Page 80 of Dueling the Suitors

Skylar and Spyrah dashed across them halfway through, and a look of panic entered Spyrah’s eyes as she looked up at Cyrus. He smiled down at her, probably assuring her he would bealright. Spyrah turned and led the way to the chambers, Skylar right beside her.

They had become some sort of friends, which was a relief; otherwise, Skylar would be annoying Astoria with his complaints about Spyrah even now.

No sooner had Cyrus lain on the bed and Astoria pulled the covers and blankets over him than Rowan came in with the royal physician. He was a kind-looking tall man with long white hair that was pulled up in a ponytail and round glasses on his nose, clearly older than Astoria’s grandfather, with laugh lines on his face.

The sudden observation tugged at her heart; she missed her grandpa so much.

The physician checked on Cyrus and said it was a normal fever. He rang for a maid and gave her the names of some herbs and the instructions to prepare Cyrus’ medicine. He advised Astoria to give it to him twice a day until he recovered.

When the physician left and the maid went to prepare the medicine, Cyrus asked Rowan for the updates. Halfway through it, the medicine arrived. Cyrus drank it in a gulp and made a face. One Astoria thought was…adorable.

That night, she woke up to the sound of his heart-stopping sneezes and went to check on him. He was burning up again. She remembered how Emmett used to sit by her side whenever she caught the fever and place a wet cloth on her forehead occasionally.

She found a bowl in the washroom, filled it with water from the pool, and grabbed a small towel from the cupboard before returning to his side. She turned a quarter of the water into ice to keep it cool and dipped the towel in it.

“Astra?”

“Yes, it’s me.” She held the damp cloth to his forehead and sat on the bed.

“You don’t have to—” He paused as a shiver went through his body. “I don’t want you to catch the fever too.”

“Shhh,” she said and pulled the blanket up to his throat with her free hand. “Go back to sleep.”

“Astra,” he protested again, weakly. “Ring for a maid, at least.”

She narrowed her eyes down at him even though he couldn’t see it. “I don’t want another woman to do this when I’m right here.”

Maybe she was imagining it, but Astoria saw his lips stretch into a weak smile.

Silence stretched out between them. Astoria wet the towel occasionally and held it to his burning forehead until his breaths evened out and she was sure he had fallen asleep. She placed the cloth in the bowl and stood carefully, not wanting to wake him with the slightest movement.

She almost went back to her room but paused and looked back at his sleeping form. What if he woke up again and she didn’t realize it? What if he needed her and she wasn’t there?

Astoria stepped back into his room and looked around. Her eyes fell on the long, comfy sofa. That would do. She flicked her hand and the golden threads carried the sofa to her. She set it near Cyrus’ bed, summoned her blanket from her room, and curled up on it.

When morning came, she opened her eyes to find Cyrus’ soft gaze on her from where he lay on the bed.

“You stayed,” he marveled in a hoarse voice that sounded so unlike his. The things a mere fever could do to people, she thought.

Astoria averted her gaze to the ceiling and stretched out on the sofa, letting out a yawn before curling in on herself. “What kind of wife would I be if I didn’t?” she mumbled, closing her eyes and pretending to go back to sleep.

She felt him smile.

“How do you feel?”

“I wish I could say spectacular, but…”

Astoria was up and out of the sofa in the next moment, nearly startling Cyrus. She rang the bell. “You need your medicine,” she said to his confused face.

Before the medicine arrived, Astoria moved the sofa back to its place and dragged out a chair instead. Clara brought in the medicine, and Cyrus drank it, complaining about how disgusting it was.

Astoria didn’t leave his side except for the meetings. She occasionally replaced the damp cloth on his forehead with an ice-water dip, but nothing helped the burning. As days passed, the sneezes were gone, but the fever only grew. Sometimes, his skin felt like fire when she touched him. He was strictly bedridden, too; though he couldn’t have gotten up and walked around even if he wanted to. He admitted his limbs were feeling rather weak.

He barely ate or drank anymore, and he refused to take the medicine as well. At first, Astoria would narrow her eyes and reprimand him, but as days passed with no improvement, her reprimands turned to pleading.

“Are you concerned for me, darling?” he asked one day when she pleaded until her eyes were wet with tears she didn’t want to shed.

“Of course not,” she snapped in a slightly wavering voice, narrowing her eyes to hide the tears.

---