366 Days a Captive

Bloodstone Boundaries and Fae Insecurities

Chapter Five: Bloodstone Boundaries and Fae Insecurities

James returned to his rooms only to find his 'guest' wrapping bandages around her midsection awkwardly, attempting to dress long gauges on her back.
His first thought, he would later think back with horror, was something along the lines of who-dare-hurt-my-doctor, and not why-the-heck-is-her-back-slashed-open. When had she become 'his' doctor, and not 'the' doctor? May glanced up at him, giving a cheery half wave, a strip of bandage caught between her teeth, not even worried that she was sitting there with her long red dress pooled around her waist, her bright green bra a strange contrast to the weeping red slashes on her back.

James averted his eyes out of a misguided sense of chivalry and was rewarded with a snort and a reprimand mumbled around a mouth full of gauze. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch that," he replied primly, turning to his desk where stacks of scrolls waited for him to read them, insistent ink glaring at him in the light of the almost full moon that drained in through his floor to ceiling window.

"I said," May replied, tying off one of the rolls of gauze, "That it's just my body. What's the big deal?" James heard a rustling as she reached for another bandage, and pointedly kept silent. Part of him was wondering what had happened, but a larger part, the part that made him so good at his job, was compartmentalizing his response, pushing any feelings of concern and sentiment into a neat little locked room and hanging the largest mental 'Do Not Disturb-Ever' sign possible on it.

He had a duty to uphold and a treaty to get signed. He would protect his ward, but he would not like her. He could not. To like something was to get attached, to get attached was to form a weakness. He could have no weakness.

(Not even ones with beautiful long brown hair and sparking maroon eyes.)

(Especially not those.)

"It's not like you guys don't have wild orgies anyways," May was speaking matter of factly, winding another strip of cloth around her torso, and struggling to get the bandage properly tied around her back. James could see the reflection of her in the glass of his window, could see the pain in the way her shoulders hunched, hear the hiss of breath when cloth came in contact with skin.

"They're boring," he replied, pretending to be interested in a report on Glass Fae history while secretly watching her rhythmic motions, pull, wrap, unwind, pull wrap unwind. Around and around the bandages went, jerkily covering split skin.
His fingers itched to help her and James glared at the traitorous appendages. He was not going to help her. She hadn't asked, probably didn't want his help anyways.

He blamed the moon on his capricious feeling, blamed her silver light for his desire to walk over to the girl sitting on the simple cot and redo all the poorly wrapped dressings.

"Boring? Really?" May's response had him trying to remember what they had been discussing. He faintly remembered some stupid remark of hers about Fae orgies. Humans always believed that the Fae did nothing but have wild parties. He supposed that it was partly true. The Fae loved change, and nothing changed quicker than a Fae masque.

"Yes, boring. Just like this conversation." He shuffled the papers on his desk a bit and moved to sit down. May found herself wondering when he was going to ask the question she thought he'd get to first. If she wasn't so annoyed by his terseness, she would have been wounded by his lack of care. Didn't even captives have the right to not be shreded?
Oh well, at least it stopped her from having to make up some story. Implicating Findabhear would probably get her killed quicker.
May tied off the last bandage and changed into her pajamas. She wouldn't admit it, but the blush that had colored James' ears the color of her dress was satisfying in a way that Theofayn's hadn't been. She'd made the icy ambassador feel something, even if it was nothing more than embarrassment.

She understood him so much better when he was showing emotion. When he was acting like the Fae she had been introduced to by Nathaniel, the fae he slipped into around the Prince of Pranksters.

May curled on her side and tried to ignore the feeling of open wounds scraping against their dressings. She was just going to have to deal with it for a little while.

Or a long while, considering her limited Bloodstone healing.

James stayed up long past the time May had fallen asleep, her even breathing a strangely comforting addition to his largely impersonal room. He read through all the correspondences he had neglected in the last few days, what with the Nicolai scare, Finvarra's grand ball, and his sudden babysitting of Murano. A good third he discarded as absolute drivel, inaccuracies that only spies could produce and consider as 'intelligence'.

"Don't you ever sleep?" Jim didn't turn at the familiar voice, choosing instead to sift through a scroll covered in the cramped writing of Blackheath, the King's blood brother and leader of the Fae Army. It detailed some strange encounters on the isles that had drifted through his intelligence networks, something about the discovery of a 'vampire coven' trapped under a spell.

"You could knock like everyone else," was his tired response, the fatigue in his voice inescapable, even to himself. He silently cursed his body, wondering when all of it had become so fickle. Tossing the scroll aside, supposed covens could wait, James rubbed a hand down his face, glancing at the sky outside to ascertain the time.

The wheeling of stars and planets let him know that it was at least 2 hours past the midnight hour, that he had been sitting at his desk for 6 straight hours. He was unsurprised though, he'd had a lot to catch up on.

"Where's the fun in knocking?" Nathaniel's voice was light, and Jim wondered why he was here, at this odd hour, standing in his room. Finally turning, Jim took in the sight of his friend, one of the few he did have, standing in the small parabola of light his lamp threw out from his desk.

He couldn't yet convince himself that Nathaniel was close enough to deserve being pushed away.

In the steady light of the lamp, Nathaniel's sandy brown hair looked oddly dark, his sea green eyes, deeper and wider, the tall fae serious for once. Nathaniel's gaze lingered on the plants in the room, the one touch that Jim had brought to the suites gifted him, a veritable forest of greenery.

"I wanted to deliver some gifts, without you hiding them or something." Nathaniel's tone was light, though his eyes bespoke of his belief that James was capable of disposing of things he found unfitting to be gifted to his captive. Jim wasn't sure whether to be wounded or pleased that Nathaniel knew him so well.

"What 'gifts'?" his curiosity was drawn to the bundles in Nathaniel's arms, the packages wrapped in paper and tied with mismatched bits of string. Nathaniel sat them down next to May's cot, gently so as not to jostle the contents.

"Just things her siblings wanted her to have, a couple things from Marci and Arianna, and a hug I am as of yet unable to deliver from Amerik and George, who believe that they have nothing of worth to give. Or at least nothing they'd be allowed to give."
Nathaniel looked with some alarm at the spots of blood that were seeping through the white sheets where May's bandages needed changing. "What happened?" His voice was quiet, the calm before a desert sandstorm came and scoured the flesh right off your bones.

"I'm not sure." James almost winced as he said it, noting that there was true fury in the Prince's eyes, roiling anger that had never before been directed at him. Bracing himself, James waited for the rant he was sure he deserved, waited for the sting of a slap or the pain of a hilt to the head.
But Nathaniel did none of that. He just shook his head. "I thought you were better than that, James."

For some reason, the use of his actual name stung far worse than any physical jab.

And with that Nathaniel took his leave, leaving the tired Ambassador alone with his thoughts and the moonlight.