"Now, now, Eaton, I do not think this is necessary—"

Sasha's eyes fluttered open and she squinted against the sunlight from across the room. She turned her head just as the door flew open and a large man stumbled inside. It was not because he was pushed into the room by West, but because he was just... unstable.

He whirled on his heels and struggled to stay up as he swayed, his arms held up to the side to maintain his balance.

"Good morning, Sasha," West greeted, walking over to the bed with a smile. "How are you feeling?"

She blinked. "Much better than yesterday."

"Good," he nodded, stepping back. "I asked an acquaintance to assess your condition this morning." He twisted his torso and motioned with his hand. "This is Oliver St. Vincent. He owns Sinclair."

She frowned, recognizing the name. "Sinclair... the hospital?"

The large man turned, raking his fingers through his rather scruffy long dark brown hair which made him appear as though he just rolled out of bed. His beard which covered most of his lower face and the smell of brandy in the air made Sasha wonder what his story was. "Yes!" his deep, baritone voice boomed around the bedchamber. He smiled, white teeth peeking through his bushy mustache, which to Sasha resembled a bird's nest. "Yes, the hospital. And a few other stores, but why would you care?" He took one wobbly step toward the bed, his glimmering eyes looking straight at her. "And you are alive." He turned to West with a mocking smile and bowed. "My task is over."

As he straightened, West, grabbed St. Vincent's arm and forced him to face Sasha. "You will check her wound, St. Vincent."

Sasha recoiled in bed. "My wound is healing just fine. Who is this—" Her eyes widened. "Is this the man who opened me up like a carcass?"

"Hmm. Did I say that when I was slicing you? Perhaps, I did," said St. Vincent, walking closer to the bed. "Reveal thy imperfect anatomy, my lady."

Sasha blinked. "My what?"

West sighed and sat beside Sasha. "He needs to see to your wound."

"He is a doctor," she pointed out, her words laced with uncertainty as she spoke them, looking at St. Vincent up and down.

St. Vincent's hazel eyes squinted as he grinned. "A giant doctor with angel hands," he said, bending down to help West with the bandages. "Have you been applying the solution I gave you?"

"Yes."

"Then why am I here, Eaton?" St. Vincent asked. "I told you to only call for me if she is dying." Sasha opened her mouth to speak but the man was fast to add, "Ah, I believe I understand. You want to see if you may resume sexual interactions."

Sasha's face flushed and she saw West close his eyes to summon control. "I took you here because it had been two weeks since the incident, St. Vincent."

St. Vincent rumbled with laughter at their loss for words. It took him merely a second to see the wound to say, "She looks like she has been eating—or been forced to eat. She is not dying." Then he straightened to full height, his shadow looming over her. "But I suggest you be less active in the sexual act." He motioned his head down at West who was hastily wrapping the bandages back over Sasha's wound. "Let this man do all the bloody work."

Sasha scoffed in disbelief, looking at the man standing before her. He smelled like his washbasin was poured with spirits, his beard, and hair looking like one giant mane.

"Did you truly save me?"

He looked offended. "I would not say so. I was dragged here to apply my skills. I was not hoping to save you."

Sasha scoffed in disbelief. "Perhaps I should thank you anyway."

"No, do not," St. Vincent snapped, his voice suddenly cold. Then he broke into a smile. Stepping back with a wink, he added, "Call for Pemberton once the stitches have completely healed."

"Doctor—" Sasha called out to him as he whirled around to go to the door.

"St. Vincent is fine, woman," he said, waving his hand over his shoulder.

"Can I leave my bed now?" she asked in haste as he stepped out of the doorway.

He poked his head back in, his lazy foxed eyes narrowed. "You should have the very moment you thought of it. So long. Call on me when you have no one else to bother and you are dying."

West shook his head and froze when he heard Sasha laugh.

"He is rather odd."

"He is an obnoxious bastard."

"Then I can assume he is not your friend?"

"No," West immediately said. "He is as I have said... an acquaintance. He is the best, but he is also the worst," West grumbled. "Now, you should stay here—"

Sasha dangled her legs to the side of the bed and pulled herself away. "I have been here long enough. And you heard him. I can get out of bed—"

"And you also heard me—he can also be the worst. He does not give the best advice when he is foxed."

"While he did smell like it, he did not sound foxed."

"He has mastered the art of disentangling his words whenever he is."

She snorted and pushed herself up. West caught her with a sigh. They waited until she regained her balance on both feet.

His eyes looked concerned. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "I want to see her."

He was already shaking her head before she even finished the statement.

While Sasha could understand his reservations, she had been confined in bed for too long. When she first came about, he was all over her, shouting for Darren. Sasha could not remember any waking moments when West was not by her side. He was there feeding her, bathing her, cleaning her wounds. And even when her eyes were closed, she could hear him scold Seven for being too scared during the attack, hiding under the bed. Once, she told him it was not the dog's obligation to serve anyone.

Sasha could not remember where Seven was the night she was attacked, but she was grateful the dog was spared. Perhaps being scared was indeed a useful disposition. He may not have been there to save her, but Seven was a loving companion. As if he was guilty of having done nothing to save her, he was constantly at her side. And as if he understood her condition, the dog was gentle with her.

Sasha was done being pampered. She had regained most of her strength and she was ready to climb out of bed.

"Take me to her now, West."

His jaw tightened. "She will be transferred to Keene by the morrow. We can wait until you are—"

She shook her head. "We do not have the time. You have not made enough progress with her in a fortnight."

"She is not talking."

"Then take me to her so I can see for myself. Get me a coat, please."

West sighed and grabbed the first coat he found in the closet.

*****

Sasha let West lead her to the study slowly, stopping now and then to answer his incessant inquiry of whether she was feeling pain or not. Once inside, she leaned on the large table and watched him open a secret door at one corner, one that was easily missed for it was covered with a large mirror that reflected the wall of shelves across the room.

In the many days she had been in the villa alone, she never noticed it was there.

She bent her head to hide the wince of pain. Her eyes landed on the Royal Theater invitation. "You are planning to see a play without me?" she asked in jest.

He smiled at the red envelope on the table. The seal was intact, indicating he was yet to see it. "I am planning to give it to you once you have completely healed."

"Do not be foolish," she said, shaking her head. "We have no time to spare for a bloody play."

He lifted his brows and held out his hand. "She is inside."

Behind the mirrored door of West's study was another narrow corridor that opened to two more doors. He started to unlock the one on the right with a set of keys from his pocket, nonchalantly as if unbothered by the fact that he was revealing to this place to her. How many more did he have around this villa? At Everleigh?

When he opened the door, he stepped held up his hand to keep her at bay. He walked inside the room and Sasha heard him instruct Gabrielle to sit on the chair. After a few minutes, he walked out and held out his hand.

Sasha took it.

The room was bare of windows. There was a lone lamp on the high ceiling above, a small bed at one corner, a wooded commode, and a pitcher of water.

And the chair she was sitting on in the middle of the room.

She was bound to the chair and she was motionless, her green eyes just staring at Sasha with nothing to betray. It was dead.

"Leave us, please," she told West.

"No."

She glared at West. "Please."

"I will be outside," he gritted out.

"In your study."

He let out an exasperated breath. "Five minutes, Sasha," he said and left the room.

Sasha walked to Gabrielle, her eyes locked with the woman's blank green globes. "You have been lying to me, Gabrielle."

Gabrielle's nostrils flared. His eyes went to Sasha's midriff, but she did not say a word.

"First, you told me not to go to Belcourt when it was clear that the Mistresses never gave such order," Sasha continued calmly. "Second, you never told them about my agreement with West." Gabrielle's jaw clenched. Her red hair was filthy, and she smelled. She had not been out of this room for a fortnight. She may have been fed, but her condition was not the best. Yet she was as controlled as she always was. "Why is that?" Sasha asked. "Why would you do that, Gabrielle?" She forced a smile when the woman remained mum. "I can only think of one simple answer. You do not want them to know that West Blackwood is looking for his sister. You know because I told you, but there is also another person who expressed the same theory long before I told him of the fact—the crown prince. Am I wrong, then, to assume that you are working for the man and not with Belcourt, Gabrielle?"

Questioning a Soldier's loyalty was probably one of the most dangerous things any lady from the other courts could do. And Gabrielle seemed to be of no exception for she spoke for the first time in a fortnight. "I am not working with the prince. I have one master and that is Belcourt."

Sasha scoffed. She did not like that answer, but at the very least it was a start.

"Stop lying to me, Gabrielle, please. You secured an invitation to Humbrick. How? The same way I managed to acquire mine—through the prince. And we both know he only has access to the Mistresses and me. I can ask Lady Aisling, of course. Would you like that?"

For a tiny moment, she saw something cross Gabrielle's eyes. That was a good sign. She was going on the right track. She had not spent two weeks confined in West's bed for nothing.

"But you were not there at Humbrick for me, were you, Gabrielle? You disappeared when Willoghby did. You were following him, which was why you managed to save me that night." She paused. Gabrielle's eyes narrowed, a sign of anger. "Please, do correct me if I am wrong." Gabrielle's jaw tightened. "But why the interest in Willoghby, Gabrielle?" Sasha mockingly made a thinking face. "Oh, yes, he is obsessed with me. He must be curious about everything about me. But then he does not know where to look, does he? So why not be interested in my flower instead?"

Finally, something different crossed Gabrielle's eyes. A look of panic that rapidly disappeared as she regained control.

Sasha drew in a long breath, confident that she had it right. "He began digging about West Blackwood and found out about his mother, Elizabeth. Soon, he would be able to dig more information. Willoghby was becoming a good source of information. You needed someone else to find out more about this missing child—someone with connections like Willoghby. He owns the Sutherland Post and The Grimes. He is a flower in Belcourt. Surely, he will know where to look and what to look for. While I was proving to be incompetent, Willoghby was unknowingly doing all the work for you."

Gabrielle scoffed and shook her head, fixing her eyes on one corner of the room.

Sasha stepped closer. She could feel her wound telling her to take a rest. She ignored it. It could wait a little longer.

"I am giving you a chance, Gabrielle, to explain yourself. There are a few questions that I cannot answer."

Gabrielle shook her head again, an incredulous look forming on her face, a knowing glimmer in her eyes as she said, "You are being irrational, Sasha."

"No, I am trying to save Belcourt. And I am trying to save a woman who is being haunted by the son of the man who fathered her, the same man who would do anything to make her disappear so his father's sinful acts can never surface."

"And who told you such things? Your gentleman?" Gabrielle asked, voice eerily cold. "You claim to be trying to save Belcourt, but you chose to trust the man who is working with the previous king? He is looking for his sister because he will use her against the king, Sasha. Have we not established that fact from the start?"

Sasha shook her head. "Then explain yourself. Why did you lie? Why have you been following Willoghby?"

Gabrielle's gaze flickered away from Sasha's. "I have nothing to tell you, Sasha."

Sasha nodded and stepped back. "Then you will have to stay prisoner a little while more, Gabrielle. They will be taking you somewhere on the morrow. I hope by the time I come to see you there, you will be more willing."

*****

Sasha was writing a letter for Iyana while West patiently watched from the bed. She basked in the warmth of the afternoon sun while she gave Iyana a full report of her recovery and health and additional instructions that her maid should also provide the same information to Belcourt the soonest she could.

"If you continue to write those letters to Coulway, Darren may never come home. He seems to enjoy the trips to your villa," he started in jest and she smiled.

"How far is Maycombe Hall?" she asked as a response.

"Keene is four hours from Coulway. Add a quarter of an hour to reach Maycombe."

She nodded. "How about Willoghby?"

"He has already been taken from here."

Again, Sasha nodded. She turned to West, her expression serious. "Can we truly trust Rider Fairborne?"

"I trust my friends with my life, Sasha. And if there is anyone who can break Gabrielle, it would be him."

She shrugged. "If she does not break him first," she murmured, bending her head back to her work. "You have to remember that she is a Soldier of Belcourt. She has been trained for years to withstand torture. We need to use something potent to make her talk."

West did not reply. Curious to his sudden silence, she looked away from her letter. He was still looking at her.

"The prince secured your invitation to Humbrick."

She blinked. "You have been listening earlier."

"I could not help it. The door was left open and I told you I shall wait outside."

She looked away, "Yes, he did," answering his question.

"He is your hidden flower."

Sasha softly let out a sigh. "Yes."

"And?"

Her brows fused. "Whatever do you mean?"

"How do you spend your time together?"

"We talk about you, of course." Signing the letter with her name, she waited a while and folded the paper.

"That is how you came up with your theory that Gabrielle is working with the prince."

"Of course." She carefully stood and walked to the bed. He helped her slip under the covers, but she knew he was waiting for her to say more. She smiled, looking into his light blue eyes. "He would not want to have direct contact with me if he is satisfied with the Mistresses, would he? He would not drag his royal person into my villa if he had no other motives. By being my flower, he has direct access to me and the information I might otherwise provide to Belcourt."

He nodded.

She narrowed her eyes and grinned. He was waiting for her to say more. "We do nothing but talk about my mission and play chess. He is a rather nice man. In fact, I would hate to prove that he is capable of harming your sister."

He said nothing as he sank into bed beside her with a sigh. "You play chess."

"Of course." She turned to her side. "What else did you expect?"

He was not looking at her. "I do not know, Sasha," he grimly replied.

Sasha chuckled. "You know you are the first man, West, yes?"

At her words, he took a lungful of air and turned to face her. Ever so gently, he pulled her closer for a cuddle. "I would hate to think I would not be the last."

Sasha stiffened in his arms. She did not want to discuss his intentions of marriage now.

Tilting her head, she planted a kiss on his chin. "We shall discuss this some other time."

He bent his head and his mouth claimed hers. He was being gentle, worrying her lips just enough to elicit a moan. His arm remained loose around her and Sasha pressed closer.

"Do you trust St. Vincent?" she asked against his mouth, her hands on his breeches.

He groaned. "He is the best, Sasha, but I trust my judgment more," he said, stopping her hands.

"But—"

He lifted to his elbow and pressed her back on the bed and hovered above her. His eyes were dark with growing desire.

He kissed her again, careful not to press against her wound.

"We have to wait a little longer, darling," he said, his mouth traveling down her neck. And then he fell back beside her. His arms gathered her closer.

"Another week?"

She could feel him smile above her head.

"Five days?" she asked.

His chest rumbled with laughter. He planted a chaste kiss on her lips. "Sleep, Sasha."