Chapter 250 Discretion
ADRIANA
Two doctors were standing when I came in, both turning to face me. Leo was by the window. He looked at me when I entered and something in his face shifted. The closed-off expression from this morning cracked slightly, like he’d been waiting for something to happen and this was it.
“My Queen.” The taller of the two doctors inclined his head. “Thank you for having us. We understand the urgency.”
“Thank you for coming quickly.” I moved to the bed and stood beside it. Lana, who Hazel must have handed off to the night nurse, was somehow already here — the nurse had settled her in the chair in the corner and she was watching Elijah with the fixated attention she always had in this room, like she was keeping watch. I didn’t move her.
“I’ll give you the background,” I said, turning back to the doctors.
The doctors exchanged a look that I catalogued but didn’t interrupt.
“We’ll need to run our own full panel,” the second doctor said. “Blood work, neurological assessment, imaging if the equipment is here and everything from the beginning, independent of whatever was done before. Is that possible?”
“Whatever you need is available to you.” I paused. “One condition. This stays between us. Don’t reach out to the previous doctor, don’t consult externally without my approval. I need this to be contained. The King’s condition cannot become general knowledge. Not the uncertainty of it or any findings you make.”
“You have our complete discretion, My Queen.”
They moved to the bedside and began their work, diligent, methodical, quiet, professional. I stood back and let them.
I watched Elijah.
Seven months of this face, the same stillness and even breathing that the machine helped regulate, the same absence behind features that had never once been still when he was awake. Elijah in motion had been constant — always thinking, always reading the room, always two steps ahead of whatever conversation he was in. This version of him, this quiet, was the thing that never stopped feeling wrong no matter how many days I’d stood in this room.
The doctors took blood, took other samples, ran a brief preliminary neurological check that required looking at his eyes and testing reflexes and noting responses. They spoke to each other in the shorthand of people who had worked together long enough to communicate efficiently.
When they finished the initial round, the taller doctor turned to me.
“We’ll send everything to the lab immediately and follow up with the imaging request. You should have preliminary results back within forty-eight hours, possibly sooner.” He paused. “From what I can observe at this stage, he is being well cared for. His physical condition is stable. Whether there’s an underlying neurological reason for the prolonged unconsciousness, that’s what the tests will tell us.”
“Is there hope?” I asked. I hadn’t planned to say it that directly but there it was.
He didn’t flinch from the question. “There’s no indication, at this initial stage, that the prognosis is poor. That’s genuinely what I can tell you right now. The tests will give us more.”
They gathered their equipment. Hazel appeared at the door to see them out and I stayed behind.
Lana had fallen asleep in the chair, which she did every time she was in this room. I looked at her. She had come into the world right before everything fell apart and I felt the familiar ache of thinking about how little time she’d had with him before the incident. How little he knew about her yet.
“I noticed you finally moved,” I said to Leo, without turning around.
He didn’t move at first, then I heard the quiet sound of him shifting away from the window.
“I’m not in a mood,” he said. “I’m just—” He stopped.
“I know.” I turned around. He was standing in the middle of the room looking at his father with an expression he usually kept better hidden. Young, uncertain and tired of being either of those things. “You don’t have to explain it.”
“I just wanted to be in here today.” His jaw worked. “Is that weird?”
“No,” I said. “I come in here and talk to him when no one’s around. I’ve been doing it for months.” I looked at Elijah. “It helps.”
Leo was quiet for a moment. Then: “What do you talk about?”
“Everything.” I moved to the chair and lifted Lana carefully against my shoulder without waking her. “The trial. The kids. Things that happen during the day. Things I want his opinion on.” I looked at my son. “You should try it. He’d want to know what’s going on with you.”
Something flickered across Leo’s face, that particular resistance to showing too much teenagers possessed. Then it softened and he looked at his father and said, quietly, almost to himself: “Yeah. Maybe.”
I gave his shoulder a squeeze on my way out. They needed the time alone.
In the garden that evening, Hazel walked beside me in the cooling air while Lana slept inside and the twins’ residual energy from the day could still be heard distantly from the upper floor.
“We’ll have the test results in forty-eight hours,” I said.
“That’s fast,” Hazel said.
“I asked for fast.” I looked at the garden. The lights coming on as the sky darkened, the hedges Elijah had chosen when we’d redesigned the outdoor space two years ago. “Hazel. Has Aiden been in contact? Elijah sent him to a pack before the incident and I realized I haven’t heard anything in weeks.”
She took a beat too long to answer. “He’s wrapping up. He’ll be back next week apparently.”
I looked at her sideways. “You’ve been checking.”
I tried to keep my tone casual. Not wanting to upset her.
“I have not—”
“You just told me he’s back next week. Without checking his schedule.”
She looked forward and said nothing.
“I’m not going to push,” I said. “I know what you said about not being interested. I know he’s married.” I paused. “But Elijah mentioned to me before the incident that things weren’t good between Aiden and his wife. I’m not telling you that for any reason. Just telling you.”
Hazel was quiet for a long moment.
“Let it go, Adriana,” she said finally. But her voice had gone softer than the words required.