Her mouth fell open when Henry — the King! — kissed her palm, and stayed that way until the physician called her name sharply to get her attention. She answered his questions absently, mind far too focussed on the moments just past. Not even the shock of pain when the physician flexed her foot to the fullest extent drew her from her reverie.
He had carried her himself, stayed with her while she waited for the physician … kissed her palm. Not even the back of her hand, in courtly gesture, but the palm. Did he want something of her? If he did, she wasn’t sure she should resist.
Summer wasn’t sure she /could/ resist.
Henry made his way down to the castle hallways and walked the small way to the council chambers; the time he had taken to go to the archery fields was spent and he was taken back to court.
He spent most of his time in council and had hardly any time of his own, so when the day was spent and he was making his way to his room his only thought was of sleep.
A painstakingly written note lay sealed on the table by his bedside. The note within read, ‘Your Grace, I wished to let you know, the physician tells me it is merely a strain to my ankle, and though I must not stand upon it for some time I am permitted to hobble about if I take care and use a stick. I expect I shall be spending some time in the library. Might I hope to be favoured with a moment of your time tomorrow?
devotedly yours, Summer Rainault’