I take them with me into the small restroom and shake one of the small white pills into my hand. Staring down at it, I try to divine its use. Perhaps I’ll turn into the same douchey prick the king is. The thought makes me smirk, despite my circumstances. I unscrew the bottle of water and toss the medication into my mouth before taking a long drink.

Almost immediately my stomach clenches. I’m sure even a healthy stomach might rebel against this medication if it were as empty as mine.

I lean against the counter and take slow, steady breaths. The jet chooses that moment to hit a patch of turbulence. I barely have time to turn my body to the toilet before I start to retch. Hot tears roll down my cheeks as my stomach tries to force its contents out of me.

I’m still bent over the toilet when the bathroom door bangs open, and the king strides in. He pulls back my hair while I dry heave, and once I’m done, he gathers me to him and strokes my face as I shake.

“How did you manage to hide this from everyone?” he asks, his voice soft.

I’m still too nauseous to answer. I curl up into him and bury my face in his shirt. “Don’t leave me,” I whisper. I don’t know why I say it; I don’t know why I’m giving or receiving compassion from this man. But I do know this: only compassion can redeem someone. Even the king. Even me.

The king carries me out of the bathroom and lays me out on one of the jet’s couches. I won’t let him go, and the feeling seems to be mutual by the way he cradles my torso in his arms.

He pulls one of his arms out from under me and brushes my hair away from my face. “You’re okay,” he whispers over and over again. His eyes look frightened, like I might die right here and now.

Gradually my stomach settles, and I feel a bit better. The king kisses the skin along my hairline, and I continue to cling to him. “I’m supposed to hate you,” I whisper.

He laughs humorlessly. “Are you finally admitting that you don’t?” he asks, his throat catching.

“Never,” I whisper.

“Liar.”

I curl up against him, forgetting for a while that he’s the culprit behind every bad memory I possess, and eventually I fall asleep in his arms.

Over the next two days, a biopsy is taken, and it’s confirmed that I have cancer. Then come the X-rays. By the end of my second day, I’m scheduled for surgery.

The hospital allows me to stay with the king for the evening. As soon as I see the fluffy bed in our room, I collapse onto it. The mattress dips as the king joins me.