TW; slight description of blood/injury
Darryl's heart thudded at an almost irregularly fast pace as he led Zak away from the main square with Vincent in tow, hand tight around the prince's wrist. Honestly he had no idea how he was supposed to handle a situation like this one once it had already reached this point. He had been taught to prevent situations, not exactly fix them.
Despite his lack of experience and expertise, he was determined that he would find a way to correct his mistake, especially since said mistake had led to a very shaky and bleeding prince. It wasn't exactly the best-looking situation for Darryl.
Or Zak, he supposed. The prince still appeared to be in a mild state of shock, trembling slightly under Darryl's grip. So much so that a wave of pity washed over the knight. He could have prevented this if only he'd been giving Zak and Vincent his full attention.
In a lot of ways it had been Darryl's fault, and he felt awful.
Once they had reached the outer corner of the square Darryl approached one of the shopkeepers in the area, politely requesting admission on behalf of the crown. Then, dragging Zak inside, he turned back to the shopkeeper.
"Close the shutters please. I don't want anybody to know where we are."
After receiving a short nod of confirmation and hearing the rattling sound of the shutters being lowered, Darryl pulled out one of the chairs from beneath the checkout and sat Zak down on it, using the grip on his wrist to lift his arm up a little and pushing his sleeve back so Darryl could see the wound more clearly.
Though the dart had grazed the skin and not punctured it, it still appeared to have done a great deal of damage. Blood had bubbled up around the broken skin and showed no sign of slowing, which was alarming. Normal wounds would begin to slow and scab quickly, so that was warning sign number one.
Darryl could only hope the dart had been a normal one and not something far more complicated.
Ignoring Zak's pained noises (they had faded into whimpers by now), Darryl motioned to Vincent.
"Please get me some water and two pieces of cloth. I need to clean this out."
For a second Vincent hovered, looking like he was about to say something. Then, without another word, he turned on his heel and headed into the back of the shop presumably to look for what Darryl had requested, the shopkeeper scurrying after him.
"Zak?" Darryl asked, tapping the prince lightly on the shoulder. "Eyes open please. I need to know you're not-"
Not dying of some poison or other that I can't stop.
"Not sleeping."
Zak huffed at that, hands curled into fists in an attempt to curb some of the pain. "Yes. Because I really want to sleep right now with all of this pain. That totally makes sense."
It didn't, of course, but Darryl wasn't going to voice any real concern. Not because he wasn't concerned - he really was - but because he was worried of scaring Zak a little bit too much when he didn't even know how serious things were just yet. So he'd wait a little and then, if it was serious enough, he'd let Zak know. Probably.
"Here." Vincent's voice was calm as he appeared from behind, setting down a bucket of water and two pieces of linen cloth. "Sorry it took so long, the taps were hidden all the way in the back of the store. I had to make several trips."
"Doesn't matter. At least we have it now."
It was an easy thing to say, and perhaps also a reassuring thing. Maybe he could trick Zak into thinking things were okay if he was able to see that they had found the appropriate things to clean out the wound with.
Darryl paused. "Hold his arm." Then, with a grimace towards Zak, he continued almost regretfully. "Prepare yourself. This is going to sting a bit."
A bit might have been an understatement. The water combined with the fact that Darryl hadn't had to do this before didn't exactly bode well.
Carefully, Darryl took one of the pieces of cloth and dipped it into the warm water before carefully pressing it to the wound, ignoring the sharp hiss of pain and the way the prince tried to pull his arm back. Bit by bit, the knight started to clean away the dirt from the wound until the cloth was stained red. Then, when he was sure the wound had been cleaned to a somewhat satisfactory level (really there was only so much he could do), Darryl motioned to Vincent again.
"Here, I'll hold him. You need to tie that second piece tightly around here. Over time that will stop the bleeding, or at least slow it down until we're able to get back."
Although Vincent didn't exactly seem keen at the idea of having to do part of this himself - and really, Darryl couldn't blame him, it was an unusual situation - he appeared to steel himself before doing what he had been told, tying the cloth around the wound carefully.
"Okay." Darryl murmured, taking a second to lean back and breathe. "Okay. Crisis averted. Maybe."
To be truthful, a part of him knew this couldn't be it. There's no way they'd waste their one shot at the prince on a normal dart. It seemed too convenient, and therefore Darryl was sure it was.
But worrying about it wasn't his main priority right now. That had to be getting Zak and Vincent back to the palace in good - well. relatively good - condition. He'd already be in trouble for letting Zak get injured and he didn't plan on giving the King any more reason to be annoyed at him.
"Come on, we're done here," he said eventually, standing up and looking down at Zak once before almost begrudgingly offering a hand. "We need to go. Whoever shot at you may still be waiting for their second chance."
"And will they get to take it?"
Darryl blinked. "Take what?"
The look on the prince's face was collected, almost thoughtful, and for a second Darryl was thrown off. Then Zak sighed as if having reached some grand conclusion and stood up, fingers brushing against the cloth tied around his arm.
"Their second chance, of course."
"No."
"And why not?"
Darryl knew the answer to this one. It was the answer he'd been taught. "Because they'd have to get through me first, and they're not going to."
"I mean," Zak started, and a tiny smile curled the corners of his lips upwards. "They technically already did once."
Deciding it was best not to answer that small jab, Darryl only huffed out a breath before motioning towards the door. Zak, who had caught up with Vincent and remained a few steps ahead of Darryl, seemed to still be feeling a little queasy, though the part of Darryl that desperately wanted this to have been fixed liked to believe that was simply from the pain. He'd be better after he'd been seen by an actual medical professional. Right?
The trip back to the palace was, for the most part, rather uneventful. Vincent and Zak had bickered most of the way back despite the low mood hanging over both of them after their brush with danger and, although on constant high alert, Darryl found himself interested in what they had to say. They had fairly complex world views and creative thoughts when they weren't constantly joking around it seemed.
Once they were inside, things were a very different story.
"What happened?"
Darryl almost jumped at the sound of a voice behind him. He'd almost forgotten they were in a place where many other people worked. Of course somebody would notice what had happened. News of the event had probably spread like wildfire already anyway. There was little to no point in making something up.
So he'd tell the truth. Honesty was, after all, the best policy.
The voice had been strong and not at all soft spoken, something that didn't appear to match the small girl that it had come from. She must have been around seventeen or eighteen at most, her hands placed on her hips as though she had every right to take control of this situation and, in reality, she probably did.
"There was an accident-" Darryl started, voice low. "I was-"
"Darryl was looking for me." Zak's voice cut in clear over his and Darryl jolted, surprised. "I saw a small pendant shop and thought I would go see. It wouldn't take me too long so I went."
A tut from the woman. "So you slipped your guard again, did you?"
"Yes. Except clearly, it didn't go too well."
The sheepish tone in the prince's voice could almost be real shame had Darryl not known what had actually happened. Even still, Zak covering for his incompetence made little sense. For a moment the knight considered correcting him, before realising that may sound even more disrespectful, never mind foolish.
"Some rebel or something shot me. Probably one of those idiots on their whole 'get rid of the crown' thing, you know?" Zak rambled on. "But it was just a little dart. No harm done, and Darryl patched me up afterwards. I'm sure Vincent would be happy to predict when it'll get better if you'd like an exact estimate."
"Stop." The woman demanded, one hand raised to her forehead as though she was thinking deeply. "Stop for just a second. You said someone shot you?"
Darryl can sense the confusion coming from Zak before the prince had even opened his mouth. "Yeah, but it was just-"
"Just a dart, right?"
Another pause. "Yes."
The woman sighs and Darryl feels a prickle of unease begin to rouse in him, as though what he fears to be true is about to be confirmed.
"Zak." The woman says, and Darryl watches as she takes his wrist carefully, as though he may shatter. "Those were not normal darts."