I jolt awake, something inside of me alerting me to the change of location. Immediately recognizing the bed I’m in, I jump and run for the door. After grasping the handle, I throw it open and step into the hallway.
It’s dark outside. The hall is lit only by candles at infrequent intervals down the hallway. My heart pounds in my chest as I look either way. Unsure where the king’s room might be, I open each door and briefly look around, searching for any human outlines in the dark.
At the end of the hallway, I have not found his room. I turn back, heading the other direction, and start opening doors once I’ve passed my own again. As I make my way down the quiet hallway, my motions grow louder and louder, more frantic the longer I cannot find him.
The last door on this side has more ornate doors than the rest. Somehow I know in my heart this is the king’s room.
My hands shake when I reach out. I hold my breath as I turn the handle, slowly pushing the door open. All the air leaves my lungs at the sight before me. The room is brighter than the rest I’ve entered. Candles sit on every surface, a fire burns in the fireplace. There are several people in the room moving back and forth with various things in their hands.
I step into the room, and all eyes turn toward me. No one stops me as I move closer to the bed. When I approach, I notice the sweat dripping down his face. His eyes are closed but his head tosses back and forth, his long brown hair sticks to his skin. He sleeps, but not restfully. My eyes follow the lines of his body and I can see they have covered him with a layer of ice. My heart clenches in my chest.
Gently, I reach out and feel his brow. He is burning up. Without a modern thermometer, there is no way to gauge how high his temperature is. If I had to guess, his fever is high enough for someone to be rushed to a hospital.
His injured leg is sticking out from under the covers, the bandages large around his thigh. I can see the red lines as they come above and below the bandages there. A strange smell emanates from the location. My hand flies to cover my mouth and I hold back a gag. Someone touches my shoulder and it startles me. I look up to see a man standing next to me, a questioning look on his face. “Are you Callie?”
I swallow the thick saliva that has accumulated, taking a few deep breaths through my mouth to rid myself of the smell. “Yes,” I respond. I can clearly see he’s in a bad place. I don’t dare ask how bad the situation is.
“He’s been asking for you.” The man jerks his chin toward the bed, indicating the beast.
“How…” I pause, swallowing again. “How is he?” I finally ask. My mind struggles to remember anything I’ve read about wound care. Immediately regretting that my experience is limited to fiction adaptations and possible false descriptions, rather than having read some books that might have been helpful in this situation.
He takes a deep breath before answering, “We’ve been fighting the fever off and on since it happened. We cut out the infected area of his leg, but the limb is still inflamed.”
I clench my jaw as he talks. I was stuck in my world. I had no way to get here, and yet I struggle with guilt over not being here for him.
We turn toward the bed at a single word croaked out from its occupant: “Callie.” His hand stretches toward me. I immediately reach out and take it. “You came,” he croaks, a small smile on his face. His eyes close again. My hand stays grasped in his. The grip is not as firm as the last time he held the same hand, however many days ago.
The doctor has the decency to walk away from us. Carefully, I climb up onto the bed, curling up against him. I rest my head on his chest, draping my arm across the ice they’ve placed there. Behind me, I hear the door opening and closing several times and the room progressively grows quieter.
The man from earlier appears on the other side of the bed where I can see him. “I’ll be in the room just next door. Call out if you need anything,” he tells me.
I nod in response.
I am not a praying person, but I call upon any god who will answer me, asking them to save his life. Heal his body from the infection. Don’t let him leave me, too. It’s selfish, I know, but it isn’t until this moment I truly realize the depth of my feelings for the king in the prison world.
* * *
Sometime later, I wake up when an arm wraps around me, and then someone kisses the top of my head. My face is pressed against something warm, moving up and down in a steady rhythm. I turn my face up and see the beautiful, smiling face of the beast, his two toned eyes much more alert.
The doctor leans across the bed on the other side, clearing away the remaining ice. “The fever broke a little while ago. You seem to be his good luck charm,” he states.
I snuggle deeper into him and his hand rubs up and down my spine, causing goosebumps all over my body. His even breathing calms me, and again I fall asleep settled against him.
When I wake up again, I can finally think clearly. It isn’t until now, with a clear head, I realize how worried about him I have been over the last month, and how much sleep I’ve lost. I rub my cheek against his bare chest before looking up into his smiling face. “Although I would love to continue this, it seems Kenna has come to strip the sweaty sheets from the bed.”
I turn carefully so as to not fall off and see Kenna standing at the foot of the bed, new linens in her arms.
No one else in the room seems to care that we’re snuggled up in bed. I sit up and move my legs off the edge of the bed, and gravity makes me realize how much I need to pee. I glance down at myself and see I’m still wearing my pajamas from home.
Slowly, I slide off the side of the bed, and I wonder how I scrambled up here so fast by myself. He reaches out and grasps my hand before I have a chance to move away. “I just need to use the bathroom, and maybe change into some more presentable clothes,” I say.
He nods and releases my hand. “Don’t be long,” he replies as I slide through the door.
I rub the sleep out of my eyes while I make my way back to my room. The door is standing open, Kenna has already set out my undergarments across the foot of the bed. A simple dress hangs from the door of the wardrobe.
First, I use the restroom, washing my hands at the washstand. Then I strip off my pajamas, which are soaked through from the melted ice and probably sweat from being pressed up against another person for hours.
Kenna comes through the door when I’m pulling the shift over my head. She helps me into the rest of my clothes, braiding my blonde hair simply down my back. She does not apply any makeup today, instead leaving my face plain. “We’ve missed you,” she says as she ties the ribbon around the end of the braid.
I reach out, grabbing her hand and pulling her to me, enveloping her in a hug. “I’ve missed all of you, too.”
* * *
When I walk back into his room, he is sitting up, leaning against the head of the bed. His chest is now covered in a shirt, blankets pulled up over his lap.
He pats his hand on the bed next to him and I move, struggling to pull myself onto the tall bed.
My stomach growls. Loudly. I think back to the last time I ate something. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas,” he replies with a smile. He reaches down the other side of the bed and drags a tray of food up so we can both reach the breakfast someone has brought for us to share.
We spend the day in his bed, talking about our time apart. His recovery from the arrow wound was not a smooth one. He tells me that he’s had a fever off and on the entire time. I don’t tell him that the doctor already shared the information with me. He also tells me they had to cut away some of the flesh on his leg to get rid of the infection, but unlike the doctor, he grimaces at the reminder.
The healer tells both of us he believes he has finally come to the other side of the danger.
During the day, the beast seems to get some of his strength back. He tells me how much he’s missed me being here. The healer, who did not know there was another person who sometimes came to the castle, thought he was just hallucinating every time he would ask for me. It wasn’t until Kenna told him I had not been back one morning the healer realized I was an actual person.
“When I first woke up, I was terrified you had been injured as well. It wasn’t until I saw Kenna that she assured me you had sustained no injuries during the brief attack.” I reach out to intertwine my fingers with his.
Gently, I rest my head on his shoulder. “I was terrified not knowing how you were. How much damage had been done?” A tear glides down my cheek and falls to his shirt.
He gently grasps my chin and turns me to face him. Using his thumbs, he wipes the falling tears from my cheeks. “I’m okay. I’ll recover.”
I reach up and run my fingers gently along his scars. “How did you get these?”
“I don’t remember. When I woke up in this world, my face was like this.”
“You didn’t mention it in the journal.”
“I didn’t want to write it in the journal in case whoever sent me here was able to read it. I didn’t want them to know they’d won, that they’d caused me pain in those first weeks as it healed.” He runs his hand down my braid, gently tugging on the end. “Your hair is nearly white, I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Allowing his change of subject to end my line of questioning, I snuggle into him while he continues to play with my hair.
We fall asleep wrapped in each other’s arms, my head again pillowed on his chest. We breathe as one, heartbeats in tune to each other.