I Love You, My Cursed Prince

"Aren't you in great pain?" Vidar asked.

"It's not so great." Muriel's fingers moved up to lightly tap a lump near her temple. It was very tender. She flinched, but she said, "I'll heal quickly."

She heard his clothing flap. She saw a bȧrė limb stretch out. Then some of his fingers were cautiously touching the space around the minor injury on her head. He drew a circle around it. "Did the doctor give you any medicine?"

"He gave me a jar of salve, but I've already forgotten it."

"I keep those sorts of things here. I prefer not to badger the doctor. He's often busy." His hand drifted away. His almost clumsy looking feet took him off to a piece of furniture. Muriel was certain it was a bureau. She was proven right when the oddly placed arm reached for a drawer and dragged it open with a raw, wooden noise. The long fingers poked and dug around the contents until something noteworthy was apparently found.

Vidar closed his fingers around a small jar. Another arm, which seemed to be on the same side of his torso as the one holding the jar, it's hand closed the drawer very casually.

Vidar then left the bureau and asked Muriel to follow him. First, Muriel put her lamp on the bureau. Then she obeyed him, going to an ottoman sitting at the foot of a rather plush canopy bed. Then he asked her to sit down.

Muriel lowered herself and put her hands on her ŀȧp. Then she heard the jar's lid being popped off. She sighed.

Dab, dab, dab.

The salve was cold at first, but it reacted well to their flesh and warmed up. Vidar's index and middle fingers were delicately applying the ointment. "Your aigrette's missing," he pointed out with a nearly emotionless tone.

"It must have fallen away when the armor landed on me."

"Were he stones expensive?"

"No. They were paste."

"Ah, then they might have chipped or cracked." He gave her head one last pat with his fingertips. "Where are the rest of your injuries?"

Muriel had a nearly inexplicable bout of shyness. She softly told him, "I'd have to undress to show them to you."

"Oh." Vidar's single syllable hung between them like an obvious symbol.

Muriel's fingers squeezed together and she mentally screamed at herself. Shyness should not be allowed. She had already shown him nearly every part of her body.

An inhale, an exhale, another and another, and as she looked down at her tight hands, she said, "It's fine. I know your touch." She tore her hands apart. "You're so kind." She took a pin from her kerchief and stuck it in the ottoman so she wouldn't lose it.

"Muriel, return to your bedchamber. You can apply your salve there." Vidar's words were hushed. Muriel bȧrėly heard him.

More pins. She was able to shuck away both her kerchief and her bodice. She started untying her underskirt.

Vidar's breath slowly became more labored. He was so much taller than her, every bit as daunting as a massive black tower. Muriel's eyes were avoiding his face, and this moment of undressing was a perfect excuse for that.

Piece by piece, making a pile on the floor, Muriel disrobed. She even took off her stockings.

Nude on the ottoman, Muriel hugged herself and trembled, looking out at a space roughly past her left shoulder, pretending to find a shadowy coffer interesting.