The Iron Princess by Sandra Lake

Author:Sandra Lake [Lake, Sandra]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Goodreads: 23433533
Publisher: InterMix
Published: 2014-12-31T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

For Katia, the first day in Prague passed by in a blur. They had been traveling for over a month and a half, and now that they had arrived, everything felt surreal. Their standard of living improved tenfold. The men selected the most lavish accommodations that they could find. Being escorted by a baron and a viscount had its privileges in this corner of the world.

At dinner, Tosha had her first argument with Lars over the ridiculous price they would be paying for lodging. He told her to get used to it and she slapped him. Lothair and Katia could not help but smirk and politely make themselves scarce as the lovebirds had it out.

“You’re sure you will be all right?” Lothair asked as he escorted her to her private chamber. Katia felt at home in the grand guest suite that she was assigned, although it only intensified her longing for Tronscar.

“Of course, I will be fine,” Katia lied. She felt like vomiting and sleeping for a month but he did not need to know that. He needed to find Valen and Fist and get them all back on the road to Lubeck. “’Tis just a headache. I will be ready to depart just as soon as you find your friends.” She smiled and he glared back at her, disbelieving.

“What’s wrong?” He pushed his way into her room. She pushed back against him and staggered slightly.

“Nothing. Now, if you do not mind, I would like to get some rest.”

“I’ll go once I’ve seen your shoulder.”

That was what Katia got for sharing a tent and a warm blanket with someone for a few nights. He started to think he owned her.

“No thank you, Lothair. I will see you tomorrow.”

“If it is healing well and nothing is wrong, then why not let me see it?” he challenged.

“We are back in civilization. Most people would think it bold of a man to ask a maiden to pull down her sleeve.” She sent him a steely look.

“If you still look like this tomorrow”—he gestured rudely up and down her body—“then I am taking a look. With or without your permission.”

“Whatever you say, commander. Sleep well.” She shoved him toward the door with her good arm.

As the door closed, the room started to spin. Her vision had been blurry for a day and seemed to be getting worse. She tugged out the pins that secured her formal attire, peeled off her newly purchased blue velvet gown, and stumbled to the nightstand, where she washed her face. The cool water felt so good she washed it again.

She drew down the sleeve of her under-tunic to inspect her throbbing arm. Hell’s bells. It was as bad as she thought. Yellow pus oozed from the red, swollen wound. Her eyes watered as she tried to force the liquid out from the edges of the scab. She hated feeling sick. It made her feel weak and vulnerable.

Winter was going to set in soon and she had no time to be sick, or weak, or worse, die from a scratch.

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