TW: Rape mention but nothing occurs

 

The healer in the castle had some really fancy salves that increase the speed of healing exponentially.  I’ve heard of stuff like that before, but never actually seen it.  I asked the healer about it, and she said they’re rather hard to make, and can be dangerous if the wound isn’t bound correctly, so they’re usually only reserved for either life-or-death situations or very tiny wounds and must be applied by someone who knows what they’re doing.  When I express concern, she confirms that even though my wound is far from tiny, it's not in fact life-or-death; Khysmet just insisted I get the best treatment possible.  It only takes a couple hours for my injury to be reduced from open claw wounds to a fresh scar, though the speedy recovery comes at the cost of tiring me out excessively.

Predictably, I am told to take time off and stay in bed while I recover.  Since my injury heals so quickly, though, and I'm not actually feeling the emotional distress and shock that people seem to think I should be feeling, when I wake up after my extra long nap without pain and with hardly any trace of injury, I figure I’m good to go back to work again.

What I didn’t figure on is that when I get ready the next morning and head to breakfast to meet Khysmet, he’s not there.

I ask around.  Apparently, he’s been locked in his private study since coming back from the arena.  Almost no one has seen or heard from him, and absolutely no one knows when he’s going to come out.

I’m not sure what to do.  I don’t see any point in going to the great hall in the morning if he’s not present, so I just don’t go.  I just sort of wander the castle, talking to the staff and addressing the rumors that have been spread about me ever since I came back from the arena covered in blood.

There are two different versions of the story of my encounter at the arena floating around the castle.

Among the court nobles, the story boils down to me getting raped in an alleyway and needing to be rescued by the castle guards.  It’s not particularly flattering, and makes me out to be a sort of helpless damsel in distress who can’t go anywhere without getting attacked.  Also, I’m not sure why in this version, I get raped.  I suppose that they all think that’s just what happens to women who are attacked in alleyways, so they assume that it happened to me.  I don’t know.

In the second version, spread through the castle staff, I took on three men, each one twice my size, in a vicious knife fight in an alleyway, and mercilessly slaughtered every one.  Depending on who you ask, I may have allowed myself to be captured in order to sate my bloodlust.  Whenever someone comes up to ask me if this rumor is true, I always have to correct them that I didn’t kill the third man, plus I only mutilated, not killed, one of the others.  Other than that, though, it stays pretty accurate.  Honestly, I feel like it’s kind of difficult to exaggerate this story.

Lots of people ask to see my scar.  I think the incident earns me a new level of respect with the castle staff.  I am now somewhat feared.

Rhys has not left my side since I returned.  I think he blames himself for not being there to prevent the whole situation, which I try in vain to reassure him is ridiculous.

In all honesty, if he had been there, I would never have gotten separated from him.  In the past, when he has followed me out into the city to accompany me and some friends to go shopping or what have you, he’s always stuck incredibly close.  Khysmet may have instructed him not to touch me – an order which he generally follows very carefully – but when I’m out of the castle, he’s on me like white on rice.  I can never get more than a few feet away from him.  Apparently keeping me safe supersedes the order not to touch me.

But that doesn’t make it his fault that I got attacked.  There’s no way he could have known what would happen.  I hate how hard he is on himself about this.  If I’m ever permitted to leave the castle again, I know he’ll be accompanying me whether I like it or not.

Day three after the incident, and Khysmet is still nowhere to be found.  I’m getting worried.  It’s strange that he hasn’t even come to check on me.  I would have figured he would be hovering over me throughout my whole recovery process, given how concerned he’s gotten before about even the possibility of my injury.  I hope he’s okay.

I wander through the day again, closely followed by Rhys the whole time, feeling uncertain about what to do.  Then, in the evening after dinner has finished, when the cleanup for it is over and the kitchens are nearly empty, I hear something that spurs me into action.

I’m in the kitchen, sitting on a counter and kicking my feet, hanging around and talking to the few remaining cooks, when one of Khysmet’s attending servants, Annika, comes in with a plate of food.  Finding it odd that she’s bringing food into the kitchen, I ask her what’s going on.

“It’s King Khysmet,” she says in a nervous tone.  “I’ve been bringing him something to eat for every meal, but I don’t think he’s touched anything.  Not even once.  I just keep taking him food and switching out the plates.”  She looks like she’s about to cry.  “I- I don’t know what to do.  I don’t know how to help him.”

I press my lips together in a thin line.  He’s not eating?

Annika looks at me with wet, desperate eyes.  “Cat… do you think you can do something?  Talk to him, maybe?  He’s in his study right now.”

I’m already getting down from the counter even before she asks.  I place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

“I’m on it, Annika,” I say.  “Deep breaths, okay?  I’ll get him to eat something.”

I'm honestly not so sure that I'll be able to get him to eat if nobody else can, but I at least am not afraid to get forceful with him if need be.  Annika may not be willing to tell him to stop being such a baby and eat something, but I sure am.

I walk through the hallways to get to his study, Rhys following closely behind.  When I get to Khysmet’s door, though, I send Rhys away, insisting that I’ll come and get him if I need him.  He hesitates, but eventually nods, leaving me to deal with the king alone.

I knock on the intricate door.  Nothing.  No response can be heard coming from inside.

Well, that’s not going to stop me.  I open the door and enter his room.

It’s a mess.  I thought it was cluttered before, but this is on a whole other level.  Loose papers are everywhere, along with discarded clothes, random books, and knick-knacks that seem to have been deliberately thrown across the room.  I’m guessing he’s instructed his attendants not to clean anything.

Khysmet himself is sitting at his desk, head down, scribbling frantically on an official-looking piece of paper.  He doesn’t acknowledge my intrusion whatsoever, nor does he look up when I approach.

It’s not until I set a hand on his shoulder that he jolts and turns to address me.

I think he must have been expecting one of his attending servants, because he looks like he’s about to chew me out until he sees that it’s me.  When he does, his whole demeanor changes.

His eyes widen, his breath catches in his throat.  He freezes in place.

“Cat…” he chokes out in a weak rasp, the desperation in his voice utterly heartrending.

I open my mouth to respond, but before I can say anything, he lunges out his hands and tears desperately at my dress, tugging me forward into him, his claws ripping through the thin cotton.  He pulls me in and buries his face against my torso, wrapping his arms around my back and pulling me against himself as flush as possible.

It catches me off guard completely.  I don’t know what I was expecting when I came here to talk to him, but it wasn’t this.  I can’t help but yelp a little when I first feel his frantic hands on me.  I stare down uselessly as he rubs his face into the spot right at the bottom of my ribcage.

“K- Khysmet?  What are you–”

I yelp again as I am interrupted by him pulling me down into his lap, ripping me off my feet with ease.

Once I’m in his lap, he moves his face from my lower sternum up to the exposed area of skin at my upper chest and neck.  Then, in another move that I am completely unprepared for, he starts licking me, flicking his tongue out over and over and fluttering it against my bare skin.

My whole body flushes, and even though at first I'm more concerned and confused than anything, the sensation still has heat pooling low in my gut.  The way he's holding me leaves me little room to do anything but wiggle fruitlessly on his lap, which only results in me grinding against him unintentionally.  I can't help but wiggle, though, the feel of his tongue on my skin so sensual it's making me writhe.  It's thick and wet, but not excessively so, the forked tips a little ticklish as they brush across my skin.

He licks a path from the center of my upper chest up all the way to the shell of my ear and back down again, wresting little sounds from me as he skims across incredibly sensitive spots on my body.  I think maybe I should be embarrassed about the noises I'm making, but it feels so good that I’m finding it hard to care.

Then he starts moving down my body, towards the gap between my breasts.  Eventually, he encounters the hem of my neckline, and I figure he'll stop there, but he moves his arm and with one claw rips a neat vertical slit a couple of inches down the center of my dress, extending his access to my cleavage.  He keeps going, licking down between the swell of my breasts, burying his face in the gap–

"Woah!  Khysmet, hang on, please, just–" I start floundering, bringing my hands to his face to push him away.  I was getting lost in the moment, but his ripping my dress and springing my tits free jolted me out of my haze of arousal.

He pushes back against my hands, desperately trying to get his face back against my flesh.

"Just wait a second, please!" I beg.  Then I notice a concerning sensation against my hands.

As I push against his face, I realize that he's not just cool to the touch like usual – he's freezing.  Not only that, but he's shaking like a leaf.  I look into his eyes, and see that they're glassy and unfocused.  He's not well.  He really hasn’t been eating, has he?

"Khysmet," I say, trying to force him to look at me.  "How long has it been since you've eaten?"

He's still struggling against my hands, still shaking.  I cup his cheeks and bring my face forward until we're nose to nose. 

"Khysmet," I repeat, "how long?"

He falters in his struggle, his eyes coming into focus somewhat and looking at me like he's just now seeing that I'm here.  He takes a shaky breath in. 

"Three days," he rasps.

"Come with me," I say, "I'm taking you to the kitchen."

He allows me to stand up off his lap.  I reach down and grab one of his hands, tugging gently but insistently until he gets up onto his feet.  Then I lead him out of his room and down the hallway. 

I don't let go of his hand the entire way.  I can feel him stumble occasionally, and he's constantly wandering to either side, seemingly unable to keep a straight line.  I keep looking back to check on him, and I squeeze his hand reassuringly every once in a while.  Sometimes he squeezes back.

I'm a little embarrassed to be seen with my dress ripped and my tits half hanging out, but they're still covered enough that I'm not flashing anyone, so I'll just have to suck it up.  Taking care of Khysmet is more important than my modesty right now. 

When we get to the kitchen, there's only two cooks there, doing prep work for tomorrow.  I pull Khysmet over to the first chair I see and push him down into it.  I cup his cheeks in my hands to make him look at me again.

"What are you hungry for?" I ask. 

He blinks up at me for a few seconds, seeming to go in and out of focus.

"Eggs," he eventually says.

I sigh and turn towards the cooks watching curiously from their prep station.

"Do you think you could whip his majesty up some eggs to eat?" I ask them.

"There's a few trays of deviled eggs in the ice chest," one of them says.  "Is that okay?"

I turn to Khysmet, who is clawing at my waist to keep me from moving away from where I'm standing between his legs.

"Is that okay?" I repeat to him.

He nods.

I turn back to the cook.

"Do you think you could bring them over here?"

"Of course," he says, then goes to fetch them.

While we wait, Khysmet leans his head forward and rests it against my sternum, not insistently like before, just gently leaning against me.  I sigh and start rubbing my hand along the top of his head in a soothing petting motion.  He practically melts against me, humming contentedly at my touch. 

The cook brings a couple trays over, and I thank him, silently willing him not to notice my torn neckline.  If he does, he doesn't show it, and goes back across the kitchen to the prep station right after setting the trays down.

Khysmet doesn't move, still staying leaned against me.

"Hey," I say, nudging him a little.  "Come on, you have to eat."

"Feed me," he instructs without moving his head from its resting spot.

I scoff.  "I'm not going to feed you.  You're a grown-ass man.  Feed yourself."

He shifts so his chin is resting against my chest, looking up at me defiantly.

"I'm not going to eat unless it's from your hand.  Feed me, or watch me slowly starve to death.  Your choice."

I blush at the demand, glancing at the cooks to see if they caught that, hoping maybe they're far away enough that they didn't hear.  When I look at them, I see them immediately turn away and go back to what they were doing.  Great.  We have an audience for this.

I don’t want to feed him.  It feels way too intimate, which I realize sounds ridiculous given the fact that I just let him get to second base with his tongue.  At least no one was watching while that happened, though.

I know that by asking me to feed him in the first place, he’s just doing what he always does – seeing how much he can get away with demanding of me.  Seeing how uncomfortable he can make me.  I want to do what I always do and push back until he drops his demands down to something I can handle, but something is holding me back.  I’m worried about him.  He needs to eat, as soon as possible.  I don’t want to find out how stubborn he’s willing to be on this one.  I bite my lip.  I suppose I can handle this demand.

I take a deep breath to steel myself, then reluctantly pick an egg half off the tray and hold it in front of him. 

"Open up," I say brusquely.

Khysmet readily obliges, and I move my hand forward until he closes his mouth around my fingers, licking across them in the process and making my spine tingle.  I withdraw my hand gently, rubbing against his smooth, dry lips as I do.  He stares me down as he swallows.  I feel my heart pound against my ribcage.  I pick up another egg.

We go slowly.  Sometimes he looks directly at me while he takes the food from my fingers, and sometimes he closes his eyes and runs his tongue along my hand.  I'm not sure which is worse.  Or better.  I don't know.  I'm trying not to think about how I feel about what I'm doing right now.

I make sure not to rush him.  Sometimes he has to take a break, leaning his head against my ribcage and groaning softly, probably a little sick from not eating for so long.  When that happens, I just wrap my arms around him and stroke his head gently, sometimes making little soothing sounds, until he recovers.

After I get about thirty of the little egg halves in him, he's looking much better and not nearly as shaky.  If he were human I would have tried to get him to eat something else too, but as I understand it, for Sungians, eggs are a fairly complete meal.  When he tells me he's had enough, I pop the last egg I'm holding into my mouth instead, not wanting to set one I've already touched back with the rest.

Khysmet's hands are still settled around my waist, still holding me close between his legs.  He rubs his thumb idly on my side.  His deep red eyes have much more clarity than they did before, and now as he looks up at me I can clearly see a deep and poignant sorrow reflected in them.

He takes a hesitant breath.

“I’m not…” he starts.  “I’m not mad at you for what happened.”

I blink.  He's not mad?  Then why hasn't he talked to me in three days, apparently starving himself in the process?  I keep quiet and let him go on.

“I’m not even mad at myself really," he says, "not after thinking about it for a while.  I regret letting you go, but also I don’t think it was the wrong decision.  I want you to enjoy your life here, and I can tell it’s important for you to get to run around and experience new things.”  He pauses and hangs his head a bit.  “I did have to let Omagh go.  He’s a good man, but I just can’t trust him again after that.”

I nod, but don’t say anything.  I understand the decision.  I’m just glad Khysmet didn’t take some sort of rash action against him.  Omagh is a good man, and he wouldn’t deserve that.

“When he came to tell me he had lost you,” Khysmet continues, “I told myself not to panic.  I immediately went to track you down, since I know your scent better than most and can pick it out more easily in a crowd.”

I knit my brow quizzically.

“Do Sungians have good senses of smell?” I ask.  “I didn’t know that.”

“Yes, we do.  The thing we do with our tongues?”  He flicks his out to demonstrate.  “It significantly augments our sense of smell.  If you had decided to leave the arena completely and wander the streets for hours, I could still have tracked you down.”

“Huh,” I say.  “I always thought it was just an expressive reflex.  Like a person biting their lip, you know.  It means something, but doesn’t actually serve any purpose.”

“Nope.  It is a reflex, but it definitely serves a purpose.”

I think back on the time I’ve spent with Khysmet, all the times I’ve ever seen him do that, looking at them in a new light.

“...So,” I say, “you sniff me a lot, then.”

He smirks up at me from between my breasts and flicks his tongue again.

“You happen to smell incredibly enticing.”

One of the cooks coughs when he says that.  I flush an even darker red than I already am and glance in their direction, but they both have their heads down, hard at work.

Khysmet goes on as though nothing happened.

“So I was leading the guards, following the trail of your scent,” he continues.  His breath hitches in his chest.  “And suddenly I smelled blood.  Lots of blood.  Right from the direction that you had been heading.”

He tightens his grip on my waist and looks up at me as though in agony.

“Cat…” he says, “I’ve never been so terrified in my entire life.”

My heart skips a beat.  He really cares that much about me?

Before I can process that further, he goes on.

“When we first met,” he says, “you told me that you had never been ‘effectively mugged’.  I remember distinctly, because I thought to myself, ‘Effectively mugged?  What the hell does that mean?’”  He chuckles weakly.  “After seeing the carnage you caused with one little knife, I think I understand.  The look on your face when Omagh killed the last one wasn’t relief, it was disappointment.”

I press my lips into a line and look away sheepishly, feeling oddly exposed.

“I know you’re going to want to leave the castle again,” he says.  “I want you to know – I’m not going to keep you caged in here, even after what happened.”

“I think that being human is what made me a target,” I admit with a sigh.  “I don’t think one little concealed knife is going to be enough if something similar happens again.  I was lucky that they were all drunk.”

“I can’t believe you got dragged into an alley by three men, all twice your size, and you’re still saying you got lucky.”  He laughs wryly and shakes his head.  “But yes, next time you go out, I would like you to be more visibly and accessibly armed.  Also, I’m coming with you.”

I knit my brow.  “You can’t come with me every single time I leave the castle.”

He looks up at me with a challenge in his eyes.

“Wanna bet?  I’ll put you on a leash if necessary.”

I physically recoil from him.  “Dear gods, please no."

He chuckles and pulls me back close.

“Oh,” I say before he can fire something back, “speaking of people who will never let me leave the castle unaccompanied again… Whatever led you to not blame yourself for my little incident, can you try sharing your wisdom with Rhys?  I don’t think he’s going to arrive at that conclusion himself.”

Khysmet shrugs.  “I’ll do what I can, but I don’t think it will have any effect.  Admittedly, some of my self-forgiveness only came after seeing you covered in buckets of blood that weren’t your own, looking hungry for more.  It made me realize you’re not as helpless as I thought you were.  Don’t get me wrong, I’m still going to do everything I can to protect you – but you’re clearly a force of nature that I couldn’t possibly even hope to control.  Maybe kill someone in front of Rhys, and he’ll understand.”

I hum thoughtfully.  The logistics of that might prove difficult, since I really don’t kill that many people on a regular basis.  I’ll keep that in my back pocket, though.

“It’s late,” Khysmet remarks.  “Why don’t I walk you to your room?”

“Why don’t I walk you to your room?” I counter.  “You were pretty shaky on the way here, you know.  I’m not convinced that you can even find your way back.”

“I’m feeling much better now that you’ve nursed me back to health.”

I purse my lips and shoot him a doubtful look.  He changes tack.

“I don’t want you wandering around with your dress like that for anyone else to see.”

Before I can react, he reaches up with one claw and with a sharp movement, rips my dress open slightly further down my chest.

I gasp loudly, then smack him on the side of his head for that one.  The only thing my assault does is make him laugh, though.  Asshole.

“Fine!” I shout.  “Just don’t blame me if you can’t find your room and end up passed out in the hallway somewhere!”

I walk away without waiting for him to get up.  I would hang around checking to make sure he’s okay and not too shaky upon standing, but he just lost the privilege of my sympathy.  From behind me I hear him stand, stumble slightly, then follow me out of the kitchen like a lost puppy, running a little to catch up.