366 Days a Captive

Midnight Terror, Daytime Nap

Chapter Two: In Which It Becomes Clear How Serious A Doctor Takes Their Oath and Illusions of Fae Invulnerability Are Shattered Like Soap Bubbles

A few hours after midnight...

The loud banging on his door woke James from the deepest non-medicated slumber he'd had in a while. If one of his rare dream free nights was being interrupted by some annoying fae who had found the wrong room, he swore one of his plants near the door was going to commit murder for him.

His door swung inward slowly and James stared in shock at the startled looking Fae in front of him. Findabair was dressed hastily, her shoes mismatched and her hair wild, pale purple eyes staring clear as glass at him in the growing light of the waxing moon. James had never seen her so flustered and worried, not even during the wild revels held at the castle, revels where she had often tried to woo him (to no avail).

"James, wake up your prisoner, she's desperately needed!" Findabair was out of breath, her hands clutching at a stitch in her side. James nodded almost immediately, running over to the pile of blankets he knew May was hiding under.

May woke up to the touch of soft hands with rough, sword calloused fingers. Disorientation set in and for a moment, she had no idea where she was, when she was, or who she was. The worried face that swam into sight, devoid of all its haughty pride jolted her back to reality and May felt a rush of embarrassment, wondering if she had been screaming in her sleep again.

"Get up, Miss Bloodstone, someone,"

Another voice chimed in, "The King's eldest son,"

"The king's eldest son, is deathly ill and we need you to heal him." May jolted out of bed, remembering the sweet little fae boys who had given her toys when they'd seen her melancholy face. In this whole accursed castle, they were the beings who had been most kind to her (excepting Old James who had given her a rose and a promise of protection, however slight) and she couldn't stand the thought of one of them dying. Fae they might be, but they were also children.

Bloodstones had a soft spot for young ones.

May's bare feet slapped hard against the cold stone of the castle floor as she was dragged through corridors lit only be soft rush lights and bright moonlight. Everything was silver and black in the stark lighting and she caught glimpses of gilded doors, magnificent portraits, and mirrors.

It was the mirrors that scared her the most. Even glances were enough to send cold chills down her spine. She didn't need a glass fae to tell her that those mirrors were bad news. Hundreds of frightened May Bloodstones stared at the original, each slightly different, slightly their own being.

She had never been so glad for the speed of distressed Fae.

Within moments May had been pulled into a lavish room, decorated in all shades of green and red, a single child's bed in the middle.

Regal even in the middle of the night, Finvarra knelt by the tiny bed, hands stroking the sweating forehead of Nicolai, his oldest child. The boy was pale as moonlight, his chalky skin scaring even the sober minded James.

Nicolai was more than sick. He was dying.

May didn't waste time on the pleasantries, didn't waste time on asking why she wasn't called in sooner. Forgetting that she was being held against her will in this beautiful nightmare of a castle, that she was wearing ridiculous clothes, that her feet were freezing, and that she owed these Fae nothing, May ran towards Nicholai, kneeling next to him and murmuring that everything was going to be alright.

Finvarra backed gratefully away, watching the young woman who was his last hope.

(Fae were very rarely healers. Troublemakers, lovers, providers of magic, but hardly ever healers. That required true compassion)