Page 8 of The Sound of Seduction
“See?” Stan smiled as if he didn’t have a care in the world—only patience and encouragement in his voice. “You’re standing!”
Eddie froze, blinking down at his legs as though the realization hadn’t fully registered. The splints gleamed faintly in the soft light of the room, supporting him as his feet pressed firmly against the floor.
“I am,” Eddie whispered with delight.
Wendy placed a steadying hand on the boy’s back, her fingers lightly brushing over his thin shoulders. Tears pricked behind her eyes, but she pushed them down, focusing instead on the moment unfolding before her.
“The splints are holding me!” Eddie exclaimed, turning his head to peek at Wendy with wide, amazed eyes. “Look, Nurse Wendy! I haven’t stood since Yuletide last winter!”
Her smile curved warmly as she glanced down at him. “You see? What did I tell you? Magic.”
Stan surveyed her then, and his gaze was like the brush of sunlight against her skin. His smile deepened, sincere and dazzling. Wendy tried desperately so to keep her composure, but her heart was having none of it. It melted clean away as that breathtaking mixture of blue and green in his eyes pinned her in place.
“Magic indeed,” Stan murmured, more to her than to the boy.
Eddie bounced on the balls of his feet, testing the strength of the splints.
“Well, Eddie,” Stan nodded, “I’d say you’re already getting stronger wearing those splints. Like a knight preparing for battle in a full suit of armor.”
“Armor?” the boy asked eagerly, his face alight.
“Oh yes,” Stan said, nodding as though the idea had struck him only then. His expression turned mock-serious, lips pursed as though he were carefully considering his next words. Wendy couldn’t hold back a soft chuckle.
“I’ve seen many hopefuls come and go at Bran Castle,” Stan continued gravely, “in the Carpathian Mountains. Not every warrior has what it takes to carry heavy armor and protect what’s right.”
Eddie’s eyes went round as saucers, his breath hitching in awe. “I can carry armor. I can do it,” he said firmly.
“I think you can, too,” Stan said, straightening to his full height. He reached out a hand toward the boy. “You, Squire Eddie, strike me as the kind of knight who will finish training stronger than anyone expects.”
Eddie shook Stan’s hand solemnly, without hesitation. Wendy clutched her chest as if her heart could pop out with delight and break in two at the sight of Prince Stan towering like a sturdy oak above the boy, his smile both encouraging and kind.
And then Prince Stan looked at her again, his focus shifting entirely to her. Wendy’s breath caught, the beginnings of a blush stealing over her cheeks at the depth of his gaze. He didn’t need to say a word, not with that shimmer in his eyes—mischievous, yes, but also deeply understanding, as though he knew exactly what this moment meant for Eddie.
For her.
It wasn’t the smile itself that undid her, but the way it reached his eyes, softening the edges, wrapping her in a glow that could banish the cold forever.
Wendy clasped her hands tightly to still their tremor, but her heart?
That was another thing entirely.
Eddie’s parents arrived not long after, bustling into the treatment room with worried faces that quickly melted into gratitude at the sight of their boy standing tall. Stan remained gracious, offering a steady nod before excusing himself, mentioning something about needing to speak with Alfie in the apothecary. Wendy handed the child over with a few final words of instruction for the splints; her voice warm, but her thoughts distracted.
She smoothed a hand over her apron, the linen coarse beneath her fingertips. Stan’s gaze wandered across the treatment room and lingered on Andre’s diploma, sunlight glancing over its bold Latin text.Universitas Vindobonensis, Scientiae Medicinae Doctor,it read, University of Vienna, Doctor of Medical Science.
Stan’s brow furrowed as he tilted his head to study the frame. “Andre’s diploma,” he noted. “He’s fluent in German and Latin, I wager.” He paused and cast a glance toward Wendy, his voice colored with a curious lilt. “Where did you hang your certifications as a nurse? I see each of the doctors has their own on the wall.”
The question landed like a wet cloth splashing her face. Wendy hesitated, her heartbeat quickening. The mortar and stone walls, so much less forgiving than the village cottages she’d grown up in, offered her no escape from the question. She clasped her hands in front of her to keep them still, though her fingertips pressed into her palm, betraying her unease.
“I don’t have one,” she admitted, her voice soft but steady. Even so, heat prickled up her neck, blooming across her cheeks. She risked a glance at him, already preparing herself for the flicker of disappointment. Or worse—pity. There it was again—the chasm between their worlds, deepened by paper and privilege.
“Oh,” Stan said, the single syllable hanging awkwardly in the air between them. His gaze flicked away as if unsure where to land, and Wendy’s stomach tightened.
She glanced back at him reluctantly, carrying the silence with her like a too-heavy burden. His brows drew together briefly, but then, just as quickly, his expression softened.
“My sister didn’t attend university either,” he said, leaning forward, his voice low in the quiet of the room. “Unlike my brothers and me. But truth be told, she’s smarter without a degree than all of us together with our collection of papers covering walls.” Wendy blinked, surprised enough to meet his gaze directly. His tone was warm, unassuming, and carried a thread of admiration she hadn’t expected. “She’s the one who sees what we miss entirely,” Stan continued. His lips curved, just faintly, into a smile that felt meant for her alone. “I suppose you’re like that, the axis that keeps things spinning. Without you, nothing works as smoothly here in the practice.”
Wendy’s throat tightened—not from shame, but from something rarer: recognition. Could he really see her? Not as a nurse, not as Nick’s sister, but as someone worthy? She didn’t speak, not at first, because she couldn’t quite trust herself to. Her fingers, still knotted together, loosened slowly. Why did a compliment from the prince mean more to her than a degree on the wall would?
