𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐃𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐑𝐄 | ✎

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐𝟓

Three days.

Three days of lying in this damn bed and not being able to get up. I have never felt so helpless in my life. It sucks knowing I can't even do my own job properly because of the condition I'm in. But what sucks the most is knowing that Marco's security team is in charge of the princess during my absence.

They're idiots.

Maybe there have been times where I've let the princess out of my eyesight—not that any of them were my fault, of course—but Marco's bodyguards are just straight up lazy. They can't do anything right. They're barely even protective of that idiotic prince.

I haven't been able to sleep just thinking about it. My eyes burn, but I refuse to close them. I have way too many things on my mind for that. And there are too many things I don't want to dream about.

The door to my room swings open, and Princess Elena enters, looking as alluring as ever. She's carrying a box filled with supplies, which I assume are for my bullet wound.

Her honey-brown hair is styled in elegant waves that cascade down her back, reaching to her waist. Her soft freckles look more prominent, and her narrow blue-green eyes contrast with the rest of her appearance. The dress she's wearing is simple yet stunning—a black dress with a fitted bodice and a sleek silhouette.

"Good morning, asshole," she grumbles, walking up to my bedside. She's angry at me again, but this time, I truly don't know why.

I groan as I sit up in bed, feeling pain shoot through my abdomen. My gaze stays locked on her, though. "What's with the sour attitude?"

Princess Elena's gaze hardens at my question, and she places the box she's holding down on the bedside table. Her brows furrow, but before she can say anything, she notices my grimace and quickly presses her delicate hand to my shoulder. "Are you in pain?"

I hesitate before answering, unsure of how she'll react. When I eventually reply, my voice is barely audible. "A little."

Elena's grip on my shoulder becomes tighter. "What do you need? I have painkillers, antibiotics, anything you need to feel better."

I swallow my pride and nod. "Can you get me some painkillers? It hurts like hell when I move."

She hesitates for a moment before taking her hand off my shoulder. Then, she moves to the box and opens it, grabbing a bottle of pain-relief pills. After grabbing a glass of water from the desk, she returns to my bedside and offers me the pills and the water cup.

I accept them hesitantly, swallowing the painkillers before washing them down with water. As soon as I finish, she takes the bottle and the cup and puts them back in the box.