I’m a chicken shit.

I didn’t call Cat that night, and I didn’t call her this morning. In fact, when I got back to my room at the palace, I had to take a codeine and sleep it off because I worked myself so hard at physio, my body ached.

I want to believe that I didn’t call her because I was too exhausted. But, really, I didn’t want to call her because I don’t want her rejection.

And the worst part? Margo wanted me to come in for another physio appointment today. “I’m so proud of you for working hard today, I want you to come in for another appointment tomorrow.”

I had sat on the bench, icing my leg with the sleeve and looking at her incredulously. “What? Seriously?” I was going to barely be able to get myself out of there.

She’d winked at me conspiratorially. “If you’re a tough guy, you’ll be here tomorrow at nine am sharp. Or do you not want to walk properly again?”

So that’s why I’m back here, at the hospital, sweating my arse off on an exercise bike as I feel every movement of my leg. Margo stands to my right, watching me with her arms crossed in front of her. She looks smug, like she’s triumphant in my pain.

I scoff and keep my eyes forward, telling myself that every bit of pain is worth it. Every time I bite my lip to not cry out when we stretch is helping me be more of a man. Without pain there is no gain.

I just wish I didn’t have pain in the first place.

“Good job, Henry,” Margo appraises, checking her stopwatch. “You’ve got fifteen minutes left. Pick up the pace.”

Fucking hell, the woman is a slave driver. I grind my teeth together as I pedal faster, feeling the familiar twinge in my calf and quad. My muscles have atrophied so much since my wreck, I’ve had to build my leg up from nothing. It’s awful looking at it in the mirror and I refuse to look down at it now. I don’t think it’ll ever match my other leg.

I’m panting by the time I get off the bike, and Margo points me to the bench. I limp over there, my leg a wooden object underneath me. She sits on the edge and attaches electrodes to my muscles.

“You’re a bit more determined these past couple of days,” she says conversationally.

I snort. Margo’s never conversational. “I’m just trying to get better.”

“Not just that.” She gives me a hard look. “You’ve got a purpose again.”

Do I? I’m not sure, but I feel strange as she turns on the electrodes and it’s not just from the jolts of electricity shooting into my leg. I feel oddly transparent, like everyone’s been watching me, worried about me. To make sure I’m not about to kill myself or something.

“I just want to be me again.”

She nods absently as she finishes putting the rest of the electrodes on. “Let me know when the pain gets too great,” she says as she turns the knob.

My leg is nearly bouncing with the shock and my jaw is clenched by the time she turns it all the way up. She raises an eyebrow. “Let me know if that hurts after a while. You’ve got ten minutes on the clock.” She sets the timer.

I grimace as I sit back against the wall. This is necessary. I’ve been such a bum for so long, I need to jumpstart myself into doing this. Not just to impress Cat, but for me.

Lord knows I’ve been broken for so long.

Absently, I scratch at my chest, where, underneath my shirt, is a tattoo of a name. Elizabeth. My mother, the sister of Queen Victoria. After raising us by herself, she died after a horrible battle with cervical cancer when I was eighteen. Ferdinand was off being stationed in some part of the world as an officer in the Dubrevian military, and our father was long gone when we kids, so I was the one who had to take care of it.

To say that I went off the deep end for a while after that is an understatement. That’s a big reason why I ended up in Australia—just to get away from everything.

I grit my teeth again as the electrodes take hold of my muscles. I’ve been addicted to feeling alive ever since. And now that I’ve nearly died…

Well, I should try making this life worth living as much as possible.

I resolve then that I’m going to stop being a chicken shit and call Cat as soon as I get back to my room. Even if she’s not interested, at least I’ll have tried. And gotten out of my funk.

The timer goes off and I sigh in relief as Margo turns off the machine.

“Good job today, Your Highness,” she says as she plucks the electrodes off my leg. She seems a bit gentler today, which I appreciate. “You did well. You’ll be back to your old self in no time.”

And I get the feeling that she’s not just talking about my physicality. I roll down the leg of my sweats and let out a sigh. “I’m determined to get rid of this,” I tell her, indicating the cane as I get to my feet.

She snickers. “Well, you’re on your way now.”

I hobble to the door, determined to make it. I’m still sore, still aching, but at least I have the sense of accomplishment now. Hell, when I get home, maybe I’ll try getting into the driver’s seat of a car again.

Flashes from the wreck pop into my mind and I give a little shake. Maybe I shouldn’t get too crazy.

I make my way down the hallway, alone, passing people once again. And, to my relief, I see people as they glance my way. Taking notice. I hide my grin. Maybe I am looking more human again. I’m wearing sweats and a tee, but I at least combed my hair this morning and shaved.

I’m near the elevator when I stop, unable to believe my eyes. She’s standing there, like a vision, with a pamphlet in her hands. She’s noticed me as well and she blinks furiously. Embarrassedly.

I have no idea why she’s here, but all I can manage is, “Catherine?”