She was far too quiet, which did not bode well. Whenever the princess seemed withdrawn and taciturn, it usually meant that she was upset by something he had said, or that she was plotting something particularly dangerous- or sometimes both.
Of course she must be upset. She had broken the laws of House Eosin to save his life, and he had chided her for it and perhaps made her feel foolish.
Whatever she had done to him, the almost unbearably sharp pain in his back had dulled to little more than a constant sore ache.
He was, however, still very weak- probably due to massive blood loss. His head also felt light, and after raising his sword, he had become quite dizzy.
It was difficult to concentrate for long. Still, he had avoided one pitfall- an accusation of witchcraft against the Princess.
There would be many more ahead in the next few days... perhaps even hours. He did not yet know what the Emperor's true intentions were, and his brain still felt fuzzy and muddled.
He should call for Ilya, and Sir Anton, and...
He glanced toward the Princess and saw that she still sat with her hands clasped tightly in her lap. Her face was uncharacteristically blank, and her eyes were fixed morosely upon the floor.
Her face was going to bruise where the steward struck her. She still bore the angry red marks acros her pale cheek, and her fingers were quite raw-looking as they healed from frostbite. He knew that beneath her dress, there were bruises and scrapes across her body from her encounter with the bandits and her journey to reach the Capitol. She had also grown thin over the past few weeks.
He felt an irrational surge of anger as he looked at her. Why did she constantly refuse all help? Why did he have to beg and cajole and threaten her to keep her even somewhat safe, and fed and healthy? She did not realize, of course, that every bruise and cut and pound lost tortured him to some degree. Like constant reminders of why he could not keep her. This is what happens to a star when a fisherman tries to keep it in his home.
"I must bathe, before the water grows cold," he muttered, finally looking away.
"The wounds on your back are still healing and should not be submerged," she answered without looking up.
"I will keep that in mind!" He snapped, reaching for the bedpost. It was much harder to stand for the second time, as the room seemd to tilt as he did so.
He held still and gathered his strength, clinging to the bedpost. He must look ridiculous, he thought. Perhaps he should call for someone to assist him... however, the little he knew about blood magic caused him to suspect that there were markings on his back, and he could not let rumors spread that might hurt the Princess.
"If you need help, I can send for Sir Ilya," the Princess informed him, standing up as if she intended to do so at once.
"I do not need help, sit down!" He growled.
"Look at yourself! Of course you need help! You were just stabbed in the back... three times! Do you know how much blood you've lost" she scoffed. "You could pass out, hit your head in the bath and drown, you fool! Not to mention that a bath will soften the skin and cause the wound to open more, and don't forget that it's an excellent way to get an infection or-"
"Do not lecture me!" He thundered. "Do not call me a fool, Princess, while you sit there with your stomach stuck to your spine and your fingers raw and peeling, and your own body bruised and cut, and while you turn your nose up every time I beg you to eat or accept treatment!"
Her face flushed at his words and she opened her mouth as if she would retort, but then closed it abruptly, her lips twisting strangely into something between a smirk and a frown. She turned her back to him and crossed her arms. When she spoke again, her voice sounded strange to his ear:
"Do as you will then."
"Princess, you can't just..." his voice trailed off uncertainly as he realized that her voice sounded as if she was crying.
"Stars of Torobirk," he muttered.
Why now? He remembered the time in the carriage when she had uncharacteristically burst into tears and his stomach clenched in fear.
"Are you crying?" He asked, doing his best to keep his voice low and gentle.
"No," she lied quickly, still refusing to turn and face him. "Go... go and take your bath. I will see to... having the sheets...changed, and perhaps... some nourishing bone broth. It is... is good for... blood loss."
The awkward pauses in her speech and the small, almost unaudible gasps were enough to confirm to him that she was indeed crying.
"I did not mean to say that you are a fool," he began nervously.
"I am a fool. Just not in the way you think," she murmured.
Mikhail wracked his confused brain for the memory of what he had done in the carriage to soothe her. She had begged him for a truth then.
"I am... frustrated, by my lack of... I fear that I will fail you... that I am failing you. Every time, I look at you, I see my failings, and I should not have-" he fumbled.
The Princess moved her hand quickly to her face as though swiping at her eyes, and though he heard nothing, her thin shoulders shook slightly.
Fuck.
He had made it worse. His legs were beginning to tremble from the effort of standing so long, and his head was throbbing. The wounds on his back seemed to pulse in time with his aching head.
"I am cursed..." he muttered, finally admitting defeat and allowing himself to sit down with a heavy sigh. "Do you know... what it is like to appear so weak and pathetic in front of the one person you wish to be strong and infallible for?"
The Princess turned around slowly. She had, indeed, been crying. Her wide, blue-green eyes were red-rimmed, and her pale cheeks wet with tears.
"Yes," she nodded slightly.
"I don't believe that. Not you. Not the Princess of Vezda... the same girl who as a child charged right through the Unarian army at Gelt armed with nothing but a rusty broken pike," he scoffed.
She smiled faintly and shook her head at the memory. "I have been pathetically weak all too many times."
"Never in front of me," he frowned.
"Always in front of you! Only in front of you!" She insisted.
"You've never once asked me for help," he grumbled.
"I've never had to! You always seem to show up just as I'm about to be strangled to death or frozen or kicked in the teeth. You always... you're always..."
Her cheeks grew slightly red under his stare and she glanced away and shrugged slightly.
"It is... difficult... for both us," he murmured. "To admit to needing help, I mean."
"I suppose that is true," she answered.
Prince Mikhail almost let out a sigh of relief. She had ceased to cry. He wanted very much to reach out and brush away the teardrop that still clung to her cheek with his thumb, but he felt weak and feared that he might be too clumsy.
"Will you help me now?" He asked quietly.
She glanced up in surprise.
"I can feel the dried blood flaking off of me every time I move, and my trousers are soaked with-"
"Your hair is pretty bad too. It's matted something awful from all the blood and sweat," she added quickly.
Mikhail chuckled but stopped at the immediate pain he felt in his ribs and back, and groaned instead.
"Will you help me to stand and walk to the bath? I think I can manage from there."
In answer, the Princess took his arm and tugged slightly, urging him to stand again.
It was eaiser with her to assist him. She ducked under his arm as he stood, and wrapped her arm securely around his waist.
"You're not weak, you know," she assured him. "You took a man's head clean off with one stroke, and that was after being stabbed three times yourself. I've been in a lot of battles, and even I think that's impressive."
"You peeked," he accused, limping forward with her assistance.
"I did nothing of the sort. I've got working ears, haven't I?" She scoffed.
She paused as they reached the threshold leading into the bath, but then strode determinedly forward.
The steam from the bath wafted through the room. The servants had already lit the candles, and the early evening light that seeped through the narrow, foggy windows gave the room a warm sort of haze.
"My medicines chest is just there," he said, nodding toward a small bench against the opposite wall. "If you could help me with a few plasters..."
"Do you have disinfectants in there as well?" She asked.
"Yes, you'll recognize many things in it. It came from an army physician who was trained at the Temple in Vezda," he explained.
The Princess helped him to the bench and supported him as he sat. She eagerly unclasped the latch and flipped the lid up.
Her face lit up at once and she immediately reached in to begin sifting through the contents.
"You've got oiled clay from the Farow beaches and dried drushberries and... are these weatbeetles?" She exclaimed, her eyes sparkling as she lifted the small glass bottle to examine them.
Mikhail nodded. To be honest, he had no idea what was in that particular jar, but the excitement in her eyes and her happy expression was something so beautiful and so rarely seen that he feared ruining it with his words.
"I wish I'd known that you had something like this," she said and shook her head. "Your Unarian medicines are so-"
"Backwards... yes, you've said that many times. The first time you said it, was years ago, in the woods that night. I replaced my own physician with one trained in Vezda as soon as I returned to Drail," he admitted.
The Princess nodded and reached for a small white bottle. She uncorked it and sniffed it gingerly.
"Cleansing spirit... I thought so," she remarked. "Turn!"
At her order, he shifted slightly, turning his back to her. A few seconds later he felt something cold slide across his back.
"This will sting a bit," she warned.
Almost immediately, his back felt as if it had caught fire. He bit down, gritting his teeth.
"These farow clay plasters should numb it a little bit," she assured him as she began to smear the pastey mixture across his wounds.
By the way she applied the clay, it was hard to tell the shape of the wounds.
"Did you... stitch them?" He asked.
"No," she admitted reluctantly.
"How fast will they heal?" He wondered.
"It depends. I suppose it has a lot to do with how bad the damage is inside the wound. They won't close fully until you're healed inside, but you'll still have scars, and I suppose I should tell you now... I had to carve more marks... those won't go away either," she explained.
Mikhail nodded again. He had already suspected as much.
When she finished, he turned back and reached across her into the kit, selecting a white ceramic bottle.
"Oh no, that's not what you want. That's probably just an aloe and arnica gel. That's for bruises and small scrapes," she explained, as he uncorked the bottle and scooped the gel out with his finger.
"I know," he mumbled, and rubbed the mixture gently across her cheek.
The Princess flushed but did not move, allowing him to slowly massage the gel into her cheek.
Her face was so close to his that he could lean forward and-
No. Now was not the time for that. He could barely stand on his own. He had to gain his strength back quickly in order to prevent the Emperor from finding another way to take the girl.
"I think it's better now... you-you can stop," the Princess whispered.
Mikhail pulled away at her words.
"Can you stand? Do you need help getting down into the-"
"If you would bring a few towels and the tray of soaps over. I think I can manage the rest," he interrupted.
Using the wall to steady himself, he stood and then took a few staggering paces toward the steps leading down into the sunken bath. With one hand he pulled at the lacing of his trousers and then yanked at the waistline, allowing them to slide off before he stepped out of them.
He wondered if behind him, the Princess was shocked. He wondered if she had paused in her task to fetch towels and soap and gawked at him. Was her face red? She had likely never seen a man fully undress before her.
He entered the bath cautiously, taking only three steps down before he lowered himself to sit. The water would only come to his waist in this way.
The Princess crouched behind him, laying the tray and towels out on the edge of the steps.
He stole a glance to see that she was keeping her eyes averted, though her face was very red.
"I will call for Sir Ilya to help you out when you are ready. I don't think I mentioned it, but he was here when the soldiers brought you. He went out to gather information. I'm sure he'll be greatly relieved to find you've awoken," she said quickly, still doing her best to look anywhere but at him.
She almost stood, but then froze a moment, cocking her head to the side as if something had just occurred to her. Mikhail tensed in anticipation, sucking in his breath just slightly so that his chest would seem even more well-defined. Was she going to look?
"He was unaffected... Sir Ilya, I mean. It seemed as though he was completely unaware that you had been injured and the whole time he was here, he did not seem to be in any pain. I thought that was odd," she said, her eyes never moving up from the floor.
Disappointed, Mikhail released the breath he was holding.
"Only because the sword was held by the Emperor's own hand. Because he is my master, he can inflict pain even to the point of death without it transfering. I suppose if I died by his hand-"
The Princess gasped, and stumbled back dramatically. Her eyes were focused directly on him, and he could see her shock and his own face reflected in them.
"What? What is it?" He demanded, half rising from the water as he spoke.
"You talked about the curse! You spoke about the forbidden, you... it..." her words dropped off as she covered her own mouth with her hand.