Rosalie

"You cannot marry her!" Prince Christian's mother exclaimed, grasping her son's arm as he went to turn away. "Think about what this will mean. A bride with an illness that she has can only be troublesome."

"I've known about this illness from the start, Mother," he said, placing a hand on top of hers. "She was thought to be cured but it does not matter whether she is or not. They only occur in bouts."

She drew her hand away and turned to her husband, pointing towards him. "Speak to your son," she said coldly.

"Would you like me to command that he not wed her?" he snapped. "Finally he has a bride and she comes with an alliance we could have never dreamt of. No matter what I say, he won't change his mind. That, my dear, comes from you."

Prince Christian rubbed his forehead at their words. His mother had not stopped trying to make him break his betrothal with the princess and she had only increased the pressure when news broke of the princess having thrown herself at her fire. Word had it that she had burnt the entire of her right side but the Queen had not cleared up the rumours nor had she left the chamber where the princess was being tended. Her chancellor and councillors had not cleared up the rumours either so the court was left to speculate about the worst.

"What good does it do us if our son marries this sick girl? Her illness will eventually consume her and there is no doubt she does not have the strength to bear a child, so he shall be without a wife and heir when the inevitable occurs," his mother continued, now standing before his father. "What good does that do us?"

"Oh sit down," his father said, lazily gesturing to the chair beside him. "I've wanted him to marry for years and now he is."

She stalked away from him and stood by the window with her back towards them. Prince Christian shook his head at his mother and looked away, rubbing his hand over his chin. He knew they were waiting for an audience with the Queen but he would rather be with his cousin then in the room while his mother and father argued over his decision. He knew his father could easily break the betrothal but thankfully he hadn't, instead allowing him to keep the bride he had been seeking since the moment he had rescued her. The illness wasn't as severe as his mother thought otherwise the Queen would have broken the betrothal herself. An alliance did not override her daughter's health, of that he certain.

They waited with no news for a prolonged time, their silence only been broken by sharp words from his mother, and as they were approaching the third hour, the door opened and the Queen strode into the room. "Let me be clear," she said, her gaze resting on Prince Christian's father, "if this audience is to negate on the betrothal, you will incur my wrath."

"With all due respect, we wish to inquire about the princess. We were not aware that her health could be as troublesome as this," his father replied, rising to his feet.

"Christian is well aware of any illness that may trouble my daughter. It is not my responsibility to instruct him to pass that knowledge onto you or his mother."

That made his mother turn from the window. "Or you simply wished to deceive us to ensnare my son."

"My daughter does not lack suitors," the Queen replied coolly. "It is a sign of my gratitude that your son even became a suitor. You rule over little more than subjects and cattle. There is no gold mined, no sea you command, no strength in your troops. Really, this alliance offers nothing."

Christian rose to his feet before his mother could snap at her. "I still very much wish to wed the Princess Rosalie," he said, earning the Queen's acknowledgement. "Is she well?"

"It is not as bad as we first thought," the Queen replied. "It should not take long to heal. Already she is awake and unwilling to stay in bed so you need not worry; however, I will permit no visitors, just to be sure."

"I thank you, Your Majesty."

"Talk of my daughter in any manner that displeases me and I will break this alliance and tax the trade road." With that the Queen left, leaving Christian to nod at his mother and father before hastily taking leave of the room.

As he strode through the halls he passed the physician but was too preoccupied to spare him a look, leaving the old man to shuffle towards the princess's chamber. The Queen was gone when the physician entered the main chamber and Clarice and two other attendants were crowded around the princess in the bedchamber.

"A cloth to lay over the burn," he said, opening out the heavy cloth he had retrieved and replacing the soiled one. "A draught?"

"No," the princess snapped, batting one of the attendants away. "I wish to rise."

"You must rest to heal."

"I shall heal whenever I do." She tried to reach for the goblet that held water only for an attendant to snatch it up and offer it to her. "Get out! Both of you. I cannot stand the sight of you."

The two attendants obeyed and hurried out of the bedchamber, undoubtedly rushing to tell the Queen. The princess knew everyone but Clarice reported on her to the Queen. "Well? As you're surely aware, I feel no pain and it irritates me to remain confine so," she said.

"I cannot permit you to rise," the physician said.

"Fool!" She scowled and turned to her lady. "Be sure that wretched man does not attempt to enter." Clarice rose and left the bedchamber, leaving the princess alone with the physician. "You're insufferable."

The old man gave a wry smile. "I have been researching ever since you made your miraculous recovery."

"Yes, a recovery you're reluctant to claim."

"Ah, see, I read up on various subjects, but the most fascinating one was regarding the use of fire. This isn't the first time you have been inexplicable drawn to flames and I grew curious about whether there might be a link to the recovery you made."

The princess huffed and drained her goblet, displeased at the lack of wine. "You're apt to read up anything. Why not just accept that you cured me?"

"I cannot accept responsibility for something that I did not do."

She rolled her eyes and let the goblet drop over the side of the bed. "I suppose you think that is honourable," she said.

The physician took a seat on the chair Clarice had vacated and studied the girl. "The more I have read, the more I find myself wondering whether your wayward guard is not entirely of our race."

The princess looked at him sharply, her lips pressed together as she narrowed her eyes. She removed the cloth from her wrist and pushed herself up so that she was sitting against her pillows. "You're mad," she said.

He leaned back. "There are those known to have a unique relation to fire, one that gifts them prolonged life, but as far as written word goes, they are all but extinct with a mere dozen scattered across the endless lands," he said nonchalantly, watching her expression carefully. "One book broaches the use of flames as a means of communication."

"Utter rubbish," she snapped. "Is it not your purpose to ensure the health of all the Queen orders? It certainly isn't to read up on what can only be a myth."

"How can we be so certain it is but a myth?"

"A man of such education ought to know," she said stiffly.

"Perhaps." He waited a moment before leaning forward and lowering his voice. "But what if I believed we had met one of that race?"

"Then I would say you have no purpose tending to me."

The physician gave a nod and rose to his feet. "Perhaps I am wrong, but I do believe that your upcoming wedding will provide the answers to my theories."

The princess let him replace the cloth over her arm and gather his things, and just as he was about to leave the chamber, she spoke up. "Wouldn't it be a shame if an accident were to occur," she said quietly, making the physician look over his shoulder. "Men are such reckless creatures."

He knew a threat when he heard one and the memory of the guard back at Storward Manor made him pause. When the princess looked away he left the bedchamber, nodding at the lady as he left the chamber. There was no doubt he was looking in the right direction and as he wandered down the hall and towards his own chamber, a thought arose that told him that he should be very careful from now on.

If the books had taught him anything, it was that being perceived as a threat was not something he wished to be.