Queensmen

Chapter 5

~Father?~

Oris woke up with her mouth dry, her tongue numb and heavy, a dull throb at the side of her head and her hands freed. These were only the first things she realized before she began the quiet struggle to open her eyes. She was sure the changes that had occurred since she had lost consciousness were more than she could count.

But. . . I'm not dead? Her brows shot to her hairline in surprise when she was finally able to pry her eyelids apart. She let her gaze rove about, trying to glean as much information from the dim room she found herself lying in. As much as she was glad that there was no light to hurt her eyes, Oris wished that there had been enough for her to properly examine her surroundings.

To the right of the bed were thick curtains that hung low and heavy. She could still see harsh sunlight fall through the gap between it and the floor, a gap that widened every now and then with a gust of wind, and so guessed that it was probably a few hours after high noon.

The bed itself was soft, comfortable and one-third of the furniture present in the quaint room. It was not comparable to the one she had in the castle but it was the best thing she had slept in, in years. If not for the slight ache in her arms and head, she reckoned that she would have woken up refreshed and invigorated.

But I'm still alive. Oris would have chuckled but her throat hurt too much. She blinked at the pain and slowly lifted a hand to touch her face, she could feel the rough material of linen bandages beneath her fingertips. Fate is still working his wonders.

She had known many brave men who had slipped and fallen and died on stormy afternoons like that one. To come out of it relatively unscathed was a miracle.

Then again, those stories might have just been concocted to veil assassinations and tell morals—never ride in storms; death is possible from horse height.

This time around the laughter escaped. However hoarse, quiet and painful it ended up being, Oris was glad.

She was glad to be alive. Glad to have another swing at life.

Placing both her hands over her chest, she began a silent prayer and thanked Fate for his kindness. Death also received some worship for his mercies along the way, for wherever would she be without His grace?

She prayed to Mother Earth, asking her to guide Rodholf to her and cloud her presence from the enemies in her midst. And more silently—if that was even possible—she prayed for a child that she would love, that would love her just as fervently.

Lastly, she prayed to her parents, the king and queen she never knew, to guide her from the paradise in the skies and help her rebuild Orse.

When she had finished, she realized that the plaster ceiling had become blurry and wetness had found its way to her ears.

She had been crying.

Oris sat up then patted her eyes dry with her sleeve. She let out a sigh when she looked at her hands. For someone supposed to revived a royal bloodline, sometimes she was too unobservant.

"My clothes have been changed," she muttered to herself, staring at the deep blue silk that clothed her in a demure manner. Nothing was wasted and no body part was emphasized. It was like a slip or a shift but thicker.

The fact that it was a gown meant that her gender had been confirmed. She should have expected it but it still came as a blow. Chances were that she had already been delivered to the person that had bought her.

As for whether that made escape easier or not. . . Oris was feeling generous with herself and decided not to think about it.

Some minutes later her gaze fell on the pitcher on the table a couple steps away from the bed and the cup beside it. She needed to drink water first.