The Pawn

Chapter 3

Gael collapsed to the floor, Monica's body landing upon his as his struggle to keep her safe. The sun was setting, he could hear the sounds of nocturnal creatures coming awake and they were still somewhere in the field of corn. He couldn't manage to get them to safety while carrying his unconscious friend and all their bags so he'd abandoned the largest, taking from it two loaves of bread, the small pouch of coins that he found within it and water.

Yet, as he lay on the solid ground, his breath coming in pants, his body aching and his hair stuck to his head in sweat, feeling hot despite the early night breeze, he contemplated leaving everything else behind.

His priority was getting himself and his friend to shelter, any would do. Monica was burning up with a fever, sweating more than he did and every so often, her lips would part and she'd let out a groan of pain.

So this time he abandoned the heaviest, taken with him the few coins, the food and water, and leaving everything else behind as he shoulders Monica's weight and carried on.

The sun had long set when he was finally able to break through the field. The half moon producing just enough light for him to see 5 inches in front of him and no more, not even with his keen sight.

He didn't know when he spotted the old house, after what must have been hours of dragging his caretaker across the plains that were on the other side of the cornfield.

It was abandoned, the door hung off the hinges and the window panels were collapsed on one side and missing in the next. Had he been in his right mind, he would have stray clear of the four walls and roof that seem keen on caving in on itself.

But he was tired, his mind haven shut down every and anything that hadn't to do with finding shelter.

And so he entered, his body falling against the front door and slipping off the weak barrier as it gave away. Opening with a loud squeak and dropping him, small bag and maid to the floor.

Gael didn't move, he'd lost consciousness for a hand full of minutes until the hoot of an owl woke him. He struggled from under his friend and with weak arms, pulled her further into the dusty enclosure until they came to what appeared to be a chimney.

But he couldn't start a fire, the door wouldn't close and the night was cold. How could he sleep? He was tired, his body ached down to his bones and with every blow of the wind, Monica's figure shivered and she'd let out a sound of distress.

He would not sleep, could only pray the gods that had forsaken him from birth to : At the very least, even if it meant a life of hardship from then fort, spare his ally and friend from death's doors.

...

When Monica awoke, it was by the singing of birds and sunlight peeking through the cracks in the ceiling of a run-down cabin.

Her back slightly throbbed, but as she pushed herself up, discovering that she'd spent the night on a dirty floor laying on pebbles, dried leaves, and branches. It was no wonder her rear hurt.

With drowsy confusion, the experience maid looked around herself, past the mess and obvious signs of abandonment until she came upon the form of the sleeping prince.

He sat not too far by her side, his head hanging as he slept, having passed out from exhaustion.

Monica stared, the images of yesterday coming to her in flashes. She smiled, reaching a hand out with the intention of gently combing the knots out of Gael unbridled hair.

But as she touches him, he awoke, his hands grasp hers weakly and for a moment they stared at one another, black eyes meeting blue in a sleepy uncertain haze.

"I'm sorry I worried you" Monica spoked with an offered a smile.

Gael head lowered, his sobs and tears coming in silence as he was pulled into his friend's arms in a warm embrace. Her fever was gone, she was no longer in pain. His prayers were answered.

"Are you better know?" He inquired, whipping his face free from sorrow.

Monica nodded, her hand instinctively reaching to the place that caused her pain, her lips already pulling up into a sneer as she expected to find the rough flesh, an indication of her marking. But as her finger slide over smooth skin, Monica's eyes widen. Her sightless hand running up and down the frame of her neck in search of the curse she has bared from the time she was 17, 10 years ago. When her search came up empty, her gaze met with Gael's who could only stare at her frantic behavior, silently wondering if she was truly well.

Monica grabbed him by the shoulder, her eyes filled with panic, doubt but also excitement bothered with joy. Please, please lord let it be so, she thought as she demanded with a tone the prince had never known from her. Dominance.

"Do you see it? Is it there?" She asked.

"See what?" The young omega inquired, his worry for her health building with every passing second, every inch of pressure she applied to her fingers where she gripped him.

"The mark!" She bellowed. " The mark that bastard placed on me when I was a girl is it there?" She demanded.

Pulling the prince closer and bearing her neck, showing where she knew the mark to be. Gael leaned into her, his silent seconds like hours to the maid.

"There nothing there" He informed her. Sitting still as her hand fell to her side. For a while she was silent.

Then she laughed, loudly, joy-filled. With her head tilted back and her mouth wide open. She laughed like a child would, like the little girl she felt herself to be until that night when she was taken and imprison. Made to carry shackles in the form of a mark, a bound she had no say in forming. She laughs until the tears formed behind her lids and trailed down her cheeks. Then she cried, for the girl that had died that day, for the woman that was formed under abuse and pain and for the years that were lost.

But she had a future, she decided as her tears came to an end, wrapped in Gael's comforting embrace. Her abuser was dead, there was no other way the mark would have left her otherwise.

From today onwards, she was her own woman. From today, she was free. 

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