Her chest ached.
A fire that could not be quenched spread across her body in agonizing waves that left her shivering and drifting in and out of sleep in a state of delirium.
Mica tried to speak with her mouth but her throat was chapped and every swallow of saliva felt like shards scraping down her throat.
She moaned in pain, a feverish sweat glimmering across her face. And just when it became all too much–
Suddenly the sheets were being drawn back and something cold and wet was being placed on her forehead. The relief was instant, she tried to open her eyes but the blurry image before her faded in and out of darkness.
The cloth swept a careful line across her forehead and down one temple. It shifted for a moment and rested on the length of her neck, feeling for the faint flutter of her pulse.
… Mica…
The king's voice was distant yet his touch as personal.
She moaned and tried to open her eyes, squinting back against the light. The hand lifted and she his footsteps recede briefly before the sound of curtains being drawn echoed.
The room fell into darkness, dimly lit by the bedside lamp.
It was bearable now.
His face came into focus; smooth yet sharp against the golden light. The calm set of his mouth and dull eyes focused on her face despite not seeing her. His gloved hand curled on her bedsheet and drew it back gently.
Before she could react his large palm slid behind her neck cupping it firmly. With a gentle nudge, began to ease her upright.
"Rise and drink something."
The pain was blinding.
Her hand shot out and grabbed at his wrist as she hissed through her teeth yet he remained steadfast and unrelenting.
… sit up, little lamb…
"You–" her voice cracked as the sheets slid down to her waist revealing a bandage wrapped around her bare chest. There was a yellowish patch over her left breast with stains of coppery red.
Mica whimpered while looking at herself.
He lifted a glass of water from the bedside table to her lips with unnerving accuracy but she was too thirsty to question. She sipped on the water slowly as she gulped it greedily, water slid down her mouth corner which she wiped at slowly then leaned back on the headrest.
The king stood by the bedside with his head inclined to the ground.
… the pain will be for a moment…
Mica blinked up at him with tears clouding her vision. Her lips parted to speak then shut again as her chin wobbled from the pain.
She sniffled and wiped at her eyes with the back of her wrist. "I want to leave."
His head tilted to the side curiously, a lock of silver catching in the firelight. This time he spoke out loud and she caught glimpses of his teeth.
"That is no longer an option, my dear."
"I want to leave." She repeated as though he had not spoken.
"I will be leaving. I'm not staying here, I'm not—" her voice cracked and she loathed herself for showing such vulnerability before him.
Mica looked at the lamp and stared hard as she tried to school her expression into something less fragile.
This is ridiculous, she thought, he can't even see my face.
"You will like it here," the king began, "you will not find it so…" a pause, as if searching for comfort to offer the broken thing before him, "...taxing. Endure only for this night and tomorrow will be better."
"Endure for the night?" She echoed searching his gaze for a morsel of sympathy. "I didn't ask to be branded–" her chest hurt where she touched it, "I didn't ask for this."
… you did not… yet you sought my comforting hand and sustenance of which I have neither denied nor withheld from you…
The voice cut through her own words with such clarity her lips shut, the King leaned forward and she could smell him now, see the rim of red outlining his unfocused pupils.
… I will not ask for anything from you other than obedience…
The scent of him musky yet fragrant, redolent of the woods from which his beast had scoured hours before.
I am your sustenance, little lamb. The King spoke slowly, his looming frame casting a long shadow over her. A pause followed his words and his head tilted, seeking out the voice of others which she could not discern in the heat between them.
He straightened then and whatever fleeting amusement had crossed his face dissolved to nothing. As if a curtain had fallen over his wanting expression and he began to turn away, the sweep of his cloak like a fluttering of dark wings.
… you will come to find peace within my region, that surpasses all you may think you know... He paused at the threshold of the door with one hand hovering over the doorknob, a fine line of thought creasing his brows.
… all I ask, my little one, is that you remain with me…
Mica had expected him to return the following days but his absence rang louder than her own heartbeat. Consistent until she settled for staring out the window at the dark overcast which seemed perpetual in the sky.
A servant had taken his place during the following days; appearing and reappearing whilst she was floating in and out of sleep. She changed her beddings, wiped her sweat, fed her with a spoon until her energy returned and eventually, brought a clean set of uniform and laid it on the foot of her small sized bed.
Mica blinked at the linen material grasped in her hand, delicate and ironed to a sharp edge. "What's this?"
The servant stood at the foot of her bed cradling the bucket of urine which she had defecated in, her face calm and unwavering, "Your uniform."
It consisted of a tunic, light against the chill of the weather, and a band of gold measured according to the width of her bicep. "The King requires his servants to wear uniform at all times within his palace."
At the mention of uniform for a servant, her spine straightened and she peered at the slave realizing that their uniforms were alike save for the absence of a golden band on her arm. "I'm… a servant?"
Was that his plan all along? To lure her into his castle, be branded like cattle and serve him?
Her stomach felt sick.
"Be dressed in an hour." The servant inclined her head forward, long hair sweeping over one shoulder to reveal the faint traces of his brand marring her neck.
"An hour?"
"Yes, the queen will be arriving."