“Zea?” Forelle knocks on the door.
“Coming!” I hurry back to the clothes rail and pull on the jumpsuit.
When I step out into my room, Garrett rises from the sofa, looking grave. He wears an officer’s jacket, but instead of navy blue, it’s the same purple as the one worn by palace guards. With his blue-black hair and dark eyes, he looks more like a prince than the man I saw in the hospital bed.
I pause at the door and gape. This is the first time I’ve seen him since the ball.
“Zea, I’m glad you’re well,” he says. “Kevon wants to see you immediately.”
Chapter 11
My heart flutters the entire journey to the Royal Hospital, and I can barely make conversation with Garrett as he drives me through the Oasis streets. We pass a district of wide, tree-lined streets of blue-haired patrons drinking and dining outside restaurants, oblivious to the girls who were starved and interrogated under truth serums.
When I ask about Emmera and Vitelotte, Garrett assures me that Emmera has been released. He urges me to eat the sandwich we took from the palace and piles me with syrupy juices that he promises will help regain my strength. I’m too tired and hungry to do anything but eat, drink, and yearn for Prince Kevon.
His hospital room is twice the size of our family kitchen, guarded by two uniformed men in purple, and smells as though recently cleaned with disinfectant. With its ivory walls and carpet, it looks more like my suite at the palace than a place of healing.
At the far left of the room is a lounge area with a writing desk and velvet sofas wide enough to seat twelve. Crystal floor lamps provide gentle illumination, making me wonder if Prince Kevon has been entertaining.
On the left of the room, a wider-than-average hospital bed stands on a long sheet of white polymer that stretches from beneath the bed, up the wall, and across the ceiling. Blue lights shine down, reminding me of the sterilization methods used by the emergency medical staff.
Prince Kevon’s vital signs flash on the display, but there’s no sign of the prince. I turn to Garrett and frown. “Where is he?”
He asks one of the guards, who tells us that the prince is on the roof terrace and points us toward a door that I hadn’t noticed until now.
It leads to an empty white hallway with an elevator door. I wipe my damp palms on the fabric of my jumpsuit as we step inside. This is my first experience of riding such a device, but there’s no time to fret about my safety when it lurches upward.
I grab Garrett’s arm for balance, but before he can ask what I’m doing, the elevator doors open into an outdoor space. This must be what he meant by a roof garden.
The roof is sectioned into a fifty-foot space by tall walls covered in climbing roses. Garrett places a hand on the small of my back and guides me off the elevator.
This portion of the roof is tiled, save for the wooden flower beds that house shrubs of lavender and brightly-colored herbs such as red clover and orange calendula.
My gaze lands on a dark-haired figure sitting in a wicker chair that faces the edge of the roof.
Prince Kevon stands, looking as tall and as handsome as ever but not as steady on his feet. He wears loose pants and a white hospital gown that wraps around his chest like a kimono.
Garrett places a hand on my shoulder. “I’ll stand at the elevator, so you can have your privacy.”
“Thank you.”
The smile Garrett gives me communicates a range of emotions. Gratitude for having saved Prince Kevon’s life, affection, and a warm acceptance that I’ve never seen in anyone outside my family.
Garrett picked me out from the crowd in Rugosa and marched me to the marquee. He’s known since the beginning that I was the one for Prince Kevon, and the approval in his eyes says he’s delighted with his choice.
I smile back, understanding why Forelle has fallen for Garrett, and rush into Prince Kevon’s arms. The sharp scent of antiseptic covers his warm, sensual scent, but he still feels like the man I’ve come to love.
“Zea,” he whispers into my hair. “I’m so sorry they kept you in that detention center. Are you hurt?”
I tilt my head up and meet his eyes. His pupils are wide with a tiny ring of indigo-blue. Dark shadows circle his eyes, and the contours of his face are even more pronounced than I saw on the Lifestyle Channel.
Pain clutches at my chest, and I wonder how he can still stand after such an attack. “I’m fine, now.”
He slides his fingertips down the side of my face, and his touch sends tingles down my spine and across my ribs. “I thought I would never see you again.”
My stomach tightens, and I turn my gaze to the sky. The sun shines through white clouds and turns their thin edges an incandescent white. When I lay on that cold floor, hungry, thirsty, and mad with grief, I thought I would never see the outside of that cage, let alone my family or Prince Kevon.
I thought he hadn't survived the stabbing and a slow death in a cage was our punishment. I can’t express myself as well as Prince Kevon, especially when it comes to my emotions, and the words won’t form in my mind.
Instead, I say, “How are you feeling?”
“Better, now that I know you’re safe.” He guides me to a wicker sofa, which overlooks the city, and we sit.
The Royal Hospital feels twice as high as the navy barracks. From this vantage point, the
