“May the goddess be praised,” Elder Asher whispered, eyes wide with wonder.
“The King is awake,” another elder added, unable to hide the relief in his voice.
But Ayla wasn’t paying attention to them. Her hand was still trapped in the King’s strong grip. She tried to pull away gently, but he held on tightly. His eyes, dark and unreadable, stayed fixed on her face.
He didn’t look angry. But Ayla couldn’t be sure. The room was quiet. Too quiet.
“Repeat what you just said to me,” the King said in a calm but deep voice.
Ayla’s heart raced. He had heard her. He heard her whisper those words…“Get well… for me.”
What would happen if she said them again? Would he get angry? Would he mock her?
“Please,” she whispered, “let go of my hand.”
He tilted his head slightly. “But I thought you liked touching me,” he said, his tone teasing, yet not unkind. “Just a moment ago, you said I should get better… for you.”
Ayla’s face turned red. She couldn’t believe he heard her. She had only said it
