“And kicked a man in the face,” the prince added almost cheerfully.
Reselda sighed. Taking my arm, she led me to a cot near the end of the tent where jars of herbs and ointments cluttered a table. “Where does it hurt?”
I pointed at my throbbing right knee.
“Very well. Let’s have a look.”
Reselda pushed my skirts up from the spot. I was horrified to see a scarlet stain blooming like a carnation on my trousers. “It didn’t hurt when I fell on it,” I said faintly.
“Of course it didn’t,” Reselda said. “Roll up your pants.”
“What?”
“Roll them up. Unless you want me to cut through them,” she said. “And what in the devil are you still doing here?”
I was about to state my confusion before I realized she wasn’t talking to me. Prince Ash stood to the side, blushing. Mortified, I pulled my skirts back over my leg. Pants or not, I still felt indecent.
“I’ll be waiting outside,” he said, and promptly exited.
Reselda shook her head. “Boys,” she muttered under her breath. “Wait here. I will get the bandages.”
She disappeared behind a curtain that closed off the back of the tent. A second later, the front flap opened and Queen Cordelia herself entered, escorted by a servant.
“Your Majesty,” I said, stumbling from my seat and executing a clumsy, one-legged curtsy.
“No use hurting yourself over formalities, Miss Amarante,” the queen said. She took a seat at the bench near the entrance. “I suppose you’re the one my son was looking for earlier?”
“I-I suppose so,” I stuttered.
Reselda emerged with bandages before I embarrassed myself further. “Your Majesty,” the healer said, dipping into a curtsy. “May I be of service?”
“Yes,” the queen said. “I seem to have a headache. Perhaps it’s the heat.”
“Are you usually sensitive to heat, Your Majesty?” Reselda asked.
“Not at all. I don’t know what has gotten into me lately,” Queen Cordelia, rubbing her temple. “Stress, perhaps. I reckon I’d be worse off if Wilhelmina wasn’t organizing the Season for me.”
“Understandable, Your Majesty,” Reselda said. “I have a tonic that may help.”
The healer disappeared behind the curtain again and emerged with an amber vial.
“Thank you, Reselda,” Queen Cordelia said, taking the vial. “That will be all.”
The healer nodded and turned her attention to me. She worked quickly, cleaning my wound with a stinging solution and wrapping the bandages firmly around my knee. “Any pain?” she asked. I stood from the cot and tested my weight on my injured leg. It throbbed a little, but otherwise was bearable.
“No. Thank you,” I said.
“Good. The injury is minor—only a scrape and some bruising,” the healer said. She handed me a small jar of ointment. “Apply this on the wound nightly to keep it from being infected.”
I took it gratefully. “Thank you, Reselda,” I said. “Oh, and if you see Michael—the soldier I kicked in the face—tell him sorry. Again.”
Reselda broke into a smile, exposing a row of white teeth. “You’re a nice girl,” she said. “Now go on. I suppose the prince will want to know you’re well.”
I was all too aware of Queen Cordelia’s stare as I limped slowly past her. “Be kind to him,” she said, startling me. “He’s more sensitive than he appears.”
Without waiting for a reply, the queen stood headed to the back of the tent. I hardly knew what to think of her words when I headed back to the debutante area of the camp.
When I rejoined Genevieve and the others, the stools were gone, replaced by patterned picnic blankets and baskets of food the servants had passed out. Tori was munching on a sausage roll as I picked at some fruit, lost in thought.
