The painkiller was taking effect. Amira wondered if she were hearing the woman correctly. “Dr. Rochon is here? And he did surgery on me? What surgery?”

The nurse became tight-lipped. “Best wait for the doctor to discuss that, Highness.”

“No. You tell me. I’m not superstitious. I won’t blame you for bad news. In fact, I’ll thank you. What surgery?”

There was pity in the nurse’s eyes. “You had internal injuries, Highness. You were hemorrhaging. They had to operate to save your life. They removed one of your kidneys. And your womb.”

How sad, thought Amira. Yet, it all seemed so distant, as if it concerned someone else. Thank God for the painkiller—morphine, whatever it was. Her womb. How sad.

“At least you have the son, Highness. And you are alive.” “Do you have children?”

“I’ve never married, Highness. It’s kind of you to ask.” The nurse adjusted the seating of an intravenous needle. “Rest now, Highness. I’ll be right here in case you need anything. And the doctors will be checking on you. My name is Rabia, by the way.”

Amira was floating out on a tranquil lake. The thought that Philippe would be there soon drifted by like a cloud in the sky. “Can you bring me a mirror?” she heard herself ask.

“A mirror? I—I’m afraid we don’t have one, Highness. Maybe I can find one for you later. Rest now.”

“Yes … Philippe.”

He was standing behind Dr. Konyali, concern in every line of his face. Dr. Konyali cleared his throat. “I’d forgotten you knew Dr. Rochon, Highness.” The little courtier would not have forgotten such a thing. He was merely glossing over Amira’s impropriety in addressing a man so informally.

She could not have cared less. The gaze of her one good eye had not left Philippe. She had never seen him in his medical garb. It made him look more boyish. Yet at the same time, he seemed older, frailer.

“Are you well, Philippe? What brings you here?”

His eyes crinkled in a smile. “Am I well? Who’s the patient here? How do you feel?”

She tried a smile herself. It hurt. “Never better.”

“You didn’t tell me this patient was suffering from a sense of humor, doctor,” said Philippe, glancing over Konyali’s shoulder at Amira’s chart. “As for what brings me here, His Majesty had a rather acute episode of his chronic trouble.

He asked me to fly down. When I arrived, he had learned of your accident and sent me directly to assist Dr. Konyali.”

The Turk fairly preened at the flattery, but Amira had caught Philippe’s slight emphasis on the word accident and his glance at her when he said it. A single thought cut through the fog of pain and medication: He knows!

“We don’t want to disturb your rest, Highness,” said Konyali. “It’s what you need most just now.” He shifted uncomfortably. “I gather that Rabia has told you about the various … procedures we performed.” “Yes.”