14
Damian gave her a strained smiled. He leaned forward and before she could understand his action his finger touched lightly over her cheek. Delilah frowned at him for his frankness.
He brought his bare finger up and it was covered in mud. Delilah breathed slightly easier though her eyes were still fixed on his finger. Apparently too many women with little sense or morals had influenced him because any other man would know better than to touch an unrelated woman with such boldness.
Delilah quickly rubbed her hand over her cheek vigorously hoping to get rid of the mud and feeling of his touch.
"I would suggest you go over your hair as well. I wouldn't want to frighten the palace guards," He grinned at her.
Delilah bit her lip before she could say anything she regretted.
"There is a comb and a mirror somewhere in those pockets," Damian instructed pointing at the coat she was wearing.
Delilah hesitated for a few moments but then decided that the man had already broken so many rules of propriety so another transgression wasn't going to harm her integrity. She dove into the pockets hoping to find something useful.
In the first inner pocket there was gold pocket watch and in another an apple. In the third she found a lacy handkerchief that was definitely not his own. He beckoned for her to throw it to him.
"And scented too," he unknowingly completed her internal monologue.
"Yes, I can smell that," Delilah scrunched her nose.
"Not too your taste," He asked twirling the lacy fabric around.
"Much too overpowering," She criticized distractedly as she finally found the comb.
She tugged at her hair and tried to flatten it. Damian shook his head at her.
"Let it loose," he suggested but she gave him a cross look and he decided against telling her that her hair was already on the verge of being pulled open.
The carriage ascended abruptly and went through the gates of the palace. They finally ended up at an entrance at the end of the courtyard.
"Your Highness," The page boy looked at them frantically and Delilah winced knowing full well what an odd pair they looked.
"The lady has been injured. Tell the healer to be prepared for an injured patient," He ordered and the page boy ran away to deliver the message.
He held onto Delilah's hand and before she could lecture him on what was considered correct in polite society and what wasn't he started moving her through the gallery. And to add insult to injury he pulled his other arm around her back so his right hand settled on her shoulders. It made it easier for her to walk and he was walking at a sedate pace so she wasn't being forced to walk at a great speed but she was extremely uncomfortable.
"Prince, you do know the concept of personal space?" She finally blurted out after the proximity continued to make her feel extremely awkward. Even with her brother and male cousins there was always a polite distance and decorum that was missing in the current scenario.
"Yes," He smiled down at her looking unconcerned. Delilah looked at his arm and back up to him again hoping he would understand the message.
"Would you rather I carry you?" The Prince asked perplexed.
"No!" Delilah replied vehemently.
"Well, then, hurry up," Damian urged and Delilah decided an argument was just not worth it.
___________________________________________________
Delilah finished her ablutions and hobbled back to the hospital styled bed. The rooms were plusher and far more ostentatious than usual medical rooms so Delilah suspected the rooms were for royalty only.
The Prince had left her to clean himself up and give her privacy with the healer. The healer had lightly bandaged her foot but after informing her that the pain would go away soon and nothing was broken. Delilah spent the rest of the time trying to fix her appearance and wash away remnants of mud with a handy jug of water and a wet towel.
Delilah waited for a few more moments but she soon grew tired of sitting in the bed hoping for someone to escort her off. She limped out of the room from the official entrance, rather than the one the Prince had led her from, and was welcomed by a long gallery like balcony. The view from the covered red brick balcony was covered by an oak tree with branches that gently let in dappled light. Delilah smiled as birds chattered, breaking the silence.
Delilah was content to stand at edge of the balcony when a crash broke her peace. She turned around and realized that the sound had come from somewhere inside the room next to hers. She hurried towards it to see what had happened.
Delilah peeked inside the room and found herself looking at a man lying on the bed. The old man twisted in his bed looking agitated and not quite lucid. His hand heavily searched for something on the night stand dropping another glass. Delilah rushed forward to help get his hand off the bits of glass.
Delilah gasped as she faced him completely. She had seen his imposing statues, paintings and descriptions of him and she had never imagined him looking this weak and helpless. The King looked gaunt and pale and her heart ached at his complete inability to help himself.
Delilah looked down at the medicine bottles with their names listed conveniently and she found what she thought could help. She picked up the green glass bottle, pulled at the stopper, placed the bottle under the man's nose and it seemed to work. The King eventually stopped fussing and trying to escape the bed. Delilah was glad she had read up on soothing oils and gained the knowledge that lavender was apparently good for reducing hysteria. With a pleased smile she propped the bottle back on the night stand.
"What are you doing in here?" A voice growled from the doorway. Delilah turned her head and the fury in Prince Damian's eyes made her hesitate.
"I- I was standing outside near the oak," Delilah mentioned taking a step back, "And then I heard-"
"Come on," Damian stalked forward and pulled her out not minding her injury. She ended up being dragged back onto the gallery. A worried guard raced towards them trying to do up his collar button mid stride. He gasped looking absolutely petrified when Damian grabbed him from his collar.
"Where were you?" Damian breathed harshly, "I had given strict orders that no one and I mean no one was to enter this room."
"I am sorry, Your Highness, I was-" The man blabbered pathetically.
"It doesn't matter where you were," Damian threw him backwards, "Get lost, and find someone more competent to take on your duties."
"And you," Damian rounded on Delilah, "Just like a typical woman. Can't stop snooping around can you?"
"I told you I wasn't doing anything. I did not know there was someone inside that room until I heard noises," Delilah argued feeling terribly used.
"I don't care. You were not supposed to be there," He bit out slowly.
"I didn't know your father-" Delilah spoke gently, trying to be calm but none of it was transported to the man in front of him. He pulled at her arm and stood her at the end of the stairs.
"You will not speak of this ever again. Not to your friends, your cousin, nobody. It would be treason if you do not keep your mouth shut," He growled, blue eyes flashing brightly, "Understood?"
Delilah nodded feeling weak under his anger. She was suddenly overcome with a bout of tears filling her eyes but she refused to let them flow. Her throat felt too constricted so she chose not to try and explain herself. She just looked away.
"Go," Damian dismissed her curtly, "You have done enough damage."
Delilah held the banister and hobbled down one stair miserably and she tenderly stepped on the other. She was going to proceed further in the same sedate pace but was paused by a familiar hand on her shoulder.
"I should help you down," Damian insisted distantly but Delilah shook her head.
"It's okay," She replied stuffily and kept her head titled away.
"I brought you here, so I should lead you down," Damian insisted formally.
"I do not wish to inconvenience you any further," Delilah stated decisively. In her mind this was the last time she would ever talk to the Prince face to face. He may hypothetically have his designs on Cecilia and she would encourage any betterment of relations between them but she would never have any impersonal contact with him ever again. She was sick of being mistreated by the Prince whenever he liked and apologized to whenever he felt like. It was unfair he judged her so cruelly.
"Fine," Damian replied and Delilah expected him to move away and while he let go off her he continued to follow her. Every laboured step she took he followed like a shadow. She continued her steady trail down to a familiar sunken garden and was pleased to know that she wouldn't have to ask him the way. She wanted to tell him that she needed no chaperon to accompany her but she did not want to face him. He followed her devotedly until she reached her room.
She finally turned around hoping her nose wasn't too red and bowed unsteadily.
"I think you might require this now," Damian pulled out his real handkerchief from one of his pockets eyeing her redder eyes.
"No thank you," Delilah declined and remembered what she was clutching firmly in her left hand. It was the glass stopper from the lavender oil bottle. "I believe this is from the medicine chamber," Delilah handed him the stopper which he caught in his open palm. Their fingers accidently brushed and Delilah pulled her arm away as if she was burnt.
