A Royal Conspiracy #18: Emma

I traced the line of Theo's jaw with trembling fingers, careful to avoid the healing cuts that still marked his skin like badges of survival. Two weeks since the explosion had torn through our peaceful retreat, and still he slept, his chest rising and falling in the shallow rhythm that had become both my torment and my comfort. Alive, but absent. Present, but gone. I leaned closer, my still-tender ribs protesting the movement, and pressed my lips to his forehead. "Come back to me," I whispered against his skin, the words worn smooth from repetition. "Please, Theo. Find your way back."

The medical wing had become more familiar to me than our royal chambers in the past fourteen days. I knew every crack in the ceiling tiles, every subtle shift in the light as the sun moved across the sky beyond the curtained windows. The nurses had given up trying to enforce visiting hours for the queen; instead, they'd brought in a more comfortable chair, arranged it beside Theo's bed, and pr