Flavian stood in the doorway, his form still beneath the flickering torchlight, before he stepped quietly into the chamber. His gaze fell upon Leesa, now propped up upon silken pillows, her face pale, her frame slightly diminished, and bandages marking the parts of her body that had borne the brunt of her sacrifice. The sight of her breathing, conscious, seated before him, stilled something in his chest. Guilt gnawed at the edges of his soul. She had nearly perished for him. And all for what? A prince's pettiness and recklessness.
He took his seat beside her bed, his movements subdued. "Should you be sitting upright so soon… my lady?" he asked gently, concern laced through every syllable.
"I believe I can manage it, Sire," Leesa replied, her voice soft yet resolute. In truth, she yearned for movement, lying still as a corpse for these many days had frayed her nerves more than the wounds themselves.
Flavian hesitated, casting another worried glance at her. "Has the royal physician tended to you today?"
"No," she said, shaking her head with a faint smile. "But I assure you, there is no need. I shall recover in due time."
"That is not sufficient," Flavian said at once, rising to his feet. "Forgive me, but it matters to me greatly that you are seen. That is all I can do for you now… the very least I can do."
Leesa gave a slight sigh, relenting. "Very well. As you wish."
Without delay, Flavian summoned the royal physician. The elderly man entered moments later, bowing low before proceeding with calm efficiency. He checked Leesa's pulse, examined the bruises, and unwrapped the bandages with great care. When he reached her head wound, he observed the healing with a pleased expression.
"The bleeding had ceased days ago," he remarked. "And though a portion of the scalp was affected, the wound has begun to mend with promising speed. Her hair shall return in time, as shall her strength."
Leesa sat still as the physician worked, her gaze flicking only once to Flavian, who remained seated, watching her with a mixture of guilt and devotion.
"She is recovering faster than anticipated," the physician concluded, reapplying clean bandages and handing a scroll of instructions to Weinne. "With proper rest and nourishment, she may begin walking again within days." With that, he bowed and withdrew, his footsteps fading down the corridor.
Flavian exhaled deeply, running a hand over his face. "Thank the heavens… your injuries are not as grave as I feared."
It was for the first time since entering the room that the veil of solemn restraint slipped from his face. His words were not merely for formality, they bore the weight of sleepless nights and unspoken regret. Leesa, though still weary, felt a quiet warmth in her chest. She gave no reply, but her eyes lingered on him a little longer.
Flavian leaned forward, his elbows resting upon his knees, his voice low and laced with remorse. "You should not have had to endure what you did."
Leesa's lips curved faintly, though the weariness in her gaze did not wane. "Why, because I received injuries while saving you?" she asked softly. "I made my own choice, Sire. It was no command I obeyed… but a decision I made out of my own will."
His eyes lifted to hers, wide with disbelief, as though struggling to comprehend her resolve. "You do not regret it?"
"No," she replied, her tone like polished stone. "Were time to turn its course, I would choose the same path. You are worth the risk."
A breath caught in Flavian's throat. He looked as though her words had struck him not with force, but with sudden clarity. "You must not speak such things," he whispered hoarsely, "for it tempts a man's heart to believe he might matter… far too much."
A trace of mischief shimmered in Leesa's eyes, softening the tired lines in her expression. "You do," she murmured. "You hold a place within my heart… a small one, perhaps," she added with playful restraint.
The silence that followed was not empty; it was electric, like the breath before a storm, the stillness before a cry of joy or grief. For Flavian, it was like a gust of wind that stole the ground from beneath his feet. He had not prepared for such honesty, and it revealed in him a vulnerability rarely seen by anyone.
Then Leesa, drowsy from the warmth of the sun and the relief in her chest, tilted her head slightly and offered a strange, tender smile. "But, Sire… why do you no longer call me El-e-boon?"
The question was gentle, but the name struck like thunder in his ears.
"My El-e-boon," she continued, mimicking the tone, stretching the vowels with affectionate teasing, "isn't that what you used to call me? Leeeeoo?" she added with playful exaggeration, imitating the strange dramatics of a voice now long lost to memory.
Flavian froze, his mouth parted in speechless astonishment. "What…!" he breathed at last, his voice rising with disbelief, excitement, and the thrill of something long hoped for. "You remember?"
Leesa laughed clear, melodic, and rich with joy. It was a sound no one had heard from her in many long years, and it filled the room like sunlight fills a chamber sealed too long in darkness.
"You remember?" He repeated breathlessly. "How? When? Since when?"
"Since I awoke," she replied, still chuckling as she pressed a hand to her temple. "It came back, all of it."
"Everything?" His voice was a whisper now, scarcely able to believe.
"Yes," she said, this time gently. "Everything."
She turned her gaze to the window, where the afternoon light spilled through the gauze of silk drapes, casting golden shadows upon the floor. She inhaled slowly, deeply. It was a good day, a warm, quiet afternoon where her memories returned, where she had made peace with the past, and where Flavian sat by her side, his heart bare and unguarded.
They spoke for hours, their conversation rich with shared recollections and laughter that healed more than time ever could. Only when Anton arrived, apologetic yet firm in his duty, did Flavian reluctantly rise. He cast one final glance at Leesa, who was now resting back against her pillows. And as he left the chamber, there was a lightness in his steps that had not been there in years.