“This is going to have to come out, you know.”
It wasn’t bleeding much—only a sluggish dribble of blood—but she had a feeling it would bleed more once she removed the arrow.
“Ready?”
Not giving any warning, she yanked the arrow out and pressed a cool cloth atop the gaping hole. Horror filled her as blood seeped into the cloth. She pressed harder, until finally, the bleeding stopped. She swallowed the bile that rose in her throat. There was so much blood—some of it coating her fingers in deep maroon.
“Hold pressure on this for me?”
He put an enormous dark hand over hers, and they swapped positions, his hand pressing against the wound in his leg while she readied a strip of towel.
“Harder, that’s not enough pressure,” she said, speaking with more confidence than she felt.
He grunted and obliged.
Feeling a bit woozy from the sight of blood, she persevered, feeling like it would be poor form to stop now. She hurriedly placed a dry towel on the woundand gestured for him to keep pressure on it as well. He swayed, but he did as he was told. She grabbed strips of linen and slid several underneath his thigh, readying herself to tie them around once he removed his hand. She took a moment to reason and plan out a logical way to tie a bandage over the severe wound.
“Okay now,” she said, nudging his hand away.
Elizabeth quickly and tightly tied off her makeshift bandage, pulling it taut. She wrapped another around his leg and repeated the motion twice more. She held pressure against the wound, bandaged as it was, for several minutes and was gratified when she released her hand and no blood had seeped through. Satisfied he wasn’t going to bleed out and die, she focused her attention on disinfecting and wrapping the minor cuts and scrapes on his arms and legs.
“You don’t speak Common? Well, I suppose it’s nice to have someone talk to distract you, anyway.” She smiled and cast around for a topic.
“Once, when I was a young child, I tripped and fell into a ravine with thorny bushes. Where I’m from, they have these briar roses that have needles as long as my hand. The most beautiful flowers, but the barbs are extremely painful. That day, I was stuck with at least a hundred briar needles, and my father sat with me patiently, keeping me entertained with stories while he pulled out needle after needle until they were all gone.”
Elizabeth spoke to him as she cleaned and bandaged his injuries, telling stories to keep a gentle soothing voice in the air. Honestly, she felt like she was babbling, but she thought a kind voice would help distract him.
“When I was a child, I wanted to be a warrior like you. Yes, I know.” She smiled. “Silly as it was. I would run around the forest with my best friend, and we would pretend to be witches who could bless our loved ones and warriors who could fight our enemies. My mother would have lost her mind if she had seen us. I always admired the men who wore shining armour and carried swords. We once found two long sticks and whacked at each other like half-mad beasts, pretending to be great warriors. Princess warriors, of course, who also attended great balls with queens and kings. And cast spells to bless our friends and loved ones.”
She smiled at the memory. “I read so many books about knights, pirates, spies, and women who would travel the world in search of adventure, excitement, glory. But as time went on, my fascination with adventure warred with my practical nature, as you might imagine. And so, instead of running around whacking my friend with sticks, I stuck to reading about it in books instead.”
Surveying her handiwork, she grinned. “I’m finished.”
She guided him to lay down, and she settled herself in a chair by his side. “I will tell you one of my favourite stories, if you’d like.”
No answer or refusal greeted her, so she did. She sat beside him and shared the story of one of her favourite books as she finished bandaging his forearms. Achildhood favourite of hers. The demon watched her as his eyes drooped, and he slowly drifted off to sleep.
“Sleep well, friend.”
After cleaning the floors the best she could, and sending a silent apology to whichever servant would have to clean up after them, she left. Gathering a few of her things from her room, she returned with a book and a small blanket, reading while her charge drifted in and out of sleep.
One time, the demon awoke and looked at her curiously. She smiled, saluted him with her book, and returned to reading. When the demon went back to sleep, so did she, napping lightly in the chair.
When she awoke, she was shocked.
The demon was gone.
In the bed and fast asleep, lay Caspian.
Chapter 41
Monster of the Castle
Too taken aback to say or do anything, she watched him sleep. He looked so harmless in slumber, softer, almost vulnerable. She watched his chest rise and fall, too shocked for words.
The morning sunlight streamed in from the window, casting a golden light on the demon sprawled out in satin sheets. As if sensing her gaze, Caspian’s eyes opened a fraction. He looked at her, blinking sleep from his eyes.
“Elizabeth,” Caspian said, his morning voice deep and scratchy.
