Blackmailing His Bride (Court of Paravel)

“How long…been like this?”

“Eleven days.”

She’s been sitting here with my unresponsive body for eleven days, sobbing her heart out. Witnessing me die. I squeeze her hand, and pain blazes in my fingers. Something clatters to the linoleum as Sachelle moves.

“What’s that?” I rasp.

“My crutches falling over.”

Alarm races through me. She didn’t say she was hurt. “Sa—”

“I’m all right. I had glass in my leg from the explosion. I’m fine now.”

She says this so quickly that I don’t believe she’s as fine as she’s saying. I need to fucking see her. I can’t protect her like this.

“Go…home…not safe…here.”

“You’re worried about me being attacked? Don’t worry. I shot Tieman in the back, and Louis was arrested by your men.”

“Is Tieman…dead?”

“No. He’s on another floor, having his wound treated while a dozen of your men stand guard. They all want to be the one who makes sure he doesn’t escape, for you. They’re furious for you.”

Heavy weights seem to lift from my chest. Tieman’s caught. Sachelle’s alive. I haven’t woken up to a nightmare after all.

“Other…people hurt?”

“Minor injuries. Nothing serious. Everyone made it out of the building alive, by some stroke of luck. Levanter and his men are working with the fire department to figure out what happened.”

This short conversation has made me exhausted. Heaviness slips over me again, and I can feel that I’m going to slip into unconsciousness. Before I do, I feel Sachelle move closer and whisper in my ear.

“I’ll be right here when you wake. I’m not going anywhere.”

My throat is raw and speaking has exhausted me to my bones. I let myself relax a moment, just to recover some strength to answer.

And fall into a deep sleep.

I awake sometime later, and everything’s as black as night behind my closed eyes. It could be midnight or noon. I can’t tell the difference.

I listen carefully to the sounds around me. Things seem more peaceful than they did the last time I was awake, and I think perhaps it’s night. The sound of soft, regular breathing reaches me. Someone’s asleep nearby. I turn my head. From the angle of the sound that someone is asleep in a chair next to my bed. I recognize her soft breath. Sachelle’s been having uncomfortable night sleeps for nearly two weeks with a leg injury. My poor little fox must be worn out. No wonder she’s been crying so much.

I wonder how frightening I look to her. My legs will be horribly scarred. If the burns are deep, I might never walk again. My legs were my work.

I listen to her breathing. Focus only on her breathing. While I was being burned, she was shooting Tieman in the back. My damsel didn’t need to be rescued. She was saving herself.

I feel myself smile a little, my lips cracking painfully.

That’s my girl.

Her soft breath draws in and out. I can’t think about my eyes. I can’t contemplate never walking again. I can slowly flex my fingers, which means I’ll be able to touch her again. I know her, and she won’t cringe away from me when she sees my scars and missing toes. She’s the girl who offered tissues to a man who sat bleeding on her staircase, and the only expression in her eyes was sympathy.

I miss her face.

Please let me see her beautiful face again.

I’ll walk with a limp, I’ll sacrifice all my toes, but don’t take my eyes. I can’t protect her without my eyes.

I have another surgery, this time to graft synthetic skin onto one of my shins that received the worst burns. My throat heals and I can talk easier, though it’s still labored and hoarse, but they won’t take the bandages off my eyes yet.

My left hand has only a few minor burns, and they’ve healed enough that I can hold Sachelle’s hand. She’s my lifeline to the world. When the drugs and the darkness trick me into believing I’m dead and forgotten, she reminds me I’m here. That I exist. That I can love.

“Are you…sure you’re…all right?” I rasp, after I listen to a doctor examining Sachelle’s leg wound.

“You’re the one lying in a hospital bed.” I hear the smile in her voice.

I fumble my hand across the sheets, trying to find her. “Want to…see you.”

Her gentle hands take mine and brush at the bandages on my brow, and sadness fills her voice. “I know. I’m sorry.”

“Tell me…you’re all right. Tell me every…thing.”

“Jakob, I’m fine.”

“Tell me.”

She takes a deep breath. “I have scratches from all the broken glass. A piece embedded in my leg and the doctors had some trouble digging it out, but I’m fine.”

“Walking?”

“Yes, with these crutches. Once I’m healed up, I’ll be all right.”

I grit my teeth, frustrated that I can’t look at her and see for myself. I squeeze her hand. My poor girl, injured because of that piece of shit.