Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

THE PROLOGUE

Several times I tried to lay my thoughts on paper, and each time I failed. God is my witness that I was ready to die, yet whether it was His mercy or His punishment, something pressed upon my shoulders and tore the wicked thoughts from my hands.

Perhaps I truly should have left all my memories behind and followed fate in silence, but human nature always prevails. I suppose there must have been logical explanations for it, though I never discovered them… or rather, I chose not to. What I knew for certain was this: from the very moment my life was swept away, when my heart and soul no longer belonged to me, that was the place of my untimely death.

***

To him, in whose veins flows the blood of lords.

If I could describe the agony tearing my head apart, I would have perished in the telling. It was unbearable to such an extent that at times I begged God to send me death, for it seemed like salvation. My head was no longer mine, and my body had grown so weak that even the attempt to draw breath into my lungs felt like torture with burning coals. The wind, laced with grains of sand, brought momentary relief between intervals of suffering, but it was nothing more than a drop of honey tainted by tar.

When the tiny stones felt as though they had pierced my shoulders, and the sun scorched me with merciless fury, I managed to open my eyes and—so I believed—utter at least some cry for help. Later I was told it was nothing more than a pitiful groan. Yet it seemed I had been God’s favored after all: for soon I heard that maddening, grating sound striking the earth, followed by voices of men, carried to me from the abyss.

— Vivus?
"Alive?" — a cry rang out, one I would remember for the rest of my life.

I was more astonished by my rescuers themselves than by the fact that they were on horseback. To be honest, at that moment I cared very little about such details; I was only ready to shower in gratitude the one who first lifted me onto his shoulder, and then, like a sack of potatoes, slung me onto a mare.

— Ceteri mortui sunt. Tollite corpora et sepelite ea rite. Ego puellam capiam; pro Christo, illa narrabit quid poenam sibi invocarunt.
"The rest are dead. Gather the bodies and bury them properly. I will take the girl; for Christ’s sake, she will tell what punishment they have brought upon themselves."

That was the last thing I heard before losing consciousness again.

We rode with my “beloved” knight for about three hours — at least, that’s how I measured it, judging by the endless dance of my stomach during the journey. By the end, I was on the verge of spilling all my insides out. (Don’t ask me how I didn’t die in the scorching desert heat, without food or water for several hours — I’m still searching for that answer myself.) Thankfully, the man and his horse outpaced my body’s rebellion: by the time we reached a building — which I only managed to glimpse before being entrusted into the hands of what I assumed then to be a physician — my stomach was still intact.

He was a middle-aged man, somewhat stout, but with a kind expression on his face. Dressed entirely in white, a large golden cross gleamed upon his chest. The man who had carried me spoke a few instructive words to him, cast me one last glance, and departed, leaving me in the physician’s care. The doctor tended to me with such mercy on his face that I fancied he was none other than the Archangel Gabriel in human guise.

He began by wiping away the layers of dirt and dust that had collected on me during my time on the hard ground. Then he tried to pour into me a concoction that tasted like the most vile herbal brew from some back-alley apothecary. My description hardly does it justice: for it made me retch so violently that all my exhaustion seemed to vanish in the effort — at least I managed to lift myself enough not to soil the kindly uncle-doctor. Shame would come later; fortunately, he showed no anger, only muttered something under his breath before moving me closer to a window.

I remember clearly the look on his face when he realized that, after hours of effort, my mind was finally beginning to clear. Following my spectacular performance of how violently a starving person can vomit, he took note: better to give me the potion in small doses. And indeed, that worked far better — especially as I lay beside the open window, the air helping me endure the taste. Within an hour, I was sinking slowly into sleep, thanks to the man who labored so diligently for me.

***

The sharp clang of metal jolted me awake and tore me out of the world of dreams. I hurried to convince myself that I had already recovered, that weakness had finally left my body — but as I collapsed face-first onto the cold floor, I realized I still desperately needed help.

Lifting my gaze to the walls, I suddenly understood: this was not the place where I had fallen asleep, nor the place where the kindly physician had tended to me. My eyes caught on the filthy, dark floor, and the stench became unbearable.

— Gloria Deo, ad me rediit. Multa tibi quaestiones habeo.
"Thank God, she has come to her senses. I have many questions for you," — a man said as he opened the door to this chamber. A prison cell.

He was younger than the one who had treated me. His appearance was quite pleasant — handsome, even — with a lean, well-kept build. But on one side of his face, near his eye, there was a scar. All of that would have been nothing, had it not been for his attire. With the physician, I had paid little attention to what he wore; it hadn’t seemed very different from the clothes I myself had once worn years ago. Physicians had no standard uniform, and the white coat was not used everywhere. But him… By God, he looked as though he had stepped straight out of the illustrations of medieval knights from an eighth-grade history textbook.

And my suspicions were confirmed by the simple fact that this man spoke in Latin.

I never thought it would actually come in handy. Though, it depends on how you look at it: it’s one thing to know the names of medicines, and quite another to speak the language fluently. Both, in my current state, felt like torture.

The knight didn’t bother waiting for me to answer anything. He grabbed me by the forearm and yanked me up into a sitting position. The sudden motion forced a pained groan out of me; my eyes squeezed shut, and my head snapped back, hitting the wall.

— Could you be a little gentler!? I’m a girl, not a sack of manure! — I hissed bitterly, rubbing the sore spot.

— Non loqueris lingua mea?
"You don’t speak my language?" — the knight thundered in surprise.

Realizing just how pitiful my condition was, I managed to whisper:

— Paululum… "A little…"

Yes, I was still far from being able to form a coherent thought, so I’ll leave the self-criticism for later.

— Surge et sequere me.
Stand and follow me.

It took me a moment to understand what he wanted. And what a lack of manners! After all, standing before him was someone who had just regained consciousness, who had spent God knows how many hours without food or water.

He didn’t care; I had to grit my teeth through the pain and shove my pride somewhere out of the way. So, groaning, I trudged after him, casting one last glance at the cell I had been in. Half-alive, holding onto my forearm, I noticed the strange stares of the prisoners. Yes, compared to them, I must have looked like a foreigner. My stretched-out gray t-shirt and black pants suited a man more than a young girl.

Lost in my thoughts, I didn’t even notice when we stepped into the building’s garden. Now I was sure: this wasn’t a dream. Such pain alone should have woken me; if not, everything that had come before—was reality.

Children ran through the courtyard, the servants were in the middle of their work, but at the sight of us, they slowly bowed their heads in respect. Correction: at the sight of the knight. As for me, they glanced at me at most; at best, I caught sympathetic looks, for I looked like a beaten puppy.

We reached a table by the fountain, hidden behind some plants.

— Sede, "Sit," — he commanded, taking a seat at the table himself.

The servant immediately began bustling around the table: placing plates of fruit, then clearing others away. I slowly lowered myself onto the chair beside him, trying to process everything that had happened to me over those hours. Until the last moment, I wanted to deny that I had truly ended up in some remote corner of the medieval world; yet the truth hit my face like a blow. In the eyes of men, I probably looked just as insane, but still, he decided to start the conversation.

— Incipiam a parvo. Quod te vocant? “I’ll start small. What is your name?”

— Valeri.

— Tiberium me voca. Quis sunt tui parentes, Valeri? Unde es? Et quomodo in grege a maiestate sua missa te invenisti? “Call me Tiberius. Who are your parents, Valeri? Where are you from? And how did you come to be in the group sent by His Majesty?” — he began, firing questions at me. I understood that he spoke only in fragments. Although my consciousness had returned, it did not mean I could instantly recall the Latin I had learned years ago.

Yes, let’s be honest, “learned” is too generous a word. I knew only a few words—the basics, in plain language. I could introduce myself, recite the alphabet by heart, and handle numbers easily enough, but conversational Latin was beyond me. And if my suspicions about where I was proved correct, I urgently needed to come up with an alibi.

Of all things, becoming the subject of research in the medieval world was definitely not something I wanted. A girl from the future would most likely be dissected—at worst—or locked away for study at best. So I had to think quickly and craft a plausible story for myself.

The crosses on his clothing meant a Christian empire. The sword wasn’t like the ones I had seen in museums, so it must be late medieval times. The interior around me didn’t say much—an eclectic mix of French and Arab details—but since they spoke Latin, could it be Byzantium?

— Est… Byzantium? “This… Byzantium?” — I hadn’t felt so pathetic in a long time. I even wanted to repeat the question, as the man was staring at me for far too long. Perhaps he was offended that I had ignored his earlier questions, but pride didn’t seem to rule him.

— Hierosolyma. “Jerusalem,” — the sir pronounced clearly.

Almost right.

Realizing he wouldn’t get a proper answer from me, Tiberius changed his approach. He tried to phrase his questions more simply, and sometimes he even voiced my own answers when he caught fragments of my words. I was happy to respond with only “yes” or “no.” We “talked” for about an hour; during that time, I also found a chance to invent my own backstory. To make it convincing, I even let a single tear slip at the end. Apparently, it worked.

Tiberius explained that I had been unconscious near a dead group of knights sent to inspect an abandoned estate, now under Turkish control—more precisely, “the infidels,” as they were called at the time for those not following Christianity. To avoid offending anyone and for clarity, I decided to leave it in a more modern phrasing. The group had been sent personally by King Amory, but after waiting a month without a reply, he had dispatched Tiberius’ team to find out what had stopped them. The result: dead men, rotting horse carcasses, and me—lying breathless nearby.

What a mess I had gotten myself into.

I wove quite the story: my mother was from France, and my father was a Turk. Upon learning of such a union, the count under whose protection my mother supposedly lived wanted to execute our “family” for adultery and such a grave sin. My mother had managed to save me; I had made it to this estate, but after that, I remembered nothing.

I was a master at lying, and my lack of language skills only reinforced the impression of my incoherence. Whether Tiberius believed me or not, I had no idea. Throughout the conversation, his face revealed no sorrow or regret; he listened carefully and ultimately concluded that Jerusalem did not deny help, and anyone who came here seeking salvation could find it.

— Status tuus meliora desiderat. Iubeo Josephum de te curare, et cum vires tuae redierint, poteris regi servire. “Your condition leaves much to be desired. I order Joseph to take care of you, and once your strength returns, you will be able to serve the king.”

— “Regi?” — I echoed.

— In eius terra es et sub eius tacito patrocinio. Manus laborantes numquam supervacaneae erunt, et tua fidelitas usum inveniet. “You are on his land and under his silent protection. Working hands are never superfluous, and your loyalty will find its use.”

Our conversation ended there. Tiberius instructed one of the servants to take me to the infirmary wing, where I would eventually settle.

The following days blurred together, merging into one miserable tangle of suffering and contemplation. A girl my age had no place in the infirmary wing; Master Joseph made that clear when I was brought to him. Typically, young ladies were sent to the women’s quarters—to serve a lady or work in the kitchen. For a more spiritual life, there were the Sisters of Mercy, whose church stood not far from the palace. But as soon as I mentioned Tiberius’ name, the physician paused and ultimately decided to keep me with him.

I became a sort of assistant to Joseph, which was more than convenient. After all, I needed to understand where I was and who could stand in the way of any future escape. Gathering information next to the head of the castle’s medical department seemed quite appropriate. The master was very kind to me: he ensured I took the remedies to regain my strength, helped me study the language, and even decided to teach me reading and writing. It must have surprised him to learn that I could speak neither Turkish nor French.

Though he adapted to this and apparently concluded that, since I had two native languages, I mixed them, producing incoherent babble. One way or another, that first week was the best for me. Afterwards, full training in the arts expected of a young lady began. Honestly, it wasn’t suited to me. I was glad to assist Joe (yes, I called him that affectionately) with patients, clean his instruments, and even document things he needed. I was more useful in this than anyone else, having studied medicine in the past. My knowledge in the field was probably even better than all his students combined, but revealing it all at once was dangerous. So I resolved to gradually show Joe, step by step, where improvements in medicine could be made.

The other students noticed my progress, and Joe praised me for my diligence, but the happiness was short-lived. I was transferred to the women’s quarters, where girls were trained to serve Her Highness—the Princess Sybille.

The daily routine was as follows: rising early in the morning, prayer in the chapel, cleaning the princess’s room, assisting during meals (which mostly meant “fetch and serve”), washing Madame’s garments, and accompanying her when necessary. Since I was new, I was given simple tasks and mostly told to follow the head lady-in-waiting. The main rule—never be seen by the queen, and even better—never be seen by the queen or the prince. I understood the first rule easily enough, as the queen was very strict, but regarding the young prince, I had no idea. Joseph told me that the prince was kind; there was no young man in the world who could compare to him. Honestly, I wanted to believe my teacher’s words. But since it was said, I had to follow them.

On Saturday evenings, when most of the main retinue went to the dining hall, I carved out a few hours of free time and ran to Joseph. I missed his company so much; I hadn’t yet found common ground with the other girls. Unfortunately. And Joe was the only one I could trust to some extent.

Lifting the edge of my dress, I hurried to the infirmary wing with quick steps. The master would surely scold me—he thought it unbecoming for a young lady of my age to be in a place full of men (in his mind, I should have been married long ago)—but luckily, my puppy-dog eyes could persuade him.

— Ah! — I exclaimed as I stumbled over a sword lying in my path. Apparently, one of the knights had forgotten it again.

Cursed outfits.

— Valeri? Restless child! No matter how much I tell you, it’s of no use,” — the man said, looking up from his documents, — A girl of your age does not belong here.

— Master… — I bowed slightly, a sharp smirk tugging at the corners of my lips. — I missed you too.

— Time passes, and your words remain just as cheeky. At this rate, you’ll never get married.

— Is that so bad? — I smiled, approaching him. — I can be of use to you.

The master tapped the top of my head with a stack of papers before cutting me off sternly:

— Such a long tongue is often punished with the head, child.

Frowning, I ran my hand over my head, watching the master reach for books on the shelf.

— W-well, master, you have tasks for me, right? — I said hopefully.

— Behave yourself, — he walked around the room, stacked the books, and lit the candles on the candelabra. — Yes, there are.

My face lit up with a warm smile.

— These books… — He ran his hand over them and lowered his gaze. — They have long ceased to be used by students. They need to be cleaned and then delivered to the sisters in the church.

He left, and it was up to me to get to work. The pages were indeed dusty, and some were completely smudged. Not surprising—the room was hot, and the ink ran in the warm air of the study. Candles here and there illuminated the shelves. I had no idea what exactly to do with these pages, so I decided to leave it to the master’s judgment. I wiped the covers with a cloth, removing the dirt, and then leafed through the pages, checking them for damage.

One book caught my attention. Its title: “Medicine for Beginners. Fundamentals. Vol. 1.” I knew all the basics in this field… but it was a huge contrast to what was happening outside in the Middle Ages. Nevertheless, curiosity won, and despite my limited Latin, I decided to read a few pages. It started with the basics: how to hold instruments, how to tell if someone was sick, the most common ailments, and ways to treat them. Honestly, I disagreed with the author on many points. One piece of advice in particular puzzled me; I suspected that medicine in the Middle Ages was no better than my dancing skills—but to this extent…

— What nonsense! You can’t cure a fever by letting blood!” I muttered grimly.

Taking a blank sheet and some ink from the table, I decided to leave a note for whoever would use this book in the future.

Sisters of mercy, I hope you will pray for me.

The correct method for treating fever:

First, fever is not a disease but a symptom of the body trying to fight another ailment. Symptoms are primarily the body’s attempts to resist a future illness.

Second, under no circumstances should blood be let. Treating fever involves manually stabilizing the body’s condition. To counter the illness, follow my instructions:

1. Hygiene and Comfort

Frequent changing of sheets and linen (boiled water, clean fabrics).

Washing the skin with warm herbal water (chamomile, sage) to cool and reduce inflammation.

Ensuring rest and shade in the room.

2. Fluids and Nutrition

New discovery: during a fever, the body loses water; hydration is essential.

Provide the patient with herbal infusions, broths, milk, and water. Light food: porridge, soups, a few fruits (if available).

3. Reducing Temperature

Wipe the body with a damp cloth (cold water unavailable, but use well water or slightly cooled herbal decoctions).

Ventilate the room and remove excess blankets.

4. Herbs and Infusions

Permissible: chamomile, sage, mint—for reducing fever and calming.

5. Monitoring Complications

Observe breathing, pulse, color of lips and skin.

If severe symptoms appear (extreme weakness, bleeding, convulsions), notify a more experienced physician or the hospital.

Author — V.R.

— Seems I told you to clean the books, not read them, — a voice sounded behind me. I tore myself away and looked at Joe, standing with his arms crossed.

I quickly tucked the sheet into the book and closed it just as my teacher approached.

— You should give me more serious things to do — I said indignantly, slamming the stack of books. — I’m already done with everything.

Joseph scanned the table and smiled slightly. Then he raised his hand and ruffled my hair.

— That’s enough for today.

***

The quill slipped from my hands. My head ached, just like my back from sitting too long in an uncomfortable position. I ran my fingers over my eyes, trying to convince myself that I was doing the right thing by documenting all of this. Most likely, my notes would never be found, and worse—I'd probably destroy them myself. I have no idea who I am writing this for. But one thing I know for certain: I am no longer able to try to forget it.

Chapter Text

Quantum physics theories, the butterfly effect, the theory of relativity, wormholes—there was no end to the things swirling in my head as I sat for hours at the table, crossing out every possible explanation for what had happened to me. But in the end, I came to understand one thing: I wouldn’t get anything more—or less—out of it. So, I made the decision to return to the place where I had been found.

It was only a guess that I might find the answers to my questions in that very estate, for surely it wasn’t by mere chance that I ended up there.

Between my plans for escape and my palace duties, a small, nagging thought crept through my mind: maybe I’ve lost my mind?
Otherwise, how could I explain it… Why was there not a single memory in my head of what happened to me before I woke up in Jerusalem? To make matters worse, I couldn’t recall a single person close to me. Perhaps, in that other life, I’d had no one at all—but that didn’t seem logical.
Some deep, unshakable feeling inside me refused to let me believe my own reasoning. And if that’s the case, then perhaps I am indeed mad… and honestly, I don’t mind pretending to be the town lunatic. Something tells me I’ve done it before.

***

Headaches—my favorite part of the day. Or, to be more precise, the way every day ended.
Hour after hour, there was never a moment to catch my breath, and recently this pain had begun to stalk me like a cat chasing a mouse.
From that, another problem followed: sleep refused to claim me.
No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t sleep for more than three hours.

When Joseph found out about this—thanks at first to Tiberius, who had “casually” mentioned it to the magister after noticing me wandering around the palace for an entire week—he began bombarding me with questions.
He read passages from the Bible, trying to offer comfort, but my grief was far stronger than his words.

At times, so as not to upset my teacher further, I would ask for extra duties in medical aid or more practice in Latin, since I still had certain imperfections in my pronunciation.

My teacher seemed to be following the method of “good cop, bad cop.” At first, there were gentle persuasions, herbal sleeping remedies, and kind words.
But later, he began to play his trump cards.

Joseph started taking an interest in my progress as a lady-in-waiting.
And to be perfectly honest, I found no pleasure in this role whatsoever and constantly sought excuses to avoid my duties. The magister, however, made sure I worked harder than ever and even asked the chief lady-in-waiting to report on my behavior. His efforts paid off: by the end of the day, I would collapse, utterly exhausted—in both the literal and figurative sense. Fortunately, Tiberius was sometimes nearby, always ready to help.

Ah… if only he showed me as much care and attention as Joseph did.

One way or another, life—if it could even be called that—kept circling in its endless loop, while I felt like nothing more than an observer, merely watching it unfold without ever truly taking part.

***

One evening, while I was in my teacher’s study, painstakingly copying reports, I didn’t even notice how quickly night had fallen.
My weary eyes caught on the flickering flame of a candle on the candelabrum. A draft slipped through the room, lifting a few strands of hair by my face, and then I heard the heavy sound of footsteps behind me.

— You’re still here? — the master’s voice rang out from behind.
I rubbed my eyes with my fingers and exhaled before answering.

— All for your sake, — I replied, a sly smirk briefly curling my lips as I turned my head toward him.

For the briefest moment, my gaze met Joe’s. Whether it was fatigue or simply the poor lighting, I could’ve sworn I saw a fleeting shadow of regret cross his face. God only knows what goes on in Joe’s head and what he truly thinks of me, but it seemed I wasn’t the only one who had begun to grow attached.

— You have great talent, — Joe said, picking up a finished page I’d set aside while working on the reports. — The other students look up to you.

I didn’t react to his words at all. In truth, I had no strength left—neither for joy nor for sorrow.
Rotten world! How utterly wretched I felt at that moment, and God is my witness: I didn’t even have the faintest suspicion then as to why I was so unhappy. Was it longing for my old life? The grief of my new one? A bit of both, perhaps.

— Follow me.

The master’s words passed me by until I heard the sound of his footsteps fading away. Setting aside my quill and papers, I rose from the table and immediately followed after him.
I didn’t ask any questions, deliberately avoiding the answers I didn’t wish to hear. At that moment, I simply wasn’t in the state to care. Truth be told, I felt ready to face the executioner’s block if it came to that.

To my surprise, however, the master led me not to the gallows, but to the Church of the Holy Sepulchre.

So, God is on my side.

I rarely paid much attention to the interior before, but now… the towering columns, the walls adorned with intricate paintings, the golden inlays…
I remember standing there for several minutes, simply taking in the splendor, until Joseph’s voice pulled me out of my reverie.

— Come to Me, all you who labor and are burdened, and I will give you rest. — Matthew 11:28

Joe’s gaze lingered on the icons and murals displayed in the center of the hall.
He turned a golden cross over in his hands, deep in thought.

— For I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls, —
I added, stepping up beside him.

— Correct, — the master said with a fleeting smile, before leading me to the very center of the hall, where a great cross stood, adorned with gemstones and gold.
— There is no peace in your soul, — he said softly, — and I would be glad to hear the reason why.

We stopped when he spoke those words.
Or rather, I froze — stunned by the simplicity of them, because, in truth, I didn’t know how to respond.
And in such moments, my best solution has always been to flee from the conversation entirely.

— Peace can only be found in Heaven, — I said quietly, — or through confession before the Lord, can it not?

A question meant to deflect, but the master, it seemed, had no intention of backing down.

— Sometimes your own mind is the stumbling stone you place in your own path, — Joe said, running his hand from the crown of his head down to the cross before the icon of Saint Mary.
Then he looked at me, his gaze sharp yet filled with something deeper,
— But believe me — the time will come when you will no longer be able to answer your own questions. And then neither wit nor insight will save your soul.

— All of us will face such a moment one day, — I replied softly, — and only the Lord’s will shall decide how we endure it.

— Valeri, my child… — The master slowly turned toward me; in his eyes was a sorrow that struck me painfully in the chest.
I knew with absolute certainty that I was unworthy of such a look.
He touched my forearms — gently, like a father might touch his daughter — and his eyes pleaded silently for a reply.
But I remained unyielding.

I could not allow myself to be opened up, could not reveal my true self — neither my pain nor my joy.
I had to leave as quietly as I had come, a shadow among the candles and the stone.

Exhaling, I gave a slight, deliberate twitch of my shoulders, forcing the master to let go.
And yet, even now, I cannot shake the feeling that I was far too harsh.

***

From that day on, my desire to leave grew at a geometric rate, while my packed days left me not a single moment for myself.
By the end of each day, I was wrung out like a lemon — if that lemon had been squeezed for ten straight hours, and the lemon itself just so happened to be a medieval girl.

But! I wouldn’t be me if I couldn’t find at least one silver lining in any situation.
Over time, a clear map of the palace etched itself into my mind: every hidden passage, staircase, turn, and room.
The only area still unknown to me was the upper floors of the castle — where the king and his family lived.
Not that I had any reason to care about the nobility.

I swear I won’t sneak into their rooms to bid them a tearful farewell before I vanish.

Still, to pull this off, I needed to carefully plan every step and detail.
For every plan B, I had to invent another plan B.
In the evenings, when I helped the master tidy up his study, I carved out little moments to jot down my observations.
I made a point of writing in my own language: if anyone stumbled upon my notes, they wouldn’t be able to make sense of a single word.

As for my relationship with the master, it had grown rather cold since that night.
I won’t pretend to understand why he watches over me so closely.
Perhaps, in his old age, some fatherly sense of responsibility has suddenly awakened in him — who knows.
To tell the truth, there were moments when the distance between us stung bitterly.
But, as I’ve said before, this was for the best.
The fewer fond thoughts anyone has of me, the sooner they’ll forget me once I’m gone.

Yes, I’m a true psychologist — God-given talent and all.

***

— Ay! — A bitter yelp, mixed with the clatter of metal hitting the floor, made me turn around.

A fair-haired girl sat on the ground, surrounded by rolling jars and various tools she had dropped from a tray. At first, I let out a light chuckle at the sight — but don’t worry, my heart is still in the right place. She looked about fourteen, maybe younger: painfully thin, with puppy-dog eyes and fragile, delicate hands. Oh, right! I’d seen her before — among the girls Tiberius had brought back. (By the way, he seems to have some kind of… fixation on bringing very young girls to the palace.) He and his group had gone away for several weeks to some distant lands; I have no idea what mission they’d been assigned, but when they returned, they brought back large chests filled with jewels and provisions.

The girl hurriedly began gathering the fallen items, mumbling something incoherent under her breath. When I came closer, it seemed like she was on the verge of tears. Ah, what an angelic little face! Another moment of that pitiful look and, I swear, even I might have shed a tear.

— Hey, hey! Easy now, — I interrupted, helping her collect the jars. — You’re new here, aren’t you?

She nodded.

— Can you speak?

— Ah, yes!

Well, that confirmed it — she was still frightened. The head lady-in-waiting alone is enough to terrify someone like her.

— Get up.

Her hands were trembling, her eyes darting nervously; clearly, she thought I was about to scold her. Lucky for her, that’s never really been my style.

— Your name?

— Me? Ah, Lilit, milady.

Oh, so I’m milady now? I already like this girl. A few more words like that and I’ll start getting a little too full of myself.

— Valeri, — I corrected her with a small smile, — and I’m not a milady.

She quickly lowered her gaze, wringing her hands awkwardly.

— Where are you taking all this?

— Lord Tiberius ordered me to deliver it to the chambers of His Highness, Prince Baldwin.

That sweet little stone-faced man? Why the sudden urgency? He could’ve found someone else to ask. Though, when I looked closer at what was on the tray, I tensed. These jars filled with potions and dried herbs — I’d seen them myself in Joe’s study and had even helped make some of them. Why would Baldwin need these?

— Is the prince unwell?

— I… I don’t know, milady.

Hmm. It really did seem urgent.

— Alright, — I said, taking the tray from her hands and glancing at Lilit. — I’ll deliver it. You can go.

— Oh no, milady! I can do it myself—

I cut her off mid-sentence.

— Yourself? With those tiny hands of yours? Don’t be ridiculous, — I said with a smirk as I walked past her.

— Thank you, milady!

She didn’t fully understand, of course, but my casual tone must have convinced her.
Here’s what I was thinking about: a few days ago, His Majesty and the Queen went on a hunting trip. In such cases, the royal physician always accompanies them, so that if anything happens, the monarch can receive immediate medical care.

I rarely had a chance to be on the royal family’s floor. Inexperienced maids like me or Lilit weren’t allowed there until we proved ourselves to be trustworthy, competent servants. It was far more beautiful here: tall columns, candles everywhere, and plants practically at every corner. Ah, I would have loved to wander around and take it all in—if I hadn’t suddenly heard voices coming from the distant chambers.

There was a guard stationed near the open doors, and I could hear hurried footsteps from inside.

Oh, if only I’d known then what awaited me!

When the guards saw the tray in my hands, they let me through.
I stepped into a room bustling with servants and Joseph’s apprentices. In the bed lay young Prince Baldwin, while Princess Sibylla sat at his side, her eyes brimming with tears. Standing near the girl was Tiberius, watching as others made desperate but futile attempts to bring the heir back to consciousness.

The prince was pale as a ghost, with dark circles under his eyes and, unless my eyes deceived me, beads of sweat forming on his forehead, causing his fair hair to cling to his face. Even so, it didn’t make him any less handsome.

— Ahem… and what exactly is going on here? — I whispered as I approached, standing just behind the man.
He turned to me in surprise, his gaze dropping to the tray in my hands.

— Finally! — The man who had been fussing over the bed immediately snatched the tray from me, not even pausing to explain.
I remained silent, waiting for an answer to my question.

— Prince Baldwin hasn’t woken up. God be my witness, it’s some illness—some dreadful affliction.

Hmm. More likely just a simple cold or flu. If they’d seen the weather outside—rain one minute, freezing wind the next, followed by sudden heat—they’d understand why. I was more surprised half the palace wasn’t already sick. And from what I’d heard, the prince’s health was rather fragile to begin with.

What I saw over the next few minutes was like a painting come to life—or rather, a showcase of every ridiculous medieval “healing” method imaginable.
One healer was waving a jar of vinegar under the boy’s nose, another was vigorously massaging his limbs, while a third insisted they needed to let blood. They had even summoned a priest, who stood clutching a cross, muttering prayers for the prince’s swift recovery.

I wanted so badly to smack them all on the back of their heads, the same way Joseph often did to me. None of their methods would help—and most of them would probably make the poor boy’s condition even worse.

To be honest, I hadn’t wanted to get involved. But it was impossible to ignore the way Tiberius was watching me—his sharp, scrutinizing gaze practically burned through me.
Suspicion flickered in his eyes, as if he believed I might actually know how to help.
No wonder he was always scolding me for hovering around the master.

The weight of the scene—the princess’s tears and the man’s unrelenting stare—finally pushed me to make a decision.

— Has His Majesty been informed? — I finally asked, glancing at Tiberius.

— Earlier this morning, — he replied curtly.

— They’re going to kill him, you know that, right?

The room went eerily silent.
Oh no… Did I say that out loud?

— What did you just say? Princess Sibylla’s voice was sharp and severe as she turned toward me.
The healers glared as well, their eyes practically devouring me in outrage.

Tiberius grabbed my arm and pulled me aside, growling for the others to keep working.

— Be so kind as to explain yourself, — he said roughly.

— First of all, take your hands off me, —
I jerked my arm free and took a step back.
We’re not that close.

My gaze swept from the fumbling healers to the pale, unmoving prince before I finally declared,

— They’re only making things worse.
I shoved Tiberius slightly so he would face the scene himself. — The prince’s condition is the result of a weak immune system. The weather’s been swinging between cold rain and sudden heat—it’s common when the seasons change. This looks like nothing more than a common cold. I don’t think it’s anything serious.

— You know how to treat this?

The question came out tense, demanding.
And there it was—the dilemma.
If I answered yes, what would he do with that knowledge?
By the rules of this place, I wasn’t even allowed to treat men.
But if not me… these so-called healers would drive the boy’s health straight into ruin.

— I think so, — I said carefully, lifting a hand to point at the prince’s pale face.
— Look: his complexion is ghostly because he’s lacking essential nutrients. He doesn’t get nearly enough fresh fruits and vegetables.
And he’s breathing with a rasp in his throat because he drinks mostly cold beverages—wine and other vile stuff. Massaging his body might increase his blood flow, sure, but it won’t actually help.
And forcing him to stand up so abruptly…

— What needs to be done? Speak plainly.

What manners, interrupting a girl like that? I am in my element!
But… he’s right. Words alone won’t do—action is required.
Sighing and crossing my arms, I turned toward him.

— You want to entrust the prince’s treatment to me?

He remained silent, his gaze flicking between the prince’s bed and me.

— By the rules, I don’t have the right to do this, but… I can give orders that will make him feel better.

— Fine, — Tiberius began moving toward the prince’s bed, opening his mouth to calm the chaos around them.
But I grabbed his hand and pulled him back, raising a finger to my lips to command silence.

— Don’t rush, dear, — I whispered into his ear.
He froze, mouth slightly open in astonishment.
— There’s a price to this.

Of course, I’m no fool—I won’t help for free.
I’m more than confident in my abilities; after the prince’s miraculous recovery, at the very least, people will notice me.
And extra attention equals complications for my planned escape.
But I can find advantages everywhere, even in the crosses of a graveyard.

— We’re talking about the health of Jerusalem’s heir. Is it very Christian to bargain with help?

— And why should I care? — I laughed, crossing my arms, —
Is there even a drop of nobility in a lowborn wretch like me?

Someday I’ll pay for my sharp tongue—but that day hasn’t come yet.
Old wounds, however, spare no one.

— What do you want?

The man’s face was as serious as it could be, and I realized there was no point in flirting anymore.

— A favor for a favor, — I shrugged, glancing past Tiberius before fixing my gaze on him.
— You’ll owe me. That’s all.

He didn’t take long to think it over, but I could tell by his expression that he wasn’t thrilled at the idea of being indebted—especially to a woman like me.
Yet his love for his nephew won out.
He agreed, and I began to act.

Tiberius ordered everyone in the room to stop and follow my instructions.
I expected some of the men to respond to a woman’s words with disdain…
But what surprised me the most was Princess Sibylla.
In everyday life, she was very kind—but at that moment, she looked like a predator.

— Why should they obey her? the girl spat, rising sharply from the bed,
— How can you know she can help my brother? She’s just a handmaiden.

— She’s been studying under Joseph for several months already. He trusts her more than any other student, — Tiberius spoke up for me.
He exhaled and stepped toward the girl, placing his hands gently on her shoulders.
— Trust me.

— You may punish or even execute me if my methods fail, — I added.

The princess pursed her lips for several minutes, weighing the pros and cons.
Under Tiberius’s calming gaze, she eventually consented—though she threatened that she would personally kill me if I harmed the prince.

For heaven’s sake, I didn’t mind.

I ordered that the bedding be changed every three days, that the boy not be swaddled in furs, and that he be fed only light foods—nothing fried or heavy for digestion.
Under no circumstances should bloodletting be performed, and his temperature should be checked every few hours.
I also instructed that I would prepare a special ointment to be rubbed in morning and evening.
Finally, I ordered all incense removed and the room to be aired.

Overall, I said nothing extraordinary, and I assured them that the prince would recover before His Highness returned.

But how wrong I was.

***

During my usual routine, I had completely forgotten that Prince Baldwin was still ill.
Believe me, I was sure that by the next day he would be on his feet at the latest, and at minimum, would have regained consciousness—but no news came for a while.

Following my daily schedule, just as I was setting the table for the princess, I was suddenly grabbed roughly by the arm and dragged upstairs like a puppy by the scruff of its neck.
Something felt off immediately, but I didn’t want to intervene until the last moment.
I was forced under the princess’s feet. I stood there bewildered for several minutes, ignoring Sibylla’s complaints entirely; my gaze caught the even paler face of Baldwin.
How much time had passed? I had given orders, involved Tiberius, prepared the ointment that needed rubbing and could help him get back on his feet… for heaven’s sake, why was he still unconscious?

— You will be punished, — those words sobered me instantly.

In a flash, I was lifted to my feet again, and my arms were twisted behind my back.
One knight pressed a dagger to my throat. I swear my hair stood on end, and the situation no longer seemed remotely amusing. My body froze; words caught in my throat.
Tears rolled down the princess’s face; until the last moment, I thought she didn’t want to execute me, hoping that her brother would wake…
The servants and the patriarch standing nearby tried to reassure her that they would do everything possible to get the prince back on his feet.

— Sibylla! — a loud shout made everyone present turn toward its source.

Ah, Tiberius… I was ready to surrender if you saved my backside again.

— Release the girl, — the man ordered, stepping into the room.

— Why?! Because of her, Baldwin still hasn’t regained consciousness! You trusted her, and look at what it’s come to! — the princess exclaimed, but under his sharp gaze, the knights let go of me.

I fell to the floor again; my hands shook, my vision darkened, and my head throbbed with relentless force.
It felt as if I had once more been in the desert near the abandoned estate. I felt just as awful.

Amid Sibylla’s scolding, after a few minutes I managed to collect myself.
Though my hands still trembled, I was able to speak:

— Please… let me examine His Highness.

My voice was soft and nervous; yet the scolding (and argument) halted.

— To make my brother even worse? Get out of here!

— Sibylla, enough! — Tiberius grabbed her hand as she approached me and pulled her toward himself.
Her displeased face still weighed heavily on me, but I moved toward His Highness’s bed.

Oxygen seemed to leave me as I examined the prince.
I felt the princess’s intense gaze and Tiberius’s scrutinizing attention at the back of my neck, but I chose to focus on the young man’s condition.
I checked his temperature—it was oddly below normal—and the corpse-like hue had already begun to show on Baldwin’s face.
His pulse was weak, and I couldn’t figure out what was wrong until my eyes caught a piece of fur lying beneath his hands.

— Excuse me… — I whispered, moving the fur aside, but then I froze.
His hands! Damn it, what a rage consumed me at that moment.
A bluish-green bruise adorned one hand, along with a mark from bloodletting, even though I had strictly forbidden it.
I threw that damn piece of sable onto the floor.
These idiots ignored my warnings, but at least they had used my ointment. How did I realize it?
The inner side of the prince’s arms rested on the fur, and they bore small signs of irritation.
I had used a small amount of alcohol in my ointment. If it touches tender skin under any fur, there’s a fifty percent chance irritation will begin.
In this case, the prince was already weak, and this became the catalyst for a new problem.

I'll kick their skinny asses.

Suddenly standing, I felt the blood drain from my face and, in a harsh voice, ordered everyone who had been in the prince’s chambers these past days to be brought to me.
I didn’t have to wait long; as if sensing the trouble about to come, these fools remained silent until I opened my mouth.

— Who among you was responsible for His Highness’s bed?

The silence didn’t last long. I was probably staring at them like a true executioner—I have no idea, but my mood was exactly that.

— I, — a thin young man with hollow cheeks said, looking at me with contempt and obvious hostility. — His Highness deserves better.

— Oh, really.

My hand moved almost by reflex, and a sound like a loud door slap echoed through the chambers.
The boy recoiled and fell to the floor, clutching his face.

A dead silence filled the room.
I grabbed that idiot by the hair and dragged him to His Highness’s bed; he screamed in pain and tried to break free.

— Better, you say? — I stopped halfway to the bed, lowered myself to the boy’s level, and grabbed his face, forcing him to look me in the eyes. — Ignoring all my instructions?

— W-what are you…

— Shut your mouth, fucking bastard, — I said, clenching his hair in my fist and turning his head toward Prince Baldwin. — There’s alcohol in my ointment. If the skin touches the fur, irritation will begin. You think I said not to wrap the prince in furs for no reason?

He began to tremble, which only fueled my anger.

— I just… I…

— Thought you could make the heir better by cutting short his recovery time?!

Tears welled up in his eyes; within a minute, he began to break down in hysteria, begging for forgiveness.
I held him like that, the rest of the onlookers watching with anxious expressions, until I finally spoke:

— Take him out, now! — I shouted, — Remove all the incense, change the bed linens, and revive the prince. I told you not to bleed him—now deal with the consequences of your mistakes!”

They blinked silently until Tiberius’s rough voice snapped them back to reality.

— What are you standing there for?! Get to work!

Chaos erupted in the room again; Tiberius led the princess out, and I ignored the rules entirely, focusing on the task at hand.

***

— You have two days, — Tiberius said, leaving me with those words.

Hm, a real challenge, but should I complain? I knew I should have kept silent at that moment, yet some devil inside me tugged at my tongue. Regretfully, I had to rely solely on the Lord while caring for the prince, hoping he would wake at any moment.

Near the door stood the guards, insisted upon by Princess Sibylla, who still doubted my abilities. Under their stern gaze—and under my own relentless efforts—I spent all my time in the prince’s chambers. I undid all the damage caused by the old physicians’ “treatments” and focused solely on my method.

First of all, I personally threw out the cursed incense—the room finally had fresh air. But with it came another smell. These fools hadn’t even bothered to wash the patient’s body. I had clearly said that after every massage with the ointment, the residue needed to be washed off within a few hours, or a new problem would arise.

No one questioned the fact that a girl was treating a member of the royal family. Maybe I simply didn’t notice, or maybe it was Tiberius’s doing—God knows.

Next, I took charge of Baldwin’s diet: I ordered porridge made from finely ground grains and forced him to swallow it. Warm compotes and drinks were also used, which helped clear the rasp in his throat. Over time, the boy began to regain consciousness and open his eyes, but he was still too weak even to sit up.

At night, he suffered from fever, so I formally stayed in his chambers. When I heard his labored breathing mixed with groans, I applied cold compresses and massaged his body. From my observations, he suffered from nightmares, which only made things worse.

I asked for the patriarch to be summoned to read passages from the Bible. I didn’t expect miracles from faith, but it turned out he calmed down excellently during the readings. Later, I asked for a book myself, since the patriarch could not stay at Baldwin’s bedside day and night.

Several days passed this way, until one evening Tiberius arrived with the words:

— The king will arrive tomorrow morning.

My tired eyes stared at him; I had been without rest for so many days that I didn’t immediately understand what he said.

— He looks better.

I let out a nervous chuckle, resting my head on the bed and closing my eyes.

— What difference does it make? My head will be off my shoulders in a few hours anyway; Princess Sibylla wanted him awake by the time His Highness arrives, — I pressed myself against the bed, my voice dropping. Feeling the man’s hand on my shoulder, I groaned bitterly, — I hope you’ll bury me with honors.

— Don’t speak nonsense, Sibylla said that in a fit of anger.

I said nothing. Tiberius left me alone. My eyes drifted to the window, where the sun was setting; within fifteen minutes, the night had cloaked the city. I remained by the prince’s side. Oh, how long I hadn’t slept.

My hands tangled in my hair when I heard the prince cough. Taking the warm serum, I poured it down his throat and watched as he began to feel better. And when did I feel better? I had already forgotten. Studying Baldwin’s face, I reconciled myself with my fate about ten times: if I didn’t survive until morning, at least I’d finally get some sleep.

I had no strength to make it to my own room, and the guards wouldn’t have let me go anyway, asking endless questions. So I collapsed onto the prince’s bed, ignoring all manners and propriety—what were they for now?

And I slept like a baby. It felt as if a second wind had opened inside me. The night was magical in many ways, and honestly, I would have even preferred for my head to fall off my shoulders while I slept—it would have been more pleasant. But happiness was short-lived. About four hours later, I felt something touching or tugging at my hair.

Damn! I had almost hoped I was back home and that my fat cat Louis was lying on my head.

But it was Crown Prince Baldwin. Honestly, at first I thought it was a dream, and that’s exactly what I blurted out as I opened my eyes wide.

— You’re so exasperating! Am I supposed to see your face even in my dreams now?! — I groaned, brushing his hand away and turning to the other side.

— Milady? — the prince’s voice struck me like a whip across the face. I jolted awake from my drowsy state in an instant.

What a scene! There I was, in bed with the half-dressed—half-dressed meaning that, in those times, appearing before someone in a nightgown was considered intimate and revealing—heir of Jerusalem! Honestly, I deserved a monument for this in my lifetime!

Baldwin examined me intently as I hurriedly slid off the bed and bent into a bow.

— Please forgive me, Your Highness. — Oh, how I wanted to laugh at that moment, but I held myself back, trying to show genuine remorse. — Are you feeling any better?

— Quite well, — he replied. He looked like a child fresh from a bath: tousled hair, sleepy appearance, and a sweet, soft face; his voice was sugary to the point of cloying.

— What happened to me?

— You were unwell, that’s all. Do not worry. Nothing serious, thank God, — I tried to sound convincing, but really, I just wanted to get out of there. — With your permission…

I was already preparing to leave when Baldwin’s voice stopped me.

— Who are you, milady? And is this your doing?

The prince really was a model of courtesy! So, Joe hadn’t been lying.

— It’s nothing, my prince. I am merely a maid of Princess Sybilla. Your uncle ordered me to stay here and report if your condition worsened.

Of course, I’m no fool. There are those who always crave the spotlight, and those who prefer to stay in the shadows. Undoubtedly, I found myself caught between two fires, but it’s better to keep silent on that matter for now. I don’t think this young man would want to hear that his own attendants almost brought him to his grave. And I had no desire to elevate myself at their expense. Better to proceed slowly but surely than quickly and fail.

Chapter Text

I really remember very little after my spectacular awakening next to the king’s boy. Honestly, the only thing I wanted was to get some sleep—and, in fact, I did. Our conversation ended the moment Tiberius entered the room. I didn’t pay much attention to what he was saying anyway, because the thought of sweet sleep clouded my mind. So my feet slowly but surely carried me to the shared bedroom where the other ladies-in-waiting slept.
However, I woke up on a couch in the medical wing. Before collapsing onto the bed and fully surrendering to the world of dreams, I distinctly felt someone’s presence. More than that: this someone sat on the couch next to my head, humming a lullaby and gently stroking my hair. A voice, like the sound of a gentle rain, whispered in my ear, while hands ran through my dark hair, sending me instantly back to sleep.

I paid no mind to who it was; at that moment, I was only praying to the Lord to return me home. To my own house. Nothing in the world mattered more to me, though I knew my request was immense and the price for it would be high.

***

A hand held my head as I closed my eyes and slowly yawned. Two days had passed since I had gotten the prince back on his feet, and King Amalric and his wife Agnes had returned to the palace. For two whole days, I had tried to steal a nap whenever I could—and had failed each time.

Even now, in the kitchen, while going over Lady Rose’s (the chief lady-in-waiting) orders, I desperately wanted to lie down somewhere. In this cursed palace, even the thought of rest was a luxury, and my constant sleepiness and exhaustion always made me a target for the older woman.

As for the prince and the entire situation, I honestly didn’t even want to hear the names of this incompetent family, yet the palace seemed to buzz with them anyway. How interesting: a mysterious healer had set the crown prince on his feet—an achievement that brought a sly smile to my face. These people had no idea what my limits were; however, I had made it very clear that I would stay under the radar, because being burned alive with cries of “witch!” was the last thing I wanted.

It was so difficult here. Not a moment to breathe freely—always needing to be careful not to give myself away. While mentally reprimanding the palace, I didn’t notice my mind starting to drift off to sleep—but even that lasted no more than five minutes. The table shook under the weight of armor, and a loud thud made me snap my eyes open and jump.

— Ah, it’s you, — I exhaled, seeing Tiberius sitting across from me.

— Did I wake you?

— No, of course not.

Of course he didn’t wake me—it was just my soul leaving my body for a moment.

— How’s the troublesome prince? Lately, it’s all I hear about, — I rubbed my eyes, trying to focus on the man’s face. He hadn’t spoken to me all this time for a reason.

— He’s well, thank God.

— I’m glad to hear that.

Out of the corner of my eye, I glanced at the cooks preparing dinner for Princess Sybilla. They were taking forever—I’d been waiting for an hour. God forbid Lady Rose notice my idleness.

— The king sends his regards to you.

— Huh? What?

Tiberius rummaged through his pocket, and I was completely unsure what to expect from King Amory, so a chill of anticipation ran through me.

— Here, — Tiberius said, sliding a small velvet box decorated with tiny stones toward me. I wondered what was inside; just the box itself looked more expensive than all of my outfits combined.

Slowly, I opened it. Inside was a small pendant in the shape of a cross, with a crimson stone—likely a ruby—at its center. Even though I’m no expert, back in my time, this piece would have been valued at thousands, perhaps even millions, of dollars.

— Oh, His Majesty, — I whispered, fingers tracing the chain and resting on the ruby, eyes closed. — How kind of him. But I thought no one in the palace, not even the royal family, knew about me.

— There’s little you can hide in a palace, — Tiberius replied.

— I thought you had taken care of that.

— Just a little. But people will talk.

— Well, I suppose you’re right, — I said, as the box snapped shut with a sharp click. I looked up at the count in return.

— Please, convey my thanks, but I don’t need it.

I slid the item back toward him and got up from the table, leaving under his puzzled gaze. Though Tiberius didn’t seem all that surprised—apparently over these months, he’d grown used to my odd outbursts.

— Valerie, the princess’s dinner is ready! — came a voice from behind the wall where the cooks were.

— I’m coming! — I shouted, then glanced at Tiberius, — They won’t chop off my head for this, will they?

The count smirked, rising from the table and approaching me. What an audacious man! He didn’t even laugh at my jokes, yet the idea that I could be handed over to the sword seemed to amuse him.

— No, but I strongly advise you to tone down your boldness. With me or Joseph, your antics go unchecked—but joking around with the royal family is dangerous.

— I’ve noticed, dear.

— Still, the king asked me to tell you: if you need anything, you have only to ask.

That’s how the conversation should have started! That trinket with the little gem wasn’t what I needed at all—but there was something else my heart desired. And yet I wondered how Tiberius, and even worse, King Amalric himself, would react. God forbid he takes it as an insult.

— That’s very kind of him, — I began slowly, letting my gaze slide from the count’s figure. — Actually, there’s something I would like.

— I’m all ears.

— I don’t want to be a servant anymore.

— What?

— Wait, let me finish! — I exclaimed hastily, stepping toward him and waving my hands, — Ahem… I mean, I would like to become a full-fledged student of Joseph, like the other apprentices.

— What’s stopping you? Rose, as far as I know, doesn’t give you serious tasks, — Tiberius said wearily, rubbing his neck.

— Easy for you to say! Try spending even one day working as a lady-in-waiting…

— Is this about Sybilla? Don’t hold a grudge against her; i swear you she...

— No, how dare I. The princess has nothing to do with it, — I sighed, crossing my arms. — Darling, you’re smart; you should understand this the first time.

That “darling” clearly threw him off, and my ego enjoyed it. It’s amusing to see such noble counts lose their composure over a single word.

— Alright, I’ll talk to Rose, — he said, one hand resting on his waist, the hilt of his sword worn from habitually stroking it.

— And yet… — He picked up the box from the table and handed it to me, — You’re walking a fine line. Your cross—sell it if you wish. But refusing a gift from the king is like walking to certain death by divine will.

His voice held a chill, and his face grew contemplative before he left the kitchen, leaving me bewildered. What a man, Tiberius! God knows, but certainly not me… And yet, it made him even more intriguing.

— Just a little more ambiguity and you’ll become the next Joseph! — I called after him, grinning at my own foresight.
Behind me, I heard a quiet laugh and small footsteps. Turning, I met the girl—Lilith, I think. Her face held a light smile, but when she saw me, she nervously looked away. Foolish! Who was I to judge?

— Excuse me, milady… — the girl whispered, clutching the edges of her garment.

— Relax, — I said with a smile, waving a hand, — Between us: this sweet face becomes even sweeter when embarrassed.

A blush immediately spread across Lilith’s cheeks, and her eyes widened in astonishment.

— Milady! Can one… Count Tiberius—

Lilith’s nervous stammering only amused me further. Ah, apparently this castle was full of radically pious people. Thank God, I was spared.

— Valerie! The dinner’s getting cold! Where have you been?

The disgruntled voice of a cook interrupted our idyll, reminding me of the princess’s dinner, which I had already forgotten while talking to Tiberius.

***

I almost forgot to mention the most important part. After King
Amalric and his entourage returned to Jerusalem, I was certain that the truth about me would remain hidden. At least for the simple reason that it was a serious breach of protocol: the rules explicitly forbade the use of female healers’ skills on men.

And I really am quite the thing—I didn’t just break protocol, I even dared to touch a member of the royal family… I think you’ve probably already noticed how the velvet loop winds around my skinny neck. But don’t worry, I’m still that lucky person I always am.

As it turned out, Tiberius had ensured that during the night when I was in the prince’s chambers on the second floor, there were only trusted knights and a couple of servants, all of whom had been instructed to keep their mouths shut. Truly, a perfect plan, right? That’s what I thought—until I heard from Lilith that Prince Baldwin had begun asking his uncle about the mysterious lady who had been sitting beside his bed.

I suppose there’s no reason to dwell on the fact that I got a few blows to the head (both literally and figuratively) from Master Joseph. But I’d be lying if I said I didn’t deserve it. At last, the crack in trust between me and my teacher finally healed, and our relationship returned to being as warm as it once was.

As for Tiberius’s promise to speak with Aunt Rose, I was lucky there too: the count didn’t delay and informed her of my enviable position within the week. Reluctantly, she had no choice but to comply, her displeasure unable to oppose the count’s decision… Still, I wonder how he convinced her? I, of course, am not insinuating anything, but Count Tripoli is quite the enviable charmer and a desirable suitor in the whole city. Alright, alright, I sound like a jealous fool—but what can I do if I can’t resist his charms either?

Though I understand that I can’t hope for anything serious.
Regarding my full apprenticeship with Joseph, there were adventures there too. Uncle Joe was very displeased and flatly refused to accept me among his subordinates. He argued that it was one thing to be a girl running errands for the master, and another entirely to be trained properly.

— Child, — you don’t understand what you’re dreaming of. You had a choice—to wish for a good and kind lord for a husband, yet you chose the quiet life of study, — the man said bitterly, nervously shoving books onto the shelves, — What will people say? And the king?

— Master, I managed to cure the royal boy’s fever and have been useful to you more than once! I doubt I’ll have any trouble beyond that…

— Valerie! What you accomplished is a miracle. If you had made a mistake, you would have been handed over to the sword. You have no fear, girl.

— Teacher…

— You will bring down the wrath of the Lord upon yourself. Remember my words.

***

From my observations as an apprentice, their studies seemed very superficial. And now, walking down the dark corridor with a stack of books, I was reminded of this once again. Who would’ve known that Joseph was so strict about training? And my case was quite the thorn in his side. Being a woman who hadn’t trained under him from the start caused a number of issues, which unfortunately complicated my future plans.
The daily routine hadn’t changed much: I still woke up with the other girls, prayed in the chapel, had a quick breakfast, and rushed to Joseph. The lessons (or rather, tortures) lasted from dawn until midnight, and sometimes I stayed late into the night to catch up. Honestly, I had been so naïve that I never imagined this outcome—but was I going to complain? Of course not.
The torches in the corridors slowly dimmed, and a gentle breeze drifted across my body. Observing the castle at night was truly mesmerizing. At least because you never knew who might jump out from around a corner. And there I was, lost in my thoughts, when some idiot came flying at me with tower-like speed, knocking me to the floor along with my books and papers.

— Hey! Do you have eyes in the back of your head, you fool?! — I hissed, rubbing my forehead and wondering if I’d broken my arm.

In the dim light, I didn’t immediately recognize the face and figure of the unfortunate person I now wanted to strangle.

— Milady, — came a quiet voice, followed by a rustling nearby. — Pardon me, did I hurt you?

Oh, yes… I guess luck has a human form.
The second time in a row to disgrace myself like this—I truly am a master of it.
At that moment, only one thought raced through my mind: what on earth is this boy doing awake at such an hour?

— Your Grace? — The young man was frantically gathering my books and papers from the floor, nervously glancing over his shoulder as though he were fleeing from death itself.

— Prince Baldwin… Did something happen? Why are you out at this hour…?

— Oh, please… my lady, — he interrupted me, helping me rise from the floor.

His warm—no, rather burning from anxiety—hand rested on my forearm, steadying me.

The prince’s eyes darted between the corridor from which he had come and my face, wild with unease.

— Your Highness, — I whispered, my voice barely audible, following his gaze toward the same corridor, — a crown prince wandering the halls at night is bound to raise questions. Have you considered that?

Are we running from someone? The thought flashed through my mind.

— I have, — the prince replied with a mischievous glint, — but that only makes it more exciting.

Apparently, my bewildered expression flustered him. His face flushed crimson, and he quickly stepped back, letting go of me.

— Forget it, — he blurted nervously, — You didn’t see me, you didn’t hear me.

— I’ll make sure to write that in my report to old Joseph: didn’t see, didn’t hear how His Highness the Prince was wandering…
My eyes traveled over his clothing, and I noticed the dark cloak that hid his figure well in the darkness.
But that wasn’t the most striking part—the outfit itself was clearly meant for a trip beyond the palace walls, — from the palace to the city, Your Grace, — I finished meaningfully.

— And what if I order you to remain silent?

Ah, so there is some fire in him after all.
It didn’t surprise me too much—in the end, royal blood automatically grants privilege over everyone else. Even when the blue-blooded themselves fail to notice it, commoners like me always do.
Their manners, their gaze… even the way they breathe feels different.

As for this boy, I couldn’t say for certain.
Joseph swore the prince was hardworking, clever, and exceptionally kind.
But still—a prince is a prince, and that is no small thing.

— Order me to stay silent, and I will, — the words came firmly from my lips,
— Just… tell me where you’re going. If something happens to you, I’ll at least be able to help with the search.

— You’re so certain of your words? My lady, do I truly seem so weak that I can’t take a single step without a guard?
Don’t bury me before my time.

Ah, how could I forget the archaic way of speech of these times…
Conversations with Tiberius or Joseph were simple enough, but it was no surprise: the count was a noble knight, not a poet, and Joseph—a scholar.

— Oh, my prince, as if I would dare.
But the truth is, you…

My eyes swept over His Highness’s attire again.
Such a smart boy, yet he didn’t seem to understand the simplest thing: even his most unremarkable-looking garments were far too fine.

Or perhaps… oh, what am I even thinking?

He’s still young, perhaps too kind-hearted to truly grasp the essence of ordinary life.

— What is it? — he asked, puzzled.

— Your Grace, — I began carefully, shifting my gaze toward the city. Baldwin followed my lead, his eyes narrowing with curiosity.

— What you consider ordinary clothing, — I nodded subtly toward the distant lights of the city, — is a luxury to common folk. No less.

— I rarely visit the city… I didn’t know that…

Suddenly, voices echoed from around the corner, abruptly cutting off Baldwin’s words.
The boy spun toward the sound, stepping back sharply.
From afar, the corridor began to glow with the warm yellow light of torches.

— Someone’s coming, — I whispered just as I turned toward the prince.
To my surprise, the boy immediately ducked behind my back.

— You… — I began, startled.

— Well, let's be honest, I left without permission…

And there it was—the reminder that no matter how hard others tried to make him seem grown-up, at heart, the crown prince was still just a boy.

— Hide around the corner—quickly! — I hissed, glancing back at him over my shoulder.

After a brief hesitation, he obeyed, slipping into the shadowed alcove I had pointed out.
The voices drew nearer, and soon, from around the bend, I saw guards in armor.

They walked slowly, one carrying a torch to light the hall, the other speaking loudly about something mundane.
Nothing unusual—guards were always more active at night.

To avoid suspicion, I “accidentally” dropped my books again, kneeling to the floor to gather them slowly.
As the men passed, they cast me a casual glance but said nothing.

Breathing out in relief, I straightened and gave the prince a discreet signal that it was safe to come out.

— You were right. I didn’t see or hear you—I hope you feel the same way about me, — I blurted out to the prince before taking a step aside.

— That was clever, — the boy noted, then added with a slight smile, — I would like to know your name, milady.

— Valerie. And I’m not a milady, Your Highness.

***

And that was the end of our encounter. I went to the common room, while the prince, I assume, went out into the city. Only now do I realize that at that moment I should have asked Baldwin about the secret passages in the castle—my future escape would have gone much faster otherwise.
The weather had been getting increasingly capricious lately. And for someone like me, with a modest budget, it was a burden: choosing clothes had become ever more difficult, though the uniform I had started wearing was at least somewhat suitable for both heat and cold.

Studying under Joseph was becoming more interesting, and his assignments increasingly complicated. Yesterday, he had asked me to grind medicinal herbs; today, he wanted me to pick roses from the bushes. I actually found the most relief in making ointments and other remedies. It was easiest to alter the structure of healing substances through a series of experiments and tests. Of course, I didn’t try them on anyone but myself, but that was probably for the best: some of the preparations couldn’t fully take effect, and using them on others could have serious consequences.

— Ah! — I cried, cutting my hand on a sharp stem. A drop of blood welled up immediately, which I hurried to stop with my mouth.

— Valerie!

Without turning, I already knew whose voice it was. Lilith had finally learned to call me by name, instead of the usual “milady.”

— Hm?

— The princess wants to see you, — my friend said, catching her breath. My God, how she had been rushing around the castle lately. Yes, Lady Rose had found someone to vent her energy on after I left.

— The princess knows I have a lesson right now?

— Uh… no? But she said you must come to her immediately…

— Understood, — I sighed and turned to the girl, — Would you be so kind as to take the roses to Old Joe?

— Old Joe?…

— Ah, right. To the great master, healer Joseph, — I repeated theatrically, bowing, which made Lili laugh.

— All right.

With that, I wondered why the princess even needed me. The last time we met, she had wanted to kill me. I wonder what she wants this time? To torture? To stab? To hang me? Alright, alright, I’m exaggerating—but credit where it’s due: the princess behaves as befits a girl of her standing.

Pausing at her door, I fidgeted with the cross in my hands—it had become my little stress reliever. Well, the inevitable can’t be postponed. Taking a deep breath, I entered the chambers. The princess sat at her dressing table, while servants bustled around her. One girl was braiding her hair, another adjusting her garments.

— Princess Sibylla, — I said, stopping a few steps away and bowing. Upon hearing my voice, she turned and signaled her ladies-in-waiting to leave us.
So we were alone.

— You wanted to see me?

— Yes, — the girl confirmed, rising to her feet, — We haven’t spoken since…

— Your Highness, please don’t think I hold any ill will toward you. You needn’t worry about that.

— I’m glad to hear it, — the princess said suddenly, placing her hand on mine, — And yet I let my emotions get the better of me.

— Don’t blame yourself. You’re only human, and people are prone to mistakes.

— Yes… But in my position, it can be harmful.

To say I was taken aback would be an understatement. My eyes were probably as wide as saucers, and Sibylla noticed.

— You?

She nodded, with a slight smile.

— Oh, my congratulations, Your Highness!

— Thank you, — Her Majesty said, stroking my forearms. — I heard you were transferred to the master. If you need anything, you can come to me—don’t hesitate.

— Thank you, Your Highness.

I lingered in the princess’s chambers for a little while, asking her about her pregnancy: such emotional swings were highly undesirable in her condition. But according to her, everything was fine, and there was no danger to her child.I never thought we’d become friends. Although, I suppose you can hardly call it friendship. Rather, our relationship has become as neutral as possible, especially given my position.

Looks like I’ll be getting to know the entire royal family this way.

Had I known I’d become this close… I don’t understand whether it’s some magnetic pull or something worse, but, as I’ve said before, I’m lucky. Both in good ways and bad. Closing the princess’s door behind me and running my hand over my temples, I headed toward the staircase. And then—bam! Last time I was annoyed that the boy seemed to have eyes on the back of his head, but now, for some reason, I’m pretty sure that phrase applies to me.

— Holly shit! — I exclaimed, stepping backward. Squinting, I made out the young man, who looked just as shocked by the incident as I was. Tousled blond hair, sword at his waist, a flustered expression—the whole package, foreign to someone of royal blood.

— Your Majesty, we should stop meeting like this. Otherwise, one of us will get hurt.

Baldwin tilted his head, ran a hand through his hair, and smiled awkwardly.

— Valerie, I swear, this time it was an accident.

Oh, an accident?

— This time? — I crossed my arms, frowned, and looked at the young man, — So, may I assume that last night… that wasn’t an accident?

— Perhaps, — he smirked, though his gaze grew more serious, — I was on my way to my sister… And you were coming from her?

My God. Valerie! You’ve completely lost your composure, I thought, forgetting entirely that the prince is, after all, a man—and at his age, needs are rather… interesting. So that’s where he sneaks off to at night.

— Your sister is a remarkable woman… though understanding her character… I imagine that will take some time.

The prince chuckled softly. His laugh was light, almost boyish, and somehow oddly warm.

— She always knew how to say more than necessary. I hope she didn’t tire you too much.

— Let’s put it this way, — I said, stepping aside so he could pass, — If I disappear in the near future, look for me in the farthest corner of Joe’s study. Surrounded by books, with earplugs in.

He was almost past me when he suddenly stopped and looked over his shoulder:

— Valerie… do you always speak so sarcastically, or just to me?

I raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence:

— And do you always bump into women, or just me, Your Highness?

We froze for a few seconds, and then, to my surprise, he laughed a little louder. In that moment, I realized for the first time that he wasn’t the helpless boy he seemed to be.