The healer had barely finished changing his bandages when someone knocked twice on the doorframe and didn't wait to be invited in.
A flash of red hair, a winter cloak half shrugged off, and Aldric Roses was there like he owned the room.
"Well, well," he said. "Look at you. Back from the dead and already hogging the best bed in the keep."
William blinked at him, then couldn't help but smile.
"Aldric," he said. His voice still had that rough edge. "You're standing on my nurse."
The healer made a noise close to a laugh and sidestepped away from Aldric's boots.
"If he gets overexcited, I'm blaming you," she said. "Ten minutes. Then out."
"Understood, revered saint of stitches," Aldric said, bowing overly elegantly. "I shall keep my joy contained."
He dragged over a stool with his boot, flipped it, and sat straddling it, arms folded on the back. Up close, William could see the dark smudges under his cousin's eyes, too. Court gossip clearly didn't keep normal hours.
"So," Aldric said. "I take my eyes off you for one little patrol and you go and become a legend."
William frowned. "Legend?"
Aldric snorted. "Don't play coy. The entire castle's humming. 'Gate Knight of Ashford,' 'Lockhart's Miracle,' 'boy who told a colonel to go hang and then proved him wrong'—take your pick."
"I didn't—"
"You did," Aldric said, more gently than his words. "Three thousand trained Germans, Will. Forty villagers, ten soldiers, and one very stupid cousin at the gate. You understand why everyone's talking?"
William stared at the ceiling for a beat.
"I just didn't want them to burn," he said. "That's all."
"Exactly," Aldric said. "That's why it's a better story."
He nudged a small table with his boot, drawing William's attention.
"Speaking of stories," he continued, "your room looks like a florist lost a wagon in here."
William followed his gaze.
He hadn't really looked before. There were vases and jars along the windowsill, crowded with flowers—winter whites, dried sprigs tied in ribbons, a few brave color sprays from hothouse gardens. Some had little cards stuck in them.
He blinked. "I... thought those were for the priests."
Aldric put a hand over his heart in mock pain. "You think anyone sent me flowers? I have to import my own admirers, cousin."
William tried to push himself up on his elbows. Pain bit at his ribs; he gritted his teeth and eased back.
"Who... are they from?" he asked.
"Half the villagers of Ashford, for one," Aldric said. "They sent a cart. We had to explain they can't all come live here with you."
He plucked one card free and flicked it with his fingers. "Then there's every minor house trying to attach their name to yours before the ink's dry on the songs."
William rolled his eyes. That tracked.
"And that one," Aldric added, nodding toward a simple glass vase near the bed, "is from someone whose name you definitely know."
It was the least decorated of the bunch.
No gilded ribbon. No little house crest charm. Just a neat arrangement of white blossoms and green leaves, tied with a strip of blue silk.
William squinted at the small card tucked into the string. The handwriting was precise, each stroke clean.
For a swift and complete recovery.
—E.M.
Heat crawled up the back of his neck before his brain finished putting the letters together.
"Elizabeth?" he said, before he could stop himself.
Aldric's mouth curled. "There it is. That's the face of a boy who's just realized his terrifying royal fiancée might actually have eyes."
William looked away, then couldn't help but glance back at the vase. "She... sent that?"
"Personally," Aldric said. "Brought it herself, in fact."
William's head snapped back toward him. "She was here?"
"A week ago," Aldric said, off-handed, like it wasn't a small bomb. "Sat right there for an afternoon while you were busy drooling into your pillow. Spoke to Father, to the priests. Astounded the court by not fainting at the smell of blood."
He studied William for a moment.
"She asked how you'd done it," he went on, quieter. "Holding the gate. Father told her you were an idiot with a spine made entirely of old Lockhart steel. She didn't disagree."
William couldn't stop the small, stupid smile that tugged at his mouth.
"She was here," he repeated, mostly to himself.
"Don't get ahead of yourself," Aldric said, though his eyes were amused. "Half the palace thinks she only bothers because losing you now would make the contract a bureaucratic nightmare."
"That sounds like her," William said wryly.
"And the other half," Aldric continued, "thinks she might actually be impressed."
William fell silent.
The warmth under his ribs—the coal that had not been there before Ashford—throbbed, just once. It made the room feel less cold.
Aldric saw the change in his face and shook his head in mock despair.
"Oh Saints, he's smitten," he groaned. "You throw yourself at three thousand Germans and a wall, but one bouquet and a visit nearly kill you."
"Shut up," William said, but there wasn't much heat in it.
"You going to thank her?" Aldric asked.
William hesitated.
"Should I?" he said. "She's... the princess. I'm... bedbound."
"Which has never stopped you from being an idiot in other contexts," Aldric pointed out. "But no. Not yet. Let the healers finish stapling you together. She already knows you're alive; I'm fairly sure half the servants in Albion are whispering about it outside her door right now."
He stood, stretching, cloak falling back around his shoulders.
"Rest," he said. "Grow some skin back. When you can stand without falling over, the real trouble starts."
"What kind of trouble?" William asked.
Aldric grinned over his shoulder as he headed for the door.
"The kind where everyone wants a piece of the Gate Knight," he said. "And one particular princess has to decide what she actually sees when she looks at you."
He tapped two knuckles lightly against the doorframe.
"Oh—one more thing," he added. "When I tell them you cried when you saw the flowers, should I embellish, or—"
"Aldric."
"Kidding," Aldric said, snickering. "Mostly."
He slipped out before William could find something throwable.
The room felt quieter without him, but not empty. William's gaze drifted back to the plain white blossoms and blue ribbon.
He reached out, fingers brushing the silk.
"Thank you," he murmured under his breath, to a girl who wasn't there to hear it.
The coal under his sternum pulsed, warm and steady.