“Call for a sleeping draught, my darling,” True murmured to his wife.

Farah rose and moved to the door to call the nurse outside.

“We will talk later,” True said quietly to Alfie. “Much later.”

Alfie stared at him a moment before he looked to the ceiling.

Farah came back to True’s side as the nurse bustled about a table bearing clean dressings, vials, flasks and beakers.

“We’ll leave you after you take that draught,” True promised.

Alfie said nothing.

But when the nurse approached, he struggled, wincing fiercely, to pull himself up and took the glass from her himself.

The nurse’s eyes darted to True and Farah pressed close to his side, but True did not intervene.

Alfie needed to learn he could do things for himself, and he might as well start now.

When he handed the glass back to the nurse and collapsed again to the bed, she snapped, “Well, I cannot say I very much like you possibly pulling out your sutures simply so you can drink down a sleeping draught.”

Alfie blinked at her.

She looked at Farah, rolled her eyes and kept snapping, “Men. Worse, soldiers. Ulk.”

She then stomped to the table, put down the glass, turned around, and asked True, “Aught else, my prince?”

It was then True saw she was rather comely.

And she had a lovely figure.

Though her disposition, especially for a nurse, was odd.

“Uh, no,” he answered.

“How about you?” she asked Alfie. “Is there anything I can do for you? Say, bring the tinctures over to your bedside table so you can mix your own draught when you need it?”

“Would you let me do that?” Alfie queried.

“Bloody no,” she bit, threw up both hands like she thought he’d gone completely mad, then stormed out.

He felt Farah coming up on her toes beside him and then heard her whisper, “Would it be bad form to laugh?”

True watched Alfie’s astonished face as he stared at the door the nurse closed behind her and he answered in a whisper, “Maybe we should make the hall at least.”

She took his hand and squeezed.

She let him go in order to approach Alfie and kiss his cheek, but thankfully not do something that might upset him, like pull up his covers and tuck him in.

When his wife moved away, True bent and wrapped his fingers around Alfie’s forearm and he did this tight.

“We’ll talk more tomorrow,” he murmured.

Alfie sighed and then nodded.

True led his wife out of the room and to the stairs that would lead them up to their chambers, both of them, prince and princess, soon to be king and queen, dipping their chins respectfully to a bloody nurse for fear of what she might do if they didn’t.

On this thought, True was halfway to starting to laugh perhaps a little madly, and they were halfway up the steps, when his wife asked, “Do you know your mother’s maid?”