Chapter 2

She was warm, snuggled in the depths of the softest feather tick she'd ever felt. She sighed and stretched only to curl deeper in the silky sheets.

"Careful, milady. The healer had to suture some of your open cuts. I don't think he'd be happy if you were to pull any of them loose." The older woman stepped to the side of the bed and rested a cool palm against her forehead. "No sign of a fever. I think you should heal up just fine."

She stared at the older woman. "I'm sorry, do I know you, ma'am?" Her voice was still weak and a bit scratchy. She eagerly reached for the glass of water the woman held. But her arms shook and the elder helped her raise it to her lips, letting her swallow just a few sips.

"Not too much now, it could easily come up as stay down, milady. Her Majesty will be bringing up some broth that we've kept warm for you. I am Margaret. I was her Majesty's nanny. Now I am her maid..."

"Who just loves to tell me what to do. I swear, if I let her, she'd tuck me in every night. If she becomes insufferable, just let me know." The queen made her way from the door, a small metal pot clutched careful between two cloths.

"Your Highness, I would never presume to tell you what to do. I just give strong suggestions. Which you always find your way around." Margaret wrinkled her nose in a smile, dipping into a respectfully deep curtsey.

"Your Highness." The young girl tried to jump from the bed but stopped when the room began to spin around her. "Oh..." Her hand rose to press against her forehead.

"How about we forget the highnesses and curtseyings and you call me Ramilla? Or Milly if you prefer?" The elegantly gowned woman sat the pot on the hearth close to the fire and then put out her hand to help the girl back to the bed. "You must stay in bed."

"It is a beautiful name, ma'am." She rested her spinning head thankfully against the pile of pillows that Margaret plumped behind her back.

"You are as bad as my Margaret. I've been telling her since I was little more than a girl, newly married to my Thorn that she is more friend than servant. I hope you will become my friend also..." She smiled and took the spoon out of the bowl she quickly ladled up and offered her a little of the broth. "You know, I don't know your name."

She swallowed the broth and her forehead furrowed. One hand came up and toughed the lump on her head, feeling the ends of the sutures that held the gash closed. "I ... I don't know." She lifted up her wan face, staring at Ramilla with panic in her eyes. "I don't know who I am. How can that be? How does anyone forget their own identity?" A tear slid down her cheek quickly followed by another.

"Oh no, sweetheart. Don't cry. Please. If you cry than I shall out of sympathy and I look simply dreadful with a red nose and swollen eyes." Ramilla handed the bowl to Margaret, gathering the injured girl in her arms and stroking her hair, careful of her injury. "It will come to you. I know it will. I am sure of it. Margaret, please go and fetch the healer, Dane. We'll let him come and tell you."

"But..."

"No, buts. I won't hear of any arguments. There are perks to being the Queen you know." She smiled and pushed a strand of tawny golden hair behind the young girl's ear. "You have the most beautiful hair. It seems to glow from within. It seems so alive."

There was a knock on the door and Ramilla stood to answer it. "Bryce ... I thought you were Dane."

"I saw your maid in the hall and thought maybe I could have a moment." Bryce's hands were clasped in front of him and his shoulders were held rigidly. "Just a moment, mother, please."

Ramilla let him in but put her hand on his chest when he started to make his way to the bed. "Wait here, son. I will see if she feels well enough to entertain company." She saw him swallow and then nod. "I expect that she will be happy to give you a moment, especially for the man who saved her life."

She watched him twitch and pull at the hem of his tunic and then smoothed it down. Nervous? Could her confident Alpha son actually be nervous? She smiled at the thought. Perhaps their wounded dove could be just the thing for her son's restless spirit.

"What does he want?" the girl whispered.

"Well, I expect it's to see you." She nodded and tapped a finger against her lips. "He did save you from the overturned coach you were trapped in. You wouldn't have lasted much longer in that frigid water, so I would say he is concerned for your welfare."

The girl tilted her head, meeting the Queen's eyes. "I do owe him my life. Where I'm from ... where I'm from, saving a life means ... it means..." Her face turned pale, her beautiful golden-green eyes grew troubled. "I don't know where I'm from, I don't even know my name."

Ramilla sank back down on the side of the bed and pulled the girl into her arms. "Don't fret sweetling, we shall find your people and all will be well." She stroked the girl's hair. "Just think, you could rename yourself, something that you find beautiful. I guess I should let Bryce in, if you are well?"

She sat up and nodded. "He saved me. I need to thank him for that and all he did to get me out and here." She leaned back against the pillows and pushed her hair back out of her face.

Ramilla went to the door and then excused herself from the room as she admonished her good-looking son, "Just for a moment, Bryce."

Bryce approached the bed slowly. He smiled at her. "You look better."

"I feel better, because of you. You saved my life. Somehow thank you doesn't seem enough to express my gratitude." She reached out and took his hand, marveling at the size and gracefulness of them. "Thank you, your Majesty." She smiled up at him.

He sank down to the side of the bed. "It was completely my pleasure, milady. Please just call me Bryce." He smiled down at her, his teeth flashing white against his tawny skin. "How in the world did you end up there? Where were you servants and the horses?"

"I ... I don't know. I can't remember my name. I can't remember anything." She touched the side of her head, her fingers tracing gently over her injury. "I don't know who I am. I could be a servant or a thief. I could be a murderer." Her brow wrinkled and she went to pull her hand back to her lap only to find him holding on to it.

"Milady, no servant could ever have hands this beautiful." He turned her tiny hand over and rubbed his thumb in gentle circles upon the soft satiny skin of her palm. Then he raised it and pressed a whisper soft kiss upon her fair skin.

She blushed and looked down.

"No, please don't look away." His fingers touch her small, pointed chin, lifting it so he could see her eyes. He placed her palm upon his chest, holding it against his heart. "I-I was going to wait but ... I can't. Do you feel my heart pound?" He waited for her nod. "It beats for you, milady."

"I ... You can't. I mean ... I could be naught but a commoner. I could have done ... Oh gods..." She sighed heavily and tried to evade his gaze.

"If you are a commoner, taking me as your husband would make you royalty." His fingers touched her chin again, lifting her face. His lips touched hers gently and then with more force, twisting them to part her mouth. His tongue swept in and he moaned at the taste and heat he found there.

His hands wove through her hair, holding her steady for his kiss. His lips were hot, demanding, sliding with such fire over hers.