Enough talk, who will see to my wounds, or shall I just abdicate my throne to my spineless son now before I'm dead."
"Good heavens your majesty, no such thing will happen!"
The King's pained gravelly voice slaps them all back to the present. It's only when he mentions a son that Meti notices the teenage boy standing by the fireplace for the first time. His gloomy face bears a striking resemblance to the aged king on the bed, with the same blonde sun-kissed hair and hazel eyes. He was standing there the whole time like a ghost with his left arm bundled up in a sling, hardly giving off any sense of being. For some reason she can't help but feel bad for him.