She sighed when she caught sight of the town and knew her tour was over. As the train pulled into the station, she caught the tinny voice thanking her for riding.
“You’re welcome,” she answered back even though she felt silly talking to an automated system, “but I didn’t hear one word that you said the entire tour.”
Bryn glanced at her watch and decided she had time to wander through the bookstore. She inhaled the smell of old books like it was the best air freshener ever. Inside the front door, a community bulletin board was hung, and as she passed it, she froze.
It was him.
A flyer hung from the edge of the board. A get well card of sorts. With a picture of King Sven Aftervadee.
Her breath caught as she moved closer. She blinked to be sure it wasn’t her imagination. But when she looked again, he was still there.
Her mystery man was indeed the king of Stagholt.
Chapter Six
Sven
Sven leaned back against the recliner that had become his bed. Morning light was just beginning to glow through his windows. He needed sleep. Exhaustion pressed down heavier than the bandages that wrapped his torso. Despite the healing that had occurred, the wound still ached enough to drive him mad.
He had fought battles before and even been injured. But this one was different. Sloppy on his part. Desperate on theirs. And much, much, too close for comfort. It didn’t help that with his dragon, wounds didn’t normally exist the following day.
Every breath caught on the edge of pain and reminded him of his carelessness, though he had mastered the art of keeping it from showing. Lars had enough to worry about without watching him flinch, and Sven had avoided any contact with the other guards. Outward strength meant survival for the royal family, and while he trusted his men, there was always an enemy around just searching for a moment of weakness.
It wasn’t just the assassination attempt that prevented him from sleeping. It was her. The mystery woman. The one who had been able to heal him when his own dragon could not.
He gently touched his chest. Well, start the healing process anyhow. Did she even know that he was a dragon? If so, how? The questions haunted him.
Sven tried to recall her face again. Her calm and steady voice. Her soft touch. Every detail about her. He rememberedher brushing his forehead. He shifted in his chair. That’s part of what bothered him. Most healers he had experienced clearly touched the wound to heal it. Each had their own specific methods. But this woman. She hadn’t acted like she was even trying to heal him but yet had accomplished the impossible. She had simply leaned over him as a complete stranger in the chaos. He remembered her eyes. Instead of fear, he had seen determination.
Had she even known that she was blocking the archer from killing him? He thought of the ring he had tucked away in his office. Did that have anything to do with her abilities?
“Who are you?” he asked in silence. His voice echoed in the quiet recesses of his chamber.
A soft knock on the door and Lars peeking in. “Sven. Doctor’s here.”
Sven let out a slow breath. “Send him in.”
The door opened, and Martin entered with his satchel at his side. The doctor’s thinning gray hair was neatly brushed back and his glasses perched on his nose. “How’s my suicidal patient doing today?”
Sven groaned. “Is that what people think?”
“That’s what I think, and I’m the one who matters,” Martin asked in that friendly but no-holds-barred tone that Sven normally appreciated. “You did go off on your own against the advice of your own captain of the guard.”
“Alive.” Sven answered the original question dryly as he ignored the jab. Acknowledging it would just egg Martin on.
“That’s a start.”
Martin opened his satchel and pulled on gloves. “Let’s have a look.”
Sven spread his arms wide even though the motion made him wince. The bandages showed blood where the stab still seeped. Martin peeled the gauze away and exposed the rawwound beneath. His flesh looked redder than Sven liked to admit.
Martin’s brows furrowed together. “I have to admit. I’m not sure what to do. We still don’t know what the toxin is, and whatever your little voodoo lady did is wearing off.”
“Voodoo lady? Really?” Sven muttered.
Martin ignored him and stood. “Until we know who she is, or what she is, voodoo lady is it. We need to find her.” He pulled out a syringe and removed the cap.
“No shit. What’s that?” Sven asked.
