The hair was the same like hers and from the back she could pass off as Adalia. But her face wasn’t as glorious, wasn’t as perfect as the love of his life. Her lips were full but not red. Her skin wasn’t as white as snow but brown, she was beautiful but she just wasn’t her.
“I’m sorry. Where am I?”
“You are in the North,” the girl turned around and smiled at him.
Her eyes slowly began to graze over his chest that was when Archer realized he didn’t have a shirt on. There was a large bandage on his side but other than that, nothing else. He felt her gaze rest on his abs, and he immediately felt uncomfortable. He needed to get his answers and get out of there.
“Do you know the people who live in that hut, the people who took me in?” he pointed in the direction he came from.
“You mean Lola’s parents?” she said. “Yes, they will be back soon.”
Archer turned around and started for the hut. He didn’t feel comfortable going back in there with no one to welcome him but he had nowhere else to go. He lifted his leg to take another step but the pain froze him.
“Are you alright?”
Archer nodded, afraid that if he opened his mouth the only thing that would come out would be a cry of pain. But then he shook his head. No amount of training of male machismo would be able to get him back to that hut without any difficulty.
“Do you mind helping me?” He managed to choke out through clenched teeth.
“Sure, just put your arm around me.”
Archer did as he was told. Slowly they were able to get him back to the hut. Archer lowered himself on the bed and once he felt the soft straw come into contact with his body he was relieved.
“I am never getting up from here,” he swore.
“Do you mind if I take a look at your wound?” She asked as she gathered the things she would need.
“Sure,” he mumbled.
She went out to get what he thought was hot water. He took the few minutes he had to himself to prepare himself for the pain that he was bound to feel. His mother always told him there was no shame in crying, but his father wouldn’t allow it. But Archer wouldn’t let himself cry, not in front of a stranger, especially if it was a woman.
The girl came back with a bowl of steaming scented water. She knelt down beside the straw bed and put the bowl next to the gauze and a leafy mixture. “This is going to hurt. You better hang on to something.”
Archer grinned back despite himself. His fingers curled around the makeshift bed post. He looked away as she began to peel away the bandage, a slight cool breeze whistling over the soar. Soon the painful part of the redressing would start and Archer wanted to find something that would distract him.
“I don’t know your name,” he coughed out when the pain began to sting.
“It’s Fiona.”
“I’m Arthur,” he made sure he gave the same fake name he gave little Lola.
Archer waited to see her reaction. But there was no expression on her face that told him that she knew who he was. Instead there was a sturdy expression as she gazed as his wound.
“It’s seems to be healing well,” she mumbled. “You need to stop talking and get ready.”
She took the leafy mixture and lifted it to the wound. But before she could apply it, Archer moved away.
“What is that?” he hated himself for showing how afraid of pain he was. But he was only a man. Crown Prince or not, he was still weak to the same pain each and every guardian in this realm felt.
“It’s going to help you heal. Now lay still and think of something else,” there was an edge of annoyance in her tone.
Archer didn’t disrupt her anymore. He lay still and held on as tight as he could as his mind went back to his home and Adalia. But when the leafy remedy came into contact with his wound, he didn’t feel pain. He felt this cool sensation that not only covered his wound but seemed to flow through his whole system. Archer thought of Adalia’s soft kisses and the gentle hands.
He didn’t understand why Fiona said it would hurt, until the cool was replaced by a burning heat. When his thoughts left the happy memories and went to the last moments he spent with Adalia. He felt as if someone was stabbing him all over again as he heard her desperate cries. His body curled in pain as he hissed out curses.
Fiona covered his wound with fresh gauze then got up. “In a couple of weeks you will be fit to fly.”
“Fly?” Archer struggled to sit up despite the pain. “What do you mean? Can’t I fly now?”
“Whatever stabbed you barely missed your lungs. But it definitely nicked your left wing,” she saw the fear in his eyes. Fiona was able to tell that flying was a big part of his life. She gave him a weary smile. “Don’t worry; I’ll help you get your wings back.”
“Thank you Fiona,” there was one other thing he wanted. “Do you have a pen and a paper, preferably a book?”
“Sure.”