Hailee's POV
We stepped quietly into the room. The air smelled faintly of herbs and medicine. The curtains were drawn halfway, letting in a soft, golden afternoon light that fell across the large bed in the center. Then my heart squeezed when I saw him. My father, once the strongest man I knew, the king whose voice could make warriors tremble, now looked so small, so fragile. He was pale and thin, his skin almost blending with the white sheets. His once-broad shoulders had sunk, and his hands trembled slightly where they rested on the blanket. For a moment, I just stood there, frozen. I didn't know how to breathe, how to move, or what to call him.
Father?
My lord?
Sir?
The word father felt too heavy, too strange on my tongue. It had been ten long years since I'd said it.
Peter quietly closed the door behind us, and the soft click seemed to echo in the stillness. My mother walked closer to the bed, her voice gentle. "Dear, someone's here to see you."
