Bash's condition seemed to improve over the following days. Eventually, he was able to walk around with assistance. Upon request, Nostradamus would allow him to steal his assistant for a few hours in the interest of physical therapy helping with his recovery. At night, Bash would request a guard to pass a message along to various servants.
"I'm certain a nearly fatal injury would excuse you from any duties for the king for a while," Nostradamus pointed out as he removed the soiled bandages from his stomach.
"That it does, however, they're not for the king."
Nostradamus raised an eyebrow questioningly as he poured alcohol over what was left of the wound to cleanse it.
"It's to make up for our first date being interrupted," he explained, wincing at the sting.
Nostradamus nodded. "Ah, young love." He dabbed the excess liquid around the wound, then redressed it.
"I've had many women in my day, but none so kind, honest, and genuine as her."
Nostradamus chuckled. "Are you certain you can handle that one? You should hear the colorful language these walls have heard since she started, and not all in the same tongue."
Bash started to laugh, then groaned in pain.
"Don't go reopening your wounds on me," he scolded.
"If it means more of her doting on me, I'm not quite sure that's such a bad thing," he countered.
"Well, if all goes the direction it appears to be heading, you'll have that for the rest of your life. Now, get better, and don't cause her unnecessary worry."
"You win," he conceded, angling his hands up as they rested at his sides to show defeat.
Mona stopped by the kitchens before work the following morning.
"Well, haven't seen you in a few days. Nostradamus keepin' you busy?" Leith asked, glancing at her, then returning his focus to the pan on the stove.
"Well, Jonathan," she said the name pointedly, "did take a sword to the stomach, so he needed intensive care."
Leith smirked. "So, I take it your little talk went well then?"
"Very well, actually. I'll tell you all about it tonight. What I'm here about, however, is our little project for your lady love. Did you find out her favorite flower yet?"
"Scottish primrose."
"Alright, so not something I could find in France. Did she describe what they look like? Please tell me you asked."
"Of course I asked! She said they've got five or six petals that are shaped like clover leaves. They're purple with a bit of yellow in the middle."
"Ok, purple I can work with."
"What've you got in mind?"
"Lavender is edible. I'll collect some with today's supply run and I was thinking we can mix it in with the dough to make a purple bread. Leave it hollow in the center for some honey butter. With some creative cuts before you throw it in for baking, viola, Scottish primrose bread. You do have honey, yes?"
"That's… actually not a bad idea. We ran out of honey this morning, but I can make a trip to the market before nightfall."
"The women that are worth your time will prefer something from the heart rather than from your coin purse. It's the effort and thought that show the love. Anyway, I'm off. I'll see you tonight."
She scurried up to Nostradamus's quarters, pushing the door open slowly. Assessing the room, she saw that her teacher was up and moving, but Bash was still asleep. As quietly as she could manage, she walked over to the basket and picked it up. She pointed to it, then to the door to indicate she'd be running out for supplies. He handed her a list of what was needed. She glanced over it, slid it into the basket, then headed out. When she came back a few hours later, Bash was awake and sitting up.
"How's our patient doing?"
"Being difficult," Nostradamus grumbled.
"It tastes horrid," Bash protested.
She fished out the lavender she'd brought back, then handed the basket off to Nostradamus, mouthing "I'll deal with him". He gratefully took it and got to work with the mortar and pestle.
"Tell you what, you drink this for me now-"
"But-," Bash started to protest.
"Without arguing," she continued, putting a finger up to shush him, "and tomorrow, I'll have some honey to put in it to make it go down a bit easier."
He mulled it over for a moment, then downed it in one gulp to get it over with. He felt the heat as it traveled down his chest to his stomach and winced as the bitterness hit his tongue. Nostradamus brought over a glass of water for him, which he downed greedily.
"How come you don't argue as much with her?"
"When I see you, I feel worse. When I see her, I feel better. The prescription is clear," Bash replied bitterly.
Mona looked to Nostradamus apologetically, who gestured dismissively before getting back to work.
"I know you're frustrated at being cooped up in here and in pain, but he is trying to help you get back on your feet. Help him help you," she reasoned.
He sighed. "You're right," he conceded, then turned to call out to Nostradamus over his shoulder. "Nostradamus, I apologize. That was very rude of me and uncalled for."
Nostradamus nodded, accepting the apology. "I only mean the best for you, my lord."
Bash sighed. "Alright, I've taken my medicine."
"Good boy," she leaned in and kissed his cheek. "Honey tomorrow, I promise. Now, let's take a look at your progress," she said, taking last night's bandages off. "From the looks of it, you might be up and walking on your own in a day or two. Nostradamus, what d'you think?"
"Let's give it three to be certain, but yes," he agreed.
"Thank the heavens! If the wound didn't kill me, the stir craziness might yet."
She rolled her eyes as she cleaned the wound. "Jon- I mean, Sebastian," she corrected herself and saw his eyes light up at hearing her say his real name for the first time. "You are such a baby. Have you never been sick before?"
"Not really, no, and," he paused, putting his hand on hers, "just Bash, please."
"Bash," she repeated with a smile. "I think that suits you much better."
"So, three days and I can walk out of here?"
"That's what he said," she nodded towards the physician.
"Then I would like you to clear your schedule for that evening," he stroked the back of her hand with his thumb. "I would like to make up for our previous date as soon as I'm able to walk on my own two feet."
"What have you got in mind?" she asked eagerly.
"You'll just have to wait and see. I'd like to see you in that dress again."
"I can make that happen."
"Main hall at 8, just like last time."
"I'll be there. For now," she removed her hand from his to finish dressing his wound, "rest. I'm working on something with Leith in the kitchens tonight. If you're good, I'll bring some later tonight. If I hear you've been rude to Nostradamus again, you get nothing. Are we clear?"
Bash smirked. "Alright, alright. I'll behave."
"Good," she kissed his forehead then joined Nostradamus at the work table.
"You certainly seem to have a way with him," he observed.
"I have three brothers and a pushy mother. To survive a house like that, you need to be kind, but a little bossy."
He chuckled. "I suppose, yes."
The pair finished making the various tinctures and ointments, tying tags with the name of who it was for and what it was to each before carefully placing them all in the basket. As she was still unfamiliar with the castle, Nostradamus took the deliveries to their destinations while she watched over Bash, who was thankfully getting some much-needed rest. When her teacher came back, she put a finger to her lips and then pointed at the sleeping prince. Nostradamus nodded and carefully made his way past him to the work table.
"You can head out for the day if you'd like," he whispered.
"Would you like me to bring anything back when I come back tonight?"
"Just some water for him. He'll need plenty of fluids."
"Of course," she agreed before grabbing a couple of empty jugs and taking her leave.
She walked as softly as she could past Bash and out the door. She made a quick stop at the well before waltzing into the kitchens, lavender and a couple of filled jugs of water in hand.
"I've got plenty of honey and I see you remembered the lavender," Leith clapped his hands together. "Let's get started."
She ground up the lavender while he mixed the rest of the ingredients. "Make sure to make enough for two."
"Oho, bringing one to your loverboy, eh?"
She kept her eyes down and focused on her work as her cheeks warmed. "Yes, if he's nice to Nostradamus. Besides, we need a test loaf to be sure it tastes alright before you bring it to Greer."
He snorted. "You're telling me you're bossing a prince around?"
"Not bossing, just… gently guiding."
"No, I know your style. You like to soften an order with a bribe. I do enjoy being on the other end of it for once," he chuckled. "So, tell me how that talk of yours went."
She talked while pouring the lavender into the dough as he worked it in, telling him all that had happened. The dough started to turn a vibrant shade of purple as more and more was added.
"Courting? Well, good for you! He'll likely need the king's approval still. Once he gets that, doesn't matter what Mother has to say about it, not that I think she'll have any objections whatsoever."
"Yes, I suppose he will need King Henry's approval. I didn't think about that…" She pursed her lips. "I doubt he'd ever let his son marry a commoner…"
"Hey, you never know. He's the bastard of the pair, so I don't think he's too choosy on his son's pick of who he wants for a wife. Maybe he'll be fine with it."
"Here's hoping. Ok, now I think if you put a cup in the middle, then some string around it to keep the shape, I think this should make the petals and gap in the center for the honey butter that we're wanting," she instructed as she shaped hers into a normal loaf, but artfully pressed two sprigs of lavender into the top.
"You're terrible in a bustling kitchen, but it's nice to see your creative side at work," he complimented her as he tied the string off.
"Thank you. I can cook for a household, but definitely not for a castle. Working with Nostradamus is much quieter and at my own pace. I don't understand how you don't go mad with so many voices all shouting at once," she shook her head.
"You learn to listen for what's relevant and block out the rest. This one's ready."
"This one as well."
Leith popped them both into the oven. "And now, we wait."
"What about the honey butter?"
"Already done. No special events today, so I had some extra time."
"Perfect! I can't wait to see how it turns out."
"So, when do I get to meet this Sebastian?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"I'm sure you've met Bash at some p-"
"Bash, is it?" he chuckled. "Yes, I've met him, but not as my future brother-in-law, yeah?"
"Yes, Bash. As for meeting him, you have a fair point. If the king gives him his blessing, I'll be sure he takes the time to get to meet you properly."
"You sure his Highness is gonna want to?"
"Oh, hush! He's not like that. If anything, he hates everything to do with being a royal. He really is a nice guy."
"Who just happens to be the king's son," he countered.
"Yes, but… I told him that if we proceed, I want nothing to do with any of this. I don't want the danger and lies that come with being at court. He couldn't agree more."
"Then maybe I'll find the first French noble I actually like. Bread looks ready. Back up," he waved her off. She took a few steps back from the oven as he grabbed the paddle to pull them out. She took a deep inhale, smelling a heavy scent of lavender in the air as the loaves came closer. "Ah!" he smacked her hand away. "Hot out the oven. You gotta let 'em cool, airhead."
"Right, sorry."
"Yeah, definitely a good thing you changed jobs when you did. You'd've gotten injured by your second day and got sent to him anyway." He tutted and shook his head disappointingly.
"Probably," she admitted.
After it finished cooling, he sliced up the tester loaf she'd made, slathering some of the honey butter on a couple of slices and handing her one.
"Cheers," they touched their slices together, then each took a bite, moaning in unison. "Alright, that's damn good. I may have to work this into the menu. Lavender, you said?" She nodded to confirm, her mouth full with a second bite. "The royals'll eat this up, that's for sure."
"Especially since it grows abundantly in France. They might have you work it into other recipes when they have dignitaries from other countries to give them a 'taste of France'."
"Can you get me some more? I wanna see what the chef has to say."
"Next time I make a supply run, I'll be sure to bring you back more. Mm! I should get going. The sweet strongarm routine only works if you deliver on the sweet part."
"Very true. Here," he popped the bowl of honey butter he'd dished out for them onto the place of sliced bread.
"Thank you," she picked up the plate and jugs of water. "Let me know how it goes," she called over her shoulder.