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𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐈𝐅𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍

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𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐈𝐍𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐑𝐄 𝐈𝐓𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 the darkness, growing in intensity until Rosaleen realised its source came from beyond her closed eyelids. Her body burned, her muscles felt sore while an aching had set into the very core of her bones. Still, she forced herself to open her eyes although she immediately regretted it when the light became too blinding. She groaned in pain, trying to lift her hand to shield her eyes from the light source, but an agonising pang travelled through her body, freezing her on the spot.

'Where am I?' Rosaleen managed to mumble, squeezing her eyes shut again and dropping her hand back on the soft surface she laid on.

'You're in castle Anvard,' a gentle, but unknown male voice spoke, and Rosaleen tried once more to open her eyes.

The light came from the sun shining through one of the windows at her left and it wasn't as bright as it had felt like in the first place. The sun seemed to be setting already as an orange colour drenched the stark blue sky in vibrant streaks.

'Castle Anvard?' Rosaleen repeated, her breath getting caught in her throat when she tried to sit up straighter in the bed and her ribs screamed in protest. She glanced down at her body, noticing the bandages wrapping tightly around her upper body under a loose, unknown white blouse. The bandages restrained her movements, but also supported her in a way.

'Your ribs are heavily bruised, but not broken, thankfully,' the voice continued and Rosaleen looked at her right where the sound had come from. A dark-haired man with forest green eyes stood at her side, his nose was a bit crooked and a friendly smile decorated his somewhat plump face. Rosaleen thought he could be in his forties as his hair greyed a bit by his temples.

'Your bruised ribs weren't the cause of you losing your consciousness though,' the man said, sitting down on the chair near her bed and gently taking her wrist to feel her pulse. 'You were poisoned by the desert people. They're known for drenching their weapons in venom, even a scratch can take down the strongest of men.'

Rosaleen's free hand flew towards her side where the dagger of the bandit had grazed her.

'Exactly,' the man hummed. He let go of her wrist again and leaned back in his chair as he folded his hands together, resting them on his stomach. 'I was still in time to treat you, but only a few hours later, and you would have been less fortunate.'

Rosaleen pushed herself up slowly against the headrest with a strained expression, but then she sent him a grateful smile. 'Thank you, sir. I owe you my life.'

'Nonsense,' he responded. 'I'm a physician, it's my life's joy to help people. You may call me Madoc.'

'Thank you, Madoc,' she repeated sincerely.