Every second that had gone by, Johanna had been worried sick.
She had spent the passing days in a state of quiet unease. Meals went unfinished; sleep came and left without rest.
"What if he never returns?"
The thought surfaced often, but she never gave it voice. Day after day, she waited, haunted by her innermost thoughts.
Now here she stood before the door to his chamber, frightened by the mere thought of seeing him face-to-face.
"We should go inside."
Leah said, disrupting her thoughts.
"We should."
She agreed but still remained glued to where she stood, not showing any sign of movement.
Already fed up, Leah took the first step; she nudged the door open. Johanna was a bit startled but closed in behind her.
They both stepped into the room simultaneously, holding their breaths for what was to come, but they were taken by surprise.
William was seated at the edge of his bed, stripped of armor, wearing nothing but a soft strip of linen wrapped loosely around his waist.
The rays coming from the sunlight traced the hard lines of his body, revealing bruises and cuts stitched crudely…others still raw.
His shoulders, once flawless by courtly finery, bore the truth of war in every mark.
Johanna's eyes swept over him in disbelief, not searching for wounds at first, but for life.
For the rise and fall of his chest. For warmth.
He was alive.
The stiffness left her spine, and her knees nearly buckled. All the dread she had carried, the nights without sleep, collapsed into that single moment of seeing her son breathing before her.
Leah clutched at her mother's sleeve, her gaze locked on her brother's bare back as the maid gently cleaned a long cut along his shoulder blade.
She swallowed hard, but she did not look away. If he had endured this, she would bear witness to it.
The maid worked quietly, respectful of the silence.
She poured warm water over a cloth and pressed it carefully against his skin, cleaning away dust, sweat, and dried blood.
William's muscles tightened beneath her touch, his jaw clenching, not from the pain alone, but from the effort of remaining still.
The maid pressed the wet linen to the deep gash at his ribs.
He hissed sharply, his head snapping back as a low groan tore from his chest.
"Stay still, sir," she said, her voice firm despite her small hands.
His gaze shot to her, hard and lethal, the same look that had sent men faltering on the battlefield.
But she did not shrink. Her wide, unguarded eyes held no fear, only focus.
Bound to the simple duty of tending to the wound before her.
"You look… terrible," Leah said, softly.
He turned his gaze toward the sound of her voice, amused that he hadn't noticed her presence before now.
"But you're here," she added, a fragile warmth breaking through the countenance of her face.
"That's all that matters."
Their eyes met as he let out a faint breath that might have been a laugh.
"I have had better days," he admitted.
The maid paused to rewrap the linen more securely around his waist before continuing her work, giving him a moment to steady himself.
"I have never been more proud of you."
A bright smile beamed on her face as she turned to look at Johanna, expecting her to say something. But Johanna only mopped; her eyes said it all.
"Mother…"
Leah calls out in a whisper, tugging at her sleeves.
"Say something."
She added, and Johanna shrugged lightly.
"I have seen what I need to see; I simply have nothing to say.
You were right, Leah, to pick his side. He has proven me wrong."
Tapping Leah on her shoulder lightly, Johanna turned around and walked away.
Leah wasn't at all surprised by her shrewd attitude, but she didn't let it sour her mood.
"You must be exhausted. Is there anything I can help with?"
She asked, and he lets out a small grunt.
William lifted a hand, signaling the maid to stop. She bowed slightly and left the chamber.
"A jar of wine," he said, pushing himself upright.
Pain shot through him. He grimaced and dropped back onto the bed with a sharp breath.
"Only wine?" Leah asked, one brow lifting.
William huffed softly.
"In this condition? I would embarrass myself; women will see me as incompetent, not able to satisfy their needs."
She nodded, accepting the answer.
"How is my bro…l?" He stopped, adjusting his words.
"How is the king?"
"At the verge of death, it seems. The palace is in complete disarray. They seem to remember him, but they fail to also notice that you needed attention."
Leah said, a bit disinterested in his question.
"The king's condition is far worse than mine.
"Does it really matter though?"
Her voice was laced with irritation.
William stared ahead.
"That is the order of things."
"Even if you were gasping, holding on to your last breath, they would still choose him over you, regardless. That is how paranoid their mindset has been.
She said spitefully.
William tilted his head slightly.
"You speak the same way Mother would. What have you been learning from her in the past few days I was gone?"
"She is right sometimes."
She cuts in roughly.
"She sees through these people and the way they operate; I wouldn't survive in such a place if she wasn't by my side."
Raising her gaze to look at him, she eases her smile.
"You should give her a chance; talk to her maybe."
"You know I won't do that."
"It won't hurt to try."
He leaned back, closing his eyes briefly.
"I need some rest, Leah; I have had a long day. Let's discuss this another time."
She hesitated, then nodded.
"Welcome home, brother."
She turned and left the room, the door closing quietly behind her.
As she moved down the hallway, Leah lifted a hand, beckoning to a passing maid.
"See that he receives the utmost attention," she said coolly. "And have a jar of wine sent to his room."
She turned around to leave—then stopped.
Leaning in, her voice dropping…
"And send a maiden to his chamber," she added. "He's in a foul mood."
With that she took her leave.
William laid half-reclined against the pillows, his body finally stilled by exhaustion.
Then the door creaks open and a maid steps in; his eyes, which were closed, fluttered open as he turned his direction towards the door.
The first maid that stepped in had her head bowed low, both hands wrapped around a shallow bowl of water that trembled faintly with her steps.
Behind her followed another maid, cradling a sealed jar of wine against her chest.
The maid remained where she was, fingers clasped tightly before her. She had been dismissed once already, but it was Johanna herself who had ordered her return.
"My lord," the first maid said softly, eyes fixed on the stone tiles.
She swallowed, then spoke, her voice barely above a whisper.
"My…my Lord, Queen Johanna…"
Her voice trailed off; he did not look at her.
With a slow, impatient motion, he lifted one hand and flicked his fingers toward the room, granting permission without a word.
The maid exhaled softly, understanding at once. She stepped forward, then knelt beside his feet hanging loosely from the bed.
The second maid got to work; she poured him a cup of wine before handing it over to him.
The remnants of William's armor still laid scattered near the foot of the bed.
Leather straps stiff with dried blood were piled carelessly beside a breastplate that had been set down without care. It smelled faintly of iron and old sweat.
By the time the maid was done cleaning his feet, the bowl of water was already clouded, the water tinged a dull red.
She lifted it carefully, carrying it to the corner of the room and pouring it out through the narrow drain. When she returned, she refilled the bowl from a warmed jug, the steam rising briefly before fading.
William watched none of this at first.
He sat still, his hands resting against his thighs. When the maid returned and dipped the cloth again, he adjusted his position by a fraction, shifting his weight to relieve pressure from his ribs.
His gaze drifted toward the window.
Beyond it, the sky hung pale and unremarkable, the courtyard below quiet. For a moment, his attention lingered there, unfocused.
Then he looked away.
The scar along his left eye caught the light when he moved. A long, uneven line, older than the others.
The skin around it had hardened over time, pale against the darker marks of recent wounds. It did not draw his attention, nor did he adjust himself to hide it. It was simply there, part of the landscape of his body.
Holding the cup by the slender stem between his fingers, he lifted it from the drawer beside the bed.
Just as he brought the cup toward his lips, the door opened.
A concubine stepped inside adorned with breathtaking jewelry, with nothing more than a skimpy linen wrapped around her figure. She struck a seductive pose, then stuck her tongue out in a lewd manner.
His gaze slid sideways in her direction, and whatever calm he had held vanished at once. His jaw tightened, annoyance settling hard across his features.
He clicked his tongue softly and set the cup of wine aside, untouched.
"Leah's doing," he muttered under his breath.