The castle smells like lavender and old books clean, polished, and far too grand for someone like me. I keep my eyes low as we walk, not because I'm shy, but because the marble floor reflects everything, and it makes me feel like I'm walking on water. We're taken through golden corridors by a servant who bows too low and doesn't speak. Alara doesn't release my hand until we reach the physician's room, a chamber filled with warm sunlight, crystal jars of herbs, and the faint sound of water dripping from a small indoor fountain.
The physician, a thin man with silver-threaded hair and a calm voice, doesn't waste time asking many questions. He instructs me to sit, helps me pull off my top gently, and clicks his tongue at the sight of the wound.
"This should've been looked at sooner," he mutters, but there's no judgment in his tone, only focus. He cleans it carefully with a cool, tingling solution, then applies a thick, greenish paste that smells like mint and bark. Finally, he wraps clean Linen around my ribs, snug but not tight. "You'll need to return every two days," he says. "The wound is deep, but not dangerous. If we care for it properly, you'll heal without a scar."
"Thanks," I mumble, adjusting my top. He nods once and slips quietly out, leaving Alara and me alone in the room. I barely have time to breathe before she claps her hands twice. A servant appears again, and she says, "Bring food. All kinds. Something sweet, too."
"Alara…" I sigh.
She cuts me a sharp look. "Don't start."
"You're doing too much."
She folds her arms, her lips pressing together. "And I'd do even more. Just for you." I stare at her, unsure of what to say. Minutes later, the door opens again and the servant wheels in a tray filled with more food than I've seen in a month. There's roasted chicken, soft bread rolls, a bowl of strawberries soaked in honey, and even a golden teapot with steam curling from its spout.
Alara sets a plate in front of me and says. "Eat."
"I'm not really…"
"Eat."
I sigh again but pick up a spoon. The first bite tastes like home if home ever had a kitchen. I'm halfway through the second when Alara speaks. "That girl. The one you were with."
I pause. "Lyara?"
She makes a face like she just swallowed vinegar. "Yes. Lyara."
"What about her?"
"She said she gave you the injury. So she obviously hurt you."
"It was an accident," I say.
"She still did it."
"She's my friend."
Alara turns toward me fully, her voice dripping with disdain. "I don't like her."
I stop chewing. "You don't even know her."
"I don't need to know her." She leans in so close that I can smell the faint floral scent clinging to her sleeves. "I want you to stay away from her."
"Alara, that's not…."
"She's not for you. She's not even grateful I was helping you."
"She didn't ask for anything."
"She glared at me like she hated me."
"She doesn't hate you. You're just… not her favorite person right now."
"Good," Alara says quickly. "Because I don't like girls like her." She grabs my hand again. Hers is smaller than mine, but her hold is firm and insistent. "I'm not asking for much. I just want you to promise me something."
I narrow my eyes. "What?"
"Promise me you'll make her your enemy."
I blink. "What?"
"I want her far away from you. She's trouble. If you care about me at all, promise me." I look down at her hand gripping mine. A promise? She wanted me not to ever speak to Lyara again. What exactly is she playing at.
I sigh. "I…"
She cuts me by leans in closer, her lips almost brushing my cheek. "Please, Ashen."
I look at her, confused and bewildered. Her gaze is on mine and giving an answer against her favor wouldn't do me any good. Also, considering I'm in her house. I exhale, slipping my hand from hers. "Okay," I say softly. "I promise."
Her smile returns immediately, triumphant. She stays close, fingers brushing mine as I finish eating in silence.