Page 195 of A King's Oath

“Managing the symptoms until the body fights it,” he repeated on a burning throat. He knew the theory. Had been working on it for weeks now.

“In your case, the fever pitched up to 104 in the first bout. We must keep a check on that.”

“I’ll keep measuring,” he blinked.

“And make sure that you are hydrated. Overly hydrated. At least 4 litres of liquid a day. More if you can manage.”

Samarth nodded, pulling one more tiny sip from his glass.

“I mean it, Rawal,” his wise eyes widened. “Keep hydrated or I will put my foot down for a week of hospital. Your blood pressure was low. That’s not something we want with Dengue.”

He kept nodding, downing half the glass in one gulp with a wince.

“I’ll come back this evening,” Dr. Haren remarked and left the room. Harsh stood at the door. Samarth nudged his chin at him. He nodded. Everything outside was in order. The kingdom, the businesses, the various parts of his administration.

“Harsh,” Rajmata’s stern voice broke their eye contact. “If you are here to give Rawal court updates then I will ban you from this room.”

Samarth set his head back on his pillow and chuckled.

“Finish this glass,” she pushed it to his mouth.

“In a while…” he gaped at her, then up at his father, looking impassively down at him.

“I was supposed to have Dr. Vora start rolling out quinine today, Papa.”

“I did that. He will first be running a drive to educate the district doctors and nurses on dosage, use and side effects. Some are astute, but most aren’t…”

“Sid, leave the room,” Rajmata interrupted him. Papa’s eyes widened.

“Tara…”

“You ran the kingdom for how many years?”

“Huh?”

“How many years, Sid?”

“Twenty-six.”

“Then you know how to manage this outbreak. Now go. And you,” she turned threatening eyes down at him — “Your eyes are drooping. Go to sleep. The body fights an infection better in sleep.”

“I am not sleepy…” he lied, pushing his eyelids open. She shut them with her palm over his eyes. He wanted to laugh, couldn’t because his muscles were disintegrating. Papa’s laugh echoed instead.

“I’m going, beta. I have been ordered to take over until you are back,” he squeezed his calf and then was gone. Samarth took a deep breath.

“I am sleeping,” he pronounced out loud. The hand did not leave his eyes.

“If you were sleeping you would not be talking.”

He huffed. Long minutes passed. His breathing began to even out, that warm hand feeling like the best eye mask cutting off the sunlight. It began to pull away and he hated letting it go. Samarth squeezed his eyes open and she shut her palm over them again.Good.

“Harsh, go to the kitchen and get a 2-litre bottle of Coke… wait, this one likes Thums Up better, isn’t it? Get Thums Up. And I had asked for rotli na ladu and khichdi. If it is made, get that also. We’ll feed him before he goes to sleep again.”

Samarth let sleep pull him in. He did not want to eat. He did not want to drink. Even if she was offering him a bottle of Thums Up.

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The thing with a flu was that you lived in limbo. Samarth had not gotten a flu this intense since he was a kid and Papa had panicked so bad that he had to keep his mind sharp and bodystrong to keep reassuring him. He tried to do it this time but Papa was relaxed — laughing, joking, working without a hitch. So Samarth let go. He let his body go through the motions — bouts of fevers, breaking of his shoulders, disintegrating bones, chills in bed.

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