Page 12 of Iron Unicorn

While it took several long and deep breaths to restore myself to the semblance of professionalism, I managed to straighten and resume my post. Clearing my throat, I said, “You’ll find she’s highly empathetic, cursed with more compassion than she knows what to do with, and hates feeling like she’s not doing enough. I recommend giving her files and records from Texas for improvements to the human rights programs in development here. She’s good at hammering out reports on how such things can be improved, and it will prevent most of her inherent issues from manifesting.”

To my amusement, Quincy lifted his hand to his ear and relayed my recommendation. Once done, he said, “Thank you. We were out of ideas, as everything that we came up with required more physical activity than she’ll be permitted for the first week of her recovery. But I am confident Queen Jessica can whip up the appropriate paperwork to keep her busy without feeling like we’re making work for her.”

“How much notice did the queen give you?”

Quincy glanced over his shoulder at the door behind us. “You mean about her operation?”

I nodded.

“Queen Jessica has been wanting to address the problem for a few months now, but we started basic planning a week ago. We did not get confirmation until twelve hours before the team hit the New York palace to grab you. Then it was game on. Most of the work has been done in the past twenty-four hours, although the medical staff had more warning. Queen Jessica wanted their schedules cleared and ready to go on a moment’s notice. The whole team is fresh, experienced, and skilled, so you have nothing to worry about on that front. I’m sure you’ll worry though. The good agents always do.”

Yes, we did.

* * *

The operation tookan hour longer than anticipated, which did a good job of elevating tensions throughout the RPS assigned to her detail. Outside of King Patrick, who made frequent visits to the RPS clinics, I assumed they hadn’t dealt with many incidents of royals having operations of any sort.

I lifted my hand to my ear, cleared my throat, and stated, “An hour beyond the anticipated operation time is normal for most royals. The final stages of the operation are often done meticulously, with every care taken to mitigate scarring, confirm there are no issues, or otherwise ease them back to consciousness. In the case of the Montana royals, the average is closer to two hours. Nobody wants to deal with a panicking royal with their talent set. The process is done in such a way to mitigate the risks, which means it takes longer. His Royal Majesty of Montana usually takes two extra hours. Her Royal Highness will undergo the same protocol. There is no need for concern, so if you could kindly rein in some of that anxiety, I would like to not throw up today because you’re all edgy.”

Quincy snickered, and once I turned off my mic, he lifted his hand and said, “It seems we have irritated the generalized empath. We better behave.”

I grinned at Quincy and gave him a nod of approval.

To my relief, the nearby agents did as told, which helped with the general bombardment of uneasy and edgy people nearby.

“How is your empathy doing?” Quincy asked once off the line and general operational chatter resumed.

“I wasn’t joking about the throwing up portion of that. Hopefully, the reminder will keep them calmer. If there were any problems in the operating room, we’d know it. There’d be incoming activity, and things would start bustling.” I used my thumb to point behind me. “Outside of the agents freaking out in there because they don’t understand the procedure or why it’s taking so long, everyone is calm as can be in the operating room, which says it’s business as normal and they aren’t having any true difficulties. They’re just taking their time as they need to streamline the operation to minimize her recovery period.” Once they began bringing her out of sedation, it would be my turn to do the real work, which involved making sure she didn’t panic.

Nothing turned an operating room upside down more than a royal panicking after sedation.

The door behind us opened, and one of the doctors poked his head out. “We’re ready for you, Agent Pattens.”

I notified the RPS I was on the move into the operating room and followed after the doctor.

“Normally, I would have you put on a mask, but we’re at the stage we’re just reversing the anesthesia. Your job is to stay close, catch her attention as she comes out of sedation, and help keep her calm. Once she’s fully coherent, we’ll move her to the recovery room for monitoring. You’ll accompany her while the painkillers start wearing off and we monitor her for what her next dosage should be. Ideally, we’ll eliminate most of her pain but keep a little around as a reminder she shouldn’t rub her nose or face for the next few days. She won’t do any damage if she does, but the bone and skin will be quite tender.”

Knowing Olivia, she would want someone to hold her hand. Touch soothed her more than anything else. I considered how she rested on the table, determined they had done all the IV work on her left side, and took a position to her right. I spied a stool nearby, hooked it with my foot, and brought it close to sit so I was at her level. Once I had her hand in mine, I nodded to the team to indicate I was ready.

As learning how to cope with helpless principals was par for our course, I’d done more than a few stints in Montana hospitals observing doctors and nurses work on patients. Some patients emerged from sedation faster than others, and Olivia tended to battle off the drugs quicker than anyone appreciated. Aware of her tendency, I gave her hand a squeeze every few seconds so she would have the physical stimulus needed to draw her attention to her hand and then to me.

While I had expected her face to change from the operation, I hadn’t anticipated quite how beautiful the princess was beneath the crooked nose and other damage created by an unlucky roll of the genetic dice. It would be a while until I recognized her at a glance, and I worried how she would react when she beheld the beauty she had become.

I would miss her adorable, crooked nose, although I found some relief they hadn’t done much to her beyond straighten her features and address the various issues in her cheeks and near her sinuses.

She was still Olivia.

Within five minutes, her hand squeezed mine, and aware of how she ticked, I gave her a pat. Once I held her with both hands, I took to drumming my fingers against her skin. Sure enough, once she managed to open her eyes, she began the process of taking inventory of her surroundings, starting with the hand I held.

“Rise and shine,” I told her, careful to keep my expression neutral. For some reason, when I started smiling on the job, she found some way to overreact, which I found amusing but would cause more mayhem than desired in the operating room. “Look at me.”

The princess obeyed, and while she applied some pressure on my hand, likely to try to rub at her face, I tightened my hold and clicked my tongue. “No touching your nose right now. It’s going to be sore. Here’s the chance to teach these scaredy cat Texans you’re far more polite than your brother.”

That won me a giggle. “Easy as pie,” she slurred. She crossed her eyes attempting to get a look down her nose. “Oh. It moved.” Apparently, her nose shifting position on her face equated to hilarity; her giggles matured to full, bubbly laughter. “It moved, it moved!”

Part of me wanted to break down into a helpless laughing fit right along with her, but I contained my amusement over the situation and said, “There may have been some subtle shifting of your nose.”

I earned more laughter, and according to my watch, she spent five minutes attempting to say ‘subtle shifting’ without much in the way of success. The doctors and nurses relaxed, and they cracked grins at the princess’s good humor over her changed situation.

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