Page 21 of A Kingdom's Heart
He gave a faint shrug, wincing as he did. “Wouldn’t be the first to try. I just didn’t think they’d follow me this far.”
“I’m so sorry,” I said quietly. “They’re angry because you defended me.”
He looked at me then, his expression unreadable in the shifting light. “You don’t need to apologize for that.”
“I do,” I said. “You were just trying to help, and now you’re hurt because of it.”
He held my gaze for a long moment, then his mouth curved slightly. “Well then,” he said, a teasing note in his voice, “you’d better heal it.”
The words caught me off guard, and before I could stop it, a small smile tugged at my lips. “Of course,” I said softly. “Then do
as you’re told and take off your tunic.”
He raised a brow, but the corner of his mouth lifted higher. “Yes, healer.”
Carefully, he pulled the tunic over his head. The movement was slow, deliberate, his breath catching once as the fabric brushed the wound. When the cloth fell aside, the torchlight caught on the curve of his shoulders, the faint sheen of sweat on his skin. His
body was all clean lines and strength, built from years of training.
I swallowed hard and forced myself to focus on the wound, not the man. My pulse still hadn’t slowed. Every time I brushed the cloth against his skin, I could feel the warmth of him beneath my fingertips, steady, alive, and far too close.
I dipped the cloth back into the bowl and wrung it out, pretending my hands were steadier than they were. The water had turned faintly red. I pushed the thought away.
“Don’t move,” I said quietly.
He obeyed. The wound was deep enough to sting when I pressed the wet cloth to it, but he didn’t flinch. His breath stayed slow and measured, though a faint line had formed along his jaw where he held the pain in.
“Does it hurt?” I asked.
“Only a little,” he said, his voice lower now. “You have a careful touch.”
I tried to keep my focus on the wound, not the heat radiating off his skin. “I’ve had practice.”
He studied me for a moment. I could feel his gaze even when I didn’t look at him. “You don’t look like someone who belongs in a place like this.”
I glanced at him, startled. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Just that you seem out of place,” he said simply. “Too gentle for
these walls.”
The words hit harder than they should have. My chest tightened. “You don’t know me well enough to say that.”
He smiled faintly, a quiet curve that softened his face. “Maybe not. But I’d like to.”
The air between us shifted. For a moment, I couldn’t breathe. The bowl of water sat forgotten beside me, the torchlight flickering across its surface. I didn’t know where to look or what to say, so I reached for the bandage instead. My hands needed something to do, anything to distract from the heat rising in my face.
“You don’t need stitches,” I murmured. “You’re lucky.”
“Or maybe those men just weren’t trying hard enough,” he said, chuckling.
I glanced up sharply. “You think that’s something to joke about?”
He shrugged, the faintest wince flashing his face. “Humor helps
with the pain.”
I shook my head, unable to stop the small smile tugging at my lips. “That’s a terrible way to deal with pain.”
