Once Upon A Princess

5: Bitter Cold

She sensed the water around her stabbing needles into her skin. The pain of that sensation was slow to show itself, however. Her lungs were the more pressing issue: they seemed to convulse with the cold and the pressure, and it felt like she'd just been kicked in the chest and couldn't find a way to grasp onto air again. She felt herself sinking with the weight of her clothes, and found her limbs unwilling to comply with their command to swim up.

A sudden tug and a disorienting rush upwards and she was breathing air again, numb to all sensations except the ecstasy of newly filled lungs. The taste of pond water felt slimy and bitter on her tongue, and she coughed up whatever water she had swallowed. The noises attacking her ears sounded strange and foreign. It was as if she'd been living underwater for a long time, and was only now finding solace in land again.

She felt hands lifting her, and when her eyes adjusted to the light she realized it was the guard who had shouted at her. He was now cradling her head against his chest and nearly sprinting back to the castle. Before she had time to say anything she was taken all the way inside and put on a small bed inside a seemingly random room. Probably the first one that the guard could find. He was shouting; calling for anyone to find the physician and the king.

The king.

She sat up, suddenly upright, shocking the guard as she slapped his hand hard with her own.

"Princess!" he exclaimed in shock as he withdrew his hand hastily. He started rubbing it. "You're awake!"

She looked at him, noting the anxious lines permeating his brows and mouth. He looked like he thought he'd be blamed for her accident. That's what they'd call it. An accident. She wanted to say anything to him. A reassurance. An apology. All she could do was cough. Her lungs felt like sludge had taken residence there, and her body was desperately trying to get it out. Her throat already felt scraped raw.

The physician arrived first, shooing the guard away off the bedside and putting himself there. He was quite young for a physician, or at least that's what Amelia had heard. He seemed old to her, but sometimes when she was sick he would play games with her to pass the time while she was being examined, and so she liked him.

It didn't take long for him to gesture to one of the anxious servants floating in the doorway and ask that they get Amelia some dry clothes, and he asked for a warm cloth and broth to be brought also. Amelia decided he was an excellent doctor because she wanted all of those things very badly.

By the time her father arrived, she had started chattering her teeth. Her wet clothes made her feel as if she were weighted down by lead, and they were soaking her bones through with an icy cold.

The king seemed as if he had sprinted there; he stopped abruptly at her bedside, sliding across half the floor. He immediately took her face in his hands, angling himself next to the physician who had one of her wrists in his hands as he checked her pulse. Harold assessed his daughter with his own eyes, looking her over with several emotions going over his features. He was obviously worried sick, but there seemed to be a relief that was there too.

He hugged her then, gently, getting the front of his clothes wet in the process. He whispered into her ear, soft and shaky.

"I'm so glad you're alright."

Amelia, realizing what could have happened, tried to hold back a sob. Her father was always the one to make her realize how much danger she could be in. His scared feelings often reflected her own, but only after the danger had passed. And seeing his relief sometimes made her guilty.

"It's okay, love. You're safe. It's okay to cry," he whispered.

He sounded as if he himself might start to cry, and so Amelia felt safe doing so. Several tears escaped, and her breaths hitched and rattled. She coughed some more, but her father didn't let her go. Not until all her emotions had been vented. When he finally released her, she felt better.