“Doesn’t mean I like being an ocean away when you’re breaking.”
I close my eyes. “You call me twice a day. You’ve done more than most. Plus, you’re a crown prince, Sebastian. You don’t get to vanish for days without consequences.”
“Doesn’t make it easier.”
There’s a pause. I picture him in some golden suite in Vienna or Salzburg, hunched over a phone, ignoring aides and press briefings, the weight of two worlds crushing him. His country and his heart—both demanding different things.
“How are you?” he asks. “And don’t give me the ‘I’m fine’ lie, Izzy.”
I sink lower into the chair. “I feel like I’m drowning in slow motion. I sit here and watch the man I love trapped in a body that won’t wake up, and there’s nothing I can do to help him.”
He doesn’t respond immediately. I can hear faint voices in the background—likely palace staff—but he must wave them off because they quickly fall silent.
“I wish I could take your pain and carry it for a while,” he says eventually, voice low, rough.
I almost cry.
“I just want him to open his eyes,” I whisper. “I want to hear him tell me I overpacked for the hospital. Or that my coffee order is absurd. Or that he loves me, even if it’s in the middle of a fight.”
“You’ll get that. He’s too damn stubborn to stay under much longer.”
I chuckle, broken and small. “You always did say he was the most infuriating man you’d ever met.”
“And still the only man I’d trust with your heart.” His voice drops even softer. “Hold on for both of you, Izzy. Please.”
“I’m trying,” I whisper, curling closer to the phone as if he could wrap around me through it.
“I’ll call again tonight. If anything changes before then, you tell me.”
“I promise.”
Alice returns in her usual quiet manner, pushing the food tray toward me like it’s some kind of olive branch. A gesture of care. Of concern.
“Isabel,” she starts gently, “you have to eat something, please. You haven’t touched food in two days. You need to be strong for Nathan.”
I don’t even look at the tray. The sight of the pale soup and cold toast makes my stomach twist with nausea. “I’m not hungry now, Alice. I’m so nervous that anything I eat makes me want to throw up.”
She crouches beside me, her eyes soft but unwavering. She’s dressed in one of her usual pastel cardigans, sleeves rolled up, eyes shadowed with worry. I can see it in her face—how deeply she feels my pain, even if she masks it better than most.
“You told me that yesterday,” she reminds me, brushing some hair off my face like she used to when I was little. “But you have to try, darling. You have to sleep, too.”
“I get enough sleep. Don’t worry, Alice,” I murmur, curling in on myself, still holding Nate’s hand.
She sits on the edge of the nearby couch, careful not to speak too loud, like she’s afraid to disturb the stillness of the room. “In a bed, honey. You can’t always stay in that armchair. You’re going to make yourself sick.”
I finally glance at her, tired and frayed around the edges. My voice is flat. “I can, and I will. Alice, I don’t want to argue with you either. I already have Dad who stresses me enough, with his texts, his endless questions.” My voice cracks at the end, and I swallow it down. “Please give me some respite. When I’m hungry, I’ll eat. And I won’t move from here.”
She lets out a long breath through her nose, hands folded neatly in her lap. I expect another lecture—God knows she’s always been the voice of reason—but instead, she just nods. Slowly. With a look that somehow hurts more than anything she could’ve said.
“Okay,” she whispers. “Okay.”
And just like that, she gives up the battle. Quietly stands, and walks out of the room with slow, measured steps.
The tray stays on the side table. Untouched. Mocking.
I press my head against Nate’s arm again, letting my fingers trace over the IV line taped to his skin. He’s always been the strong one—calm under pressure, my solid ground. But now he looks so small in this bed, and I feel like I’ve been cracked open and hollowed out.
My voice breaks the silence.
