A King's Nurse

The clinic should have been empty.

Evelynn knew that for a fact—she’d checked the schedule twice. Still, as she turned the corner toward Room 4 with the last patient, a faint unease tightened in her chest, the kind that came when routine slipped through her fingers.

“Would you mind closing up tonight, Nurse Evelynn?” Dr. Heartman had asked earlier, already halfway out of his coat. “My son’s got a game, and if I miss it, my wife says the family jewels are going back in the vault.”

“Yes, Dr. Heartman,” she’d said, because that was what she always said. Because someone had to keep things running.

Now the hallway lights hummed softly above her, casting long shadows across the linoleum. The waiting room was empty. No footsteps. No voices.

Mrs. Johnson sat in Room 4, her arm secured in a sling.

“You’re staying late again,” Mrs. Johnson said as Evelynn finished the last of the paperwork.

“It comes with the job,” Evelynn replied with a smile. “Just remember—rest that arm, and no lifting until the doctor clears you.”

Mrs. Johnson smiled, thanked her, and shuffled out, the front door clicking shut behind her. The sound echoed longer than it should have.

Evelynn paused, pen hovering over the chart. She waited, listening. Nothing followed—no footsteps, no murmurs from the hall. Just silence again.

She shook it off and finished closing up. Lights dimmed. Equipment powered down. The radio clicked off mid-song, leaving the clinic steeped in complete stillness. Her steps sounded too loud as she moved through the rooms, double-checking locks she’d already checked.

By the time she reached the front door, her shoulders loosened. Another day done. She locked the front door and turned toward the hall—

“Water… please…”

The voice came from deeper inside the clinic. From the darkened consultation room at the far end—the one Evelynn hadn’t checked. Because no one ever used it.

She turned sharply toward the sound.

A man stood just inside the room, one shoulder braced against the wall. He was tall, his broad frame nearly filling the narrow space. His shirt—rumpled but unmistakably well made—hung open at the collar, as if he’d loosened it in desperation. Dark hair fell in disarray around his face.

He was older. Older than her, certainly—but not worn by age. The lines etched into his features spoke of experience, not years alone.

“Oh my goodness—sir.” Evelynn hurried to him, instinct overriding surprise. “I didn’t see you there. Are you all right?”

He lifted his head slowly. His eyes met hers, clouded with exhaustion, threaded with relief.

“Water,” he whispered again. “Please.”

Their eyes met—and something in Evelynn stilled. For a heartbeat, the room seemed to fall away. His gaze held hers, warm amber and gold, steady despite the pain written across his face. There was sorrow there, yes—but beneath it, unmistakable and alive, was something gentler. Something that saw her.

She looked away first, heat rising to her cheeks, and her gaze dropped to the wounds marring his skin.

Scratches. Open. Angry. Whatever had brought him here, it hadn’t been by choice—and it couldn’t wait.

“I’ll get you some water,” Evelynn said. “Please—come with me.”

She reached for his hand. The brush of her fingers against his sent a faint jolt through her, unexpected and undeniable, and she tightened her grip, guiding him forward.

He leaned into her at once. His weight was solid, unsteady, far heavier than she’d anticipated, and she braced herself instinctively, her slight frame holding firm. She refused to let him fall. The air around him carried the rich trace of cologne, but dulled by sweat and blood. His breath skimmed the curve of her neck—warm, uneven—and the sensation sent a quiet flare of heat through her carefully maintained calm.

Together, they made their way down the hall and into the nearest exam room.

He collapsed onto the table with a dull thud, the sound echoing As he leaned back, his hands came up to shield his eyes, whether from the harsh fluorescent lights or from something heavier, she couldn’t tell. His shoulders sagged, exhaustion settling over him as if each breath was dragged out of his chest.

Evelynn hurried to the small kitchenette and filled a paper cup with cool water. When she returned, she held it steady as his hand closed around the rim.

Her gaze dropped to his fingers—and caught. His nails were ragged, raw, as if they’d been torn away and only half grown back. A chill traced her spine.

He drank quickly, too quickly, draining the cup in long pulls. When he lowered it, his breath had evened, though his voice remained rough. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” she said, taking the empty cup from him.

Under the bright lights, his features sharpened. The strength of his jaw. The breadth of his shoulders, even slumped in exhaustion. His eyes held her attention again—steady, intent—and for a fleeting moment she wondered what they would look like softened by a smile. The thought surprised her. She pushed it aside.

“You’re in a lot of pain,” She said gently. “My name is Evelynn. I’m a nurse.” She met his gaze. “May I take a closer look at your wounds and treat them?”

“I’ll be fine. I just needed the water.” he said.

“But sir—”

He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking back to hers. Whatever resistance he’d been clinging to seemed to drain from him, his shoulders sagging as he relented. “Fine,” he said. “Go ahead. Try.”

Evelynn frowned. A quiet prickle of unease settled in her chest. She’d treated countless injuries over the years, but something about his raw, and angry wounds felt different. Unnatural. The tension in the air pressed close, urging caution. Still, she didn’t waver.

“Would you please remove your shirt?” she asked, her tone steady, professional.

He nodded faintly and reached for the buttons. His fingers trembled, clumsy and uncooperative, and each small movement drew a tightening grimace from his face.

Without thinking, Evelynn stepped forward.

“Do you have any Painex?” The hoarse interruption stopped her short. She froze mid-step, then slowly eased back, recognizing the boundary he’d drawn without words.

“The painkillers? Yes, but we’re running low. The palace has been hoarding Painex for ages.” She shook her head. “I’ve actually sent dozens of letters, but no response. I can’t fathom why they’d need it all. My only guess is the King’s wedding is coming up, and maybe the bride’s got a temper…”

He paused, and when he looked up, a crooked smirk tugged at his mouth. “Or maybe they’re bracing for the honeymoon.”

Evelynn snorted, clapping a hand over her mouth. “What, like romance, royal duties, and a lifetime supply of numbing the pain?”

A dry chuckle escaped him, but it faded into a pained hiss as he tugged at another button. “Painex is cheaper than divorce. Or so I’ve heard.”

“Yeah,” Evelynn said, “maybe they’re actually thinking of the taxpayers for once—saving us the trouble.”

“Or they’re just betting she’ll knock him out first,” he said. “Skip the messy breakup and save the kingdom the legal fees.”

Her smile faded as she watched him struggle with the buttons, each tug clearly costing him. Her eyebrows knitted on her head. “Here,” she said, stepping closer. “Let me. Painex or not, you’re going to tear something if you keep that up.”

“Fine, but if I bleed on you, it’s your fault for playing hero.” He stilled, wary eyes meeting hers, then gave a faint shrug. Barely a movement—but enough.

Evelynn’s fingers worked the next button free. “Bleed all you want. Just don’t expect me to stitch you up with my last bandage. I’m saving that for when the bride storms in here demanding Painex.”

“Better hide it then,” he said. “I hear she’s got a mean swing—and even worse aim.”

A soft chuckle escaped her as she handed him a few Painex tablets and a fresh glass of water when she was done unbuttoning his shirt. “And a couple for the road,” she added, slipping the extras into his pocket with a gentle pat.

As he swallowed the pills, Evelynn turned back to her supplies. Antiseptic. Gauze. Tweezers. Cloths. Her hands moved on instinct—steady, practiced. But her thoughts were anything but.

“Let me guess,” he said. “Your letters to the palace read something like, I respectfully urge the immediate allocation of additional Painex for patients in critical need of pain management.”

Evelynn’s eyes widened—then she let out a laugh. “That’s… almost word for word. How did you know?”

“Didn’t. Just figured that’s the kind of letter a nurse like you would write.”

“Well, It’s true,” she said. “People are in pain every day. No one should have to endure that when medicine exists and just… sits out of reach. I have very little patience for anyone who stands between my patients and the care they need—royalty or not.”

As she said those words, Evelynn became acutely aware of how much space he seemed to command. Even seated on the exam table, his broad shoulders and powerful frame dwarfed the narrow metal beneath him. Her hand hovered just above his torn skin.

He glanced at the antiseptic in one hand and the ointment in the other, he narrowed his eyes. “That won’t do much,” he said. “Trust me—I’d know.”

“Oh, hush and drink your water,” she shot back. “Don’t make me take your temperature the old-fashioned way.”

His eyes crinkled at the corners, a fleeting smile tugging at his lips before he hid it behind a slow sip from the cup. When he looked at her again, his gaze lingered—watchful, curious. And that brief hint of a smile sent an unwelcome flutter through her chest.

Evelynn leaned in, focus sharpening, and poured antiseptic onto a clean cloth. Her fingers remained steady despite the unease creeping under her skin. She’d treated deep gashes, infected cuts, burns—but these wounds were different. The scratches were jagged, their edges unnervingly precise, as though made by something sharper than a blade.

Her eyes drifted to his hands. His fingernails were raw, worn nearly to the quick. He hadn’t done this to himself.

So what—or who—had?