"My King," I whispered, rushing toward the bed and taking his hands. He trembled under my palms, his eyes barely opening. "This is the only way we can save you."
"You are injured," he whispered, the words intended only for me.
"I am perfectly fine." I felt the dull ache biting into my bones, but I waved it off. I had to save him.
"No one must know the King has been poisoned," the physician insisted. His eyes remained pinned on the wound, his mouth twisting in fury. "If the antidote arrives in time, it will still take days for him to recover."
"Days?" I frowned at the wound and turned back to the King. His eyes were closed, but he was clearly fighting to open them. His grip on my hand was iron-hard, as if he were battling an invisible force.
"We have to get it now," I said, the words coming out in a quick rush of air. The King let out a low growl in response.
