maker: taryn

Gwen stumbled into her and Taryn’s wing in the palace. They had a couple bedrooms attached to a central living room with their own kitchen. She held her nose, though the bleeding had stopped and was dried over her upper lips and hand. She tried to sniff, and winced. Definitely broken. She could feel bruises forming on her neck and where Talia had landed punches to her stomach, jaw, and cheeks. “Taryn?” She called as loudly as she dared with her nose in this state. “If you’re home, grab a washcloth, acetaminophen, and some ice packs for me, please.”

Ten Years Ago

Gwen stood leaning on the desk in her new office, reading over the medical records of the young prince again. She’d just been hired by the royal a few weeks before, fresh out of the field hospitals. She had to keep herself from scratching at her scalp, which felt odd with her hair tied gently at the nape of her neck rather than the tight bun she was used to. The lightness of her civilian clothes made her feel exposed. But she dealt with it and assured herself she would adapt. This was a great honor, and she was under immense pressure to do well. Today especially, as today was the first appointment she had with Grayson.

She flipped and thought. The boy seemed to be constantly ill with colds and flu and allergies. Yet, it was never bad enough to interfere with his studies. It seemed the heir just had a tendency for getting sick. She’d already glanced through her stock of equipment and started planning tests to run. Now she was just waiting for the boy and his governess to arrive.