Beatrice woke to noises. Too much of it.
Voices overlapped like crashing waves. Firm commands, hushed arguments, the rustle of silk and leather and urgent footfalls across the floor. Her head throbbed as if someone had wedged a bell between her ears and struck it twice.
"Give her room," someone barked.
"The bleeding stopped," another voice murmured. "She's stable now. But that was a nasty fall."
The blur above her sharpened. Light fractured behind moving shapes, and then Francois came into focus. His face was pale with fury.
"Beatrice," he said, his voice tight. His hand hovered near her shoulder, not quite touching. "You're awake. Thank the gods."
Beatrice tried to speak, but her mouth felt like sand.
"You're awake..." Princess Lila sobbed somewhere nearby.
A physician stepped closer, checking her pulse with cold fingers. Another placed a cloth over her forehead. Beatrice winced.
Francois turned sharply. "Everyone out, all of you. Except the royal family."
