Hermi stared blankly at the tray of porridge and peeled yams Enzo had just placed on her lap. Her gaze drifted down to the linen-wrapped clubs that were now her hands. With her fingers rendered useless by the thick bandages, she found herself in the undignified position of needing to be fed like a child.
"Enzo, please," Hermi sighed, gesturing helplessly at the tray. "As you can see, I am quite literally incapable of holding a spoon. Since you've already brought the tray, would it be too much to ask for your help with the actual eating part as well?"
The moment the words left Hermi's mouth, Enzo, despite his usual professional mask, was overwhelmed by a look of profound anxiety. He glanced toward the heavy oak door of the Queen's bedchamber, as though expecting the King to burst through at any moment.
