Day 77, 01:00 PM

“The difference between treason and patriotism is only a matter of dates.”

― Alexandre Dumas

Black and rainbow-colored dots swim before my eyes. I’m exhausted, about to faint, yet I can’t show weakness.

“Close the door, and let none enter,” Vatten orders, and the horrified guards hurry out, slamming the door shut.

A heavy silence chokes everyone present as black spots grow, devouring my vision, and I struggle to stay awake. Manny’s safety is the only thing anchoring my consciousness to the throne room.

“Milon was cunning, but he lacked the courage to plot something like this alone. Step forward so we can fix this matter before it’s too late, or face execution.”

I hardly feel the nobles’ looks of terror. Instead, a light smile blooms on my gory face.

Thanks Vatten. You ain’t all that bad, considering you’re a cartoon villain.

My mind trudges through a mire of irrelevant thoughts, realizing Milon must have gone insane with rage to attempt to assassinate Manny in public. That, or he had enough backing not to care about mine and Vatten’s rage.

He was a mercenary commander for a decade and was a nobleman before that. It’s highly unlikely he would commit a crime of passion, especially when there wasn’t really any passion involved.

“Count Arangel contacted us,” someone speaks up from the crowd, but I can’t make them out, even though the man can’t be more than ten yards away from me. Too many blots swim in mesmerizing patterns before my eyes.

Could be Hawkings?

“We have already reported that we have rejected his offer. But after learning of the duchess’s marriage with a former slave,” the man chokes up, probably staring at me. I feel the need to do something, so I lick my bloody lips and spit. I hear the distant shuffling of feet. They sound a mile away, but I can’t see a thing anymore. My world is black.

You can’t faint. You can’t fall. If they see a show of weakness, they might attack you. Stand. Stand tall.

I will myself straight. I hope my body listens, but the only thing I feel is the extra strain of staying upright. The speech continues, but the words dissolve into a human drone, which slowly devolves into bestial growls. I hear pigs and cows rather than men speaking, and a sharp dog’s bark forces them to whine from time to time.

Thanks Vatten. My chest feels weak, and my heart seems to be stumbling forward just barely.

Am I dying?

I don’t think so. It feels different, the promise of release at the end isn’t there, only a guarantee of pain and weakness which will last for days, weeks, months.

Ah, shit. What about the assassin? If he strikes now, we’re screwed. Then a more terrifying thought strikes my drifting mind.

What if I fall into a coma for a month, they kill Manny, and I wake up too late?

The question smashes into me like an iceberg. My vision goes from black to swirling blurs, my heart lurches under the strain, and I feel my breakfast struggling to break free from the confines of my stomach.

I frown, and the haze before me clears just enough to spot human shaped outlines, herded by a tall, skinny, white-haired shepherd.

Thanks Vatten.

“Aang,” Manny’s distant, worried voice draws a smile. “Are you all right?”

Such a stupid question.

“Are we alone?”

“Yes, do you—”

I fall like a doll with its strings severed. I hardly feel my face striking the stone steps before the blissful void extinguishes my sentience and takes my pain away.

Unfortunately, it doesn’t. Hell rages in my body as nondescript humanoid masses toss my limbs and torso into the pyres. I drift in and out of consciousness dozens of times.

Eventually, I grab a sharp, jagged rock, pulling myself out of the ocean of sleep. I am comfortable, but my body burns and breathing is difficult.

“Manny?”

“I am here.”

If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

Good. I lose my hold and faint again.

I wake up, still burning. My body feels like I went through Phill’s training not as Aang Ree, but as my old flabby-assed self. I draw a breath, but filling my saggy lungs feels like blowing into a hole-riddled balloon or maybe trying to inflate a glass bottle.

“Manny?”

“I am here.” I can hear the tears in her voice. Was she with me all this time? What about ruling the duchy? What about the rebellion?

“Manny,” I lick my lips, “thank you.”

“What for?”

I lick lips again, my throat parched.

“For staying by my side all this while.”

There’s a silent pause, and I wonder how long ‘all this while’ had lasted.

“Do you want water?”

I nod and hear her shoes patter against the wooden floor. There’s a trickle of water and she walks back. I move to grab the glass, but my arms are heavy like lead, no matter how hard I try to move I can’t budge.

That’s when it hits me. I can’t see. I can’t move.

I shudder. Since when?

“Manny—”

“Stay still. I was afraid you would kill the physician in your convulsions, so we bound you.”

I open my mouth to tell her I’m blind, but my tongue grows numb from the freezing drink.

I choke and spray out the water, coughing like a dying mule.

“Sorry,” she says, “I will go slower.”

“Manny,” I gasp for air. “Manny, I’m blind.”

“Oh, sorry.” A light pressure against my forehead I was unaware of disappears, and suddenly I can see again.

Manny stands before me, holding a damp, black cloth.

“The cloth slid,” she says, and I stare at her.

“You are burning with fever, we are trying to bring it under control.”

You… You! You made me think I’m blind and paralyzed! I heave, realizing the thick straps crisscrossing the woolen blanket are obstructing me from breathing properly.

I want to complain, to curse, but Blunt speaks first, “Why are you all bloody?”

That’s when I realize her dress and hair are covered in dry blood, but at least she found some time to clean her face.

She’s still wearing the same dress.

“You killed Milon right in front of me, spraying me with his blood.” She stares at me with big, wet eyes. Her concern for me is palpable, yet I still can’t escape the feeling that she was pranking me, despite knowing there’s no way she’d pull my leg when something this serious was happening.

“When did it happen? Days ago? Weeks? And, can you untie me? Please?”

Manny looks out the window, taking a moment to observe the bright and sunny day beyond.

“About three hours ago. A lot has happened, but Uncle Vat dealt with most of it. What do you remember?”

Very little after tearing Milon in half, and I tell her as much.

She nods and starts undoing my bindings. “Milon and six others betrayed us. Their men were ready to storm the castle as soon as they got the word that I had fallen. Fortunately, you were here, and Uncle Vat built on top of your intimidation. The traitors confessed, and their soldiers backstabed Milon’s in the camps outside the city. We can even use this to our advantage. Count Arangel is leading a thousand men towards us, and they should arrive in two days. The traitors’ plan was to deliver our heads to him, get a royal pardon, and restore their noble titles.”

And what do we do with the traitors? Follow Warfare and use them as fodder until they prove themselves worthy? What if they just turn around and join the enemy against us? The more I think about that book, the more certain I am that the author had no idea what he was talking about.

“How do they know he’s coming in two days?”

“They claim Milon told them. He supposedly planned on betraying us regardless of everything, and used my upcoming marriage with you to shift others’ opinions and bring more supporters to his cause.”

My chest is finally free, and I take a deep, long breath before exhaling.

“Sorry.” I grab her hand and squeeze it.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. I agreed to marry you the first day we met, and I am making good on my promise.” Still, she doesn’t look me in the eye while saying that.

Does she resent me?

I want to cup her cheek, but my arm feels like it belongs to someone else, and I smack her on the chin a tad too hard. She flinches and her skin feels strange under my pulsating, numb fingers.

“Sorry,” I move her head as gently as I can with my sleeping arm. “My arm isn’t listening to me properly. And I’m sorry for all of this. I—”

She kisses me to shut me up. I don’t mind, but she jumps back as if seared.

“I pressed your arm.”

I look down and see my left covered in a ball of bandages, looking like a giant, overzealously bandaged big toe. Maybe a pear.

“I don’t feel my arm.” I try to lift it, and, with some strain, the giant Chuga Chugs moves up. Unsurprisingly, I can’t bend my elbow.

“The physician claimed he had never seen such a large wound. He found no traces of rot or poison, but he did not know whether you will regain the full use of your arm ever again,” Manny gives it to me straight, no sugar, and I wish I painted myself less uncaring macho than I did, because I really could use some sugar right about now.

I try to wiggle my left’s fingers, but I feel nothing.

“Time will tell,” I say, my voice graver than I wanted it to be. “Are you all right?”

“I am not all right.” Manny’s tough facade breaks down, and she bursts into tears.

Yeah, that’s a stupid thing to say regardless of the situation.

“I thought you were going to die,” she sobs. “Your arm spasmed while the guards carried you. In your flailing, you stuck one, launching him into the wall and knocking him out.”

Her words are all over the place, she can’t seem to hold a train of thought, and she started crying way too easily.

Yeah, she’s definitely pregnant, struggling with hormones.

A minute later, Manny’s sobbing into my bare chest, not noticing she’s laying atop my overly-bandaged arm, while I’m petting the back of her head with my unwounded right.

The other assassination attempts must have been nerve wracking, but she kept it bottled up inside her and joked with me so I don’t worry about her, but I should’ve paid more attention to her mental health.

“I’m sorry. I’ll try to take better care of you from now on.” I kiss the top of her head, and dry blood sticks to my lips.