The Princess's Guard ✔️

23

Word Count: 1702

~Kiva

I shift from foot to foot as I allow Ark and all his wrath to examine my weeping arm wound.

"Don't be mad." I give him a weak smile, swinging my arm around as if to prove that it really isn't as bad as it probably looks.

"You're injured," he says slowly.

His lack of explosive anger is unsettling. That quiet rage that echoes in his eyes will haunt me, and will be the subject of my attention when facing whatever punishment he subjects me too.

"I tried to scale the wall back into my room and fell," I admit meekly, motioning down to the sorry state of my wet clothing.

My pride is wounded the most...and the breath that was knocked from my lungs will be missed, considering how painful it was trying to get some more back.

Ark doesn't say a word, winding his fingers tightly around my uninjured arm before yanking me to follow him.

"Woah, where are we going?"

"To the infirmary."

I practically dig the tips of my boots into the wooden floor. A hideous scraping sound followed by me nearly tripping over follows.

"No! My father will find out," I yelp. It's a fate worse than death, to be subjected to my fathers ire.

I cannot listen to another lecture on how I'm letting down thousands by not being a good Princess, or how my dead mother is probably rolling in her grave...

"Good. Maybe then he can punish you so I don't have to," he mutters, yanking on my arm.

I fight against him. "Ark, please. I'll tell you why I snuck out if you just get me some medical supplies so I can tend to myself."

He regards me quietly, thoughtfully.

Eventually he sighs. "Fine. But I need the truth."

He lets me go, gesturing for me to head up the stairs first. I make it to my room first, him following a couple minutes later with medical supplies in his hand.

Quietly, he ushers me into the bathroom, waiting until I sit on the edge of the bathtub before he starts examining the wound.

I reach out for the supplies, willing to treat myself, but he pulls back.

"I'll do it," he offers calmly.

"You don't have to-"

"Quiet."

I press my lips together. Instead, I just look at him as he grabs my arm with tentative fingers, stretching it out gently.

A hiss of pain escapes through my teeth. Ark glances up, eyes tracing over my face to ensure I'm okay. I nod mutely, not wanting him to stop.

He draws in a breath, quietly resuming.

He works quickly, adeptly. His gloved touch is featherlight as he cleans the wound.

"You look really mad at me," I murmur, examining his expression.

He shakes his head slowly. "You have no idea."

At least the wound isn't severe. He seems to take too much satisfaction from disinfecting it though, not hesitating in applying the liquid despite my yelp of pain.

"My mate wouldn't hurt me," I grit out. He wouldn't know that, but by now I would hope he would trust me with this.

That's a foolish dream, though.