"Maxon?" My voice quavers over the rush of the shower water. I reach for the towel hook on the wall as my vision blackens around the edges. The marble tiles tilt swiftly to meet me as I take a step toward the door. Showering suddenly doesn't seem as good of an idea as it did fifteen minutes ago.
"America!" Someone vigorously shakes my bare shoulder. "America, can you hear me? Open your eyes."
I groan. I gingerly finger a growing goose egg on my forehead as the residual headache works to split my head open. Flinching, I peek through my eyelids to see three sets of warm brown eyes peering into my blue ones. That's not right. I only know one person with those eyes. And he only has one pair. I blink until I see only one concerned face inches from my own. "Maxon." Something warm trickles down my nose, but the rest of me shivers.
"Oh, thank god, Ames," he says, as relief floods his voice.
"Maxon, what am I doing on the floor?"
"I was hoping you could answer that question, my dear," he lets a wry smile play across his lips as moves me into a sitting position. "Did you slip?" He stands to grab my robe from its hook, tenderly wrapping me up against the chill. I watch him wet a cloth in the sink. He kneels back down beside me and begins to wipe blood from my face. I recoil, sucking in air, surprised not only by the amount of red staining the cloth, but by the splintering feeling across my cheekbones.
"I don't think so. One minute I was rinsing shampoo out of my hair, and the next..." I shrug. "You looked so peaceful I didn't want to wake you. You've had so many long nights lately, and I wanted to intercept Mary and the breakfast tray. There aren't many mornings that I beat you to the shower." I tuck my wet hair behind my ears and let him inspect his work. He gently tilts my face in his hands.
"You'll live, but just barely," he teases me and plants a kiss on the top of my head, "But I do believe you've broken your nose. Do you think you can stand? We need to take you down to the hospital wing to get you checked out after a fall like that."
"I don't have time for this today, Maxon. The Report is tomorrow night, and I haven't prepared my piece yet. Nicoletta is expected this week, and I have school tours to schedule across the provinces..." I trail off as he helps me to my feet.
"My love, even Nicoletta can wait while the doctor makes sure you didn't crack your skull open. Now, are you walking of your own volition or am I carrying you?" He grins, and takes a step toward me. I know which he'd prefer.
"Can we at least get dressed first? I'm sure the rest of the palace would prefer their monarchs clothed."
He finally laughs outright and crosses his arms across his bare chest, "Yes, my Queen, though your bump grows and your eyes blacken..."
I carefully turn to the mirror and see that he's right-I have matching shiners and my goose egg has taken on a greenish hue and ridiculous proportions. A trickle of blood still follows the line of my nose. "Fine," I grumble. "But help me back into my nightgown."
Maxon steadies me as I throw on a conservative cotton gown and replace the thick soft robe. I balance gingerly on the bed as he quickly covers his strong back in a sweatshirt. Sometimes it is hard for me to believe that we've already been married five years, that The Selection is a treasured but fading memory. Sometimes I forget how truly handsome my husband is. I maneuver along the edge of the bed to stand, but my knees don't want to play nice with my legs and feet. They buckle and I almost fall again.
Without stopping for shoes, Maxon turns and scoops me into his arms. "Let's get you downstairs." Protesting won't work at this point, so I decide to lean into his muscular chest and enjoy the trip. Too bad I had to pass out to spend an extra fifteen minutes with my husband.