Seraphine's POV
Margot moved ahead of us down the corridor between the grand stair and the royal apartments. She didn’t make a sound, yet she cleared the way with quick, precise gestures—sending two servants aside, shifting a guard, and guiding the path so the king never slowed while carrying me.
In the antechamber—dark wood panels, an eastern rug—Zoey was already spreading a linen sheet over a wide low couch. The king didn’t set me down until he felt a secure surface beneath my back. Even then he lowered me carefully, not releasing me until he was sure I wasn’t about to collapse. His hand rested briefly at my brow, checking my temperature again.
“Clean water,” he said to Zoey. “Cold compress for the knee and elbow. And bring cloth without splinters—if her palm is cut, I don’t want her
