She had hoped that his condition would have made this simpler, that he would have been miserable enough to give in. Zeph had foolishly believed that his sickness would also weaken his resolve, he would take the medicine, get a clean sheet, and would get better quicker and she could allow him some peace. Then again, she knew in the moment that it was a gamble, another one that clearly backfired and it seemed that he was even more furious than he had been before.

Despite the malicious tone, she kept herself composed, still holding the medicine. As long as he wasn’t yelling or banging, the woman could keep her cool, though it did not sit well with her that promise of future punishment. Worst case scenario, she fled to Josef and spun the story in such a way to make Solomon’s story seem like the delusion of a feverish mind. But that was the last thing she wanted to do, leaving her to only solemnly nod, her gaze falling the ground in a submissive way to try and appease his raging.

“Forgive m’lord, I was over zealous,” she offered lightly, now aware that deal making and conniving weren’t going to do any good. Which really only left appeasing the man as the option that may work. She could not force him to take the medicine. Technically she could, but that was a step beyond what she was willing to do and some of the part of her that had come out died back away in the wake of his anger and clear way of telling her that he did not like her and wanted her out of his room.

Light hazel eyes watched as he rolled over, throwing his back to her to tell her he was done. But what caught her attention, causing her to not yet move, were the scars that crossed over his back. Whip scars. It reminded her the time that he had mentioned that he had been captured once. Were they the remnant of that memory he was forced to suffer through? It brought with it a pang of sympathy as her gaze involuntarily fell to her wrists, elegant fingers running over the so faint scarring from chaffing, a reminder of the escape she failed.

Quietly she stood, trying to decide the best route to now go about this, glancing at his form. It was better for him to have nothing at the moment, she knew that much, but the way he clung to the pillow... there would be no trying to gently wash him down anyway and the sheet had brought him some simple comfort. And at this rate, anything she now did would be rejected because of his anger even if he would have agreed before. Perhaps the best way was to simply baby him and treat him in a way that made him happy. If she could garner his trust instead, Zeph hoped the results would be better.

The woman strode over to the sheet she had laid to the side, placing the cup down and grabbing it. Making her way around the bed to the side he was facing, she gingerly sat on the edge. She wanted him to see her actually offer something good this time around. “Since you refuse your medication, the least I can do is make sure you have some kind of comfort,” Zephyra spoke softly as she shook the sheet out and draped it over him knowing full well he would cling to it and no doubt curl himself into it.

“I will grab you a glass of water as well and leave your medicine nearby in case you decide you want it.” With this conclusion, she stood once more and took a clean glass, filling it with cool water and grabbing the medicine as she passed by it. Both were placed on the nightstand and made easily distinguishable before she made one final trip to grab the bowl and cloth and put the to the side in preparation in case he suddenly got worse and needed to be quickly wiped down.

And with that, she walked over to the couch and settled, curling up in her corner to watch him from a distance. In a little while, she would at least try and wipe his forehead, but she doubted there was much else she could, or would, be allowed to do. It was just a waiting game now, and hoping she could earn his trust enough to actually be of some use. Because like it or not, he needed help.

When she brought him another glass of water he did not drink from it, instead focused on achieving some rest. He had been up for hours fighting with nurses, his brother, and finally Zephyra. And after vomiting up breakfast and spewing medication, he found himself fatigued. He could drink the water later, it wasn’t going anywhere. Solomon flinched as her hand came to rest on his forehead, not expecting the contact, though there were no growls of warning or feline hisses. He simply allowed her to do it, even if he didn’t necessarily like it.

He nodded faintly as she spoke, but his eyes didn’t open. Solomon had almost told her to do what she wished, to entertain herself as she pleased as he usually did, but he figured she would just do what she wanted. It wasn’t as if he was keen enough to notice if she did anything anyway. It was with a pounding head and sick body that Solomon fell asleep and such was the way things continued for a few days. It was a vicious cycle of attempting to eat, vomiting, sleeping, and all of the other the other horrific symptoms he unfortunately had to endure

Three Days Later…

“Baba? I… I don’t understand… What did I do?”

A whip cracked. There was a cry.

“It will do you well to remember that the weak do not survive here, Solomon.”

The prince shot up in bed chest heaving as he gasped for air. He tore the sheets off of himself and pressed his back to the headboard, his knees coming up to his chest. Where was he? The chains… where were the chains? He looked down at his hands as his heart and head pounded, searching for the restraints that were no longer there. His hands had been so small… His voice so soft and little… Solomon’s hands buried into his hair, eyes wide as his whole body shuddered in a shaky exhale. His father… he had been right there. Where had he gone? The blood… there had been blood…

His eyes darted around the room and everything seemed blurry, which only served to rattle him further. He needed to focus. Dammit, he NEEDED to FOCUS. But he couldn’t. There was so much. Too much. Was his father not done with him? Had he messed up again? Heavens the whip… not the whip. Anything but the whip… Solomon squeezed his eyes shut for a moment but quickly realized that if he couldn’t see, he could be hurt. He could be attacked. There was no such thing as safety in the palace, not for Solomon.

Not when his father could be lurking around any corner.

It wasn’t long until his desperate gasps turned into hacking, causing him to heave stomach acid into the bin beside his bed. It was dark, he was terrified, and he was struggling to grasp anything with his muddled mind. Everything hurt… his body seemed to jerk here and there as well. It was evident he was a mess of both mind and body. His hands released themselves from where they were tangled in his hair, instead gripping the sheet that covered the mattress beside him with shaky hands.

It must have been a nightmare…

You are not a child anymore…

He can’t hurt you...

But what if he can? Solomon wrapped his arms around his waist and let his head thunk against the wall. He was no longer gasping for air, but his breathing was heavy and his exhales were wheezes. When his eyes closed he could hear his father’s yells… his threats… All of it had been consequences for actions the man could no longer remember. Although he could never forget the pain. The pain that had come from the scars that overlapped on his back, as if someone had slashed him with a knife over and over again. It had been years, but the scars never faded.

“Dammit,” His curse was soft and weak as he ran his hands over his face before hugging his knees to his chest, burying his face into them, “I’m not a child...please…” Whom he was pleading to, he did not know, but it was desperate. It was something had he shoved into the darkest pits of his mind, never to remember. “Please…” There it came again, the quiet begging, muffled by his skin. Where his pants cut off at the top of his calves his legs felt warm to the touch, but even knowing he was in a familiar environment seemed to pass over his head.

Something, anything to make it stop. The nightmare was supposed to over, yet he was still so overwhelmed. He wasn’t ever supposed to remember this… This was so long ago before he was even in the military. So why did it hurt him like this? He was stronger now, a force to be reckoned with, yet he was terrified. He felt helpless. Solomon hadn’t thought about it all in years and had perhaps even forgotten it. It had all been his mind's defense mechanism. He had never truly forgotten and now he was left to tremble in face of memories that had been better off buried.

As terrible as it was, Solomon’s sickness was a blessing for Zeph. Not that she wanted the man to be sick, the woman constantly worried for his well fare and doing her best to keep him comfortable. But it meant that she got an escape, not for a night but for a few days. She couldn’t remember the last time she was given so much time to not... entertain. Not that they were easy days either, there ever a constant need for him to get him water and gently wash his face down, especially after he hurled what little food he could manage.

Nonetheless, she did her best to stay out of his way as possible, occasionally offering him medicine that he only ever refused. She was sure to make sure there was a constant supply of fresh sheets, having to occasionally coerce a dirty one from him in exchange for a fresh one. Otherwise, there really was little she could do and when she wasn’t watching him carefully or helping, she was dozing off, taking all the rest and sleep she could for her body, knowing full well the brothers would be sure to make known how much they missed her when she returned.

It was three days after she first arrived that she was snapped awake. Her sleep had been shallow and light hazel eyes tried to make out Solomon through the dark, using the small candle light to make out his massive form sitting up and pressed to the headboard. Something was terribly wrong and she knew it, slowly rising as she started forward quietly. But the moment she caught the way his gaze darted around she stopped, knowing the look to be that of a caged animal... and that she knew much better than to just walk into.

The woman could only assume it was a fever dream that had caused this as she made her way to the candle, hoping some light would help the situation. She winced as he started heaving into the bin, caused by his heavy gasping. “Solomon...” Her voice was soft as she began to move closer slowly, holding the candle so her face was illuminated to show who she was. Zeph could see he was spasming, desperately trying to regain himself and yet he was so frightened. She could not imagine what had brought it about, what horrible visions the fever had caused, but she understood fear and her heart yet again reached out to him.

“Solomon.” She tried again to capture his attention but her voice went unheeded. No, he clearly wasn’t even in the room as she heard his desperate pleas. But they weren’t towards her. No... they were thrown into the darkness at no one, anyone. How could such a man be brought to this state, where he was begging the night for mercy?

Changing course, Zephyra put the candle down on a table and made her way through the dark into the bathroom, quickly filling a small basin with cool water and grabbing a clean cloth. He was calmer and she felt safe enough to approach this time, placing the items on the table beside him. “Everything is alright,” she offered again before moving away to grab a dry sheet and the candle, knowing his current one must be soaked and the soft light of the candle would be gentle enough on his eyes but comforting to break up some of the darkness surrounding him. The fresh medicine sent earlier that afternoon still rested on the same table.

Gingerly she eased herself onto the edge of the bed, dipping the cloth in the water and ringing it out. “The fever has not been kind to you tonight, has it m’lord?” she noted so he would definitely be aware of her presence, reaching out carefully with the cloth. In his curled up position, there was little she could do, but there was some of his forehead exposed, which she very lightly wet down with the cloth. It was alarming how fast it turned warm in her hand and she dipped it back into the water to cool it down again.

This time she let the cloth sit on her hand, cooling her fingers. Gently she reached out and ran her fingers across his forehead, carefully getting them between his cheek and leg. “Look around you Solomon,” she suggested, her tone meant to be soothing. “All is well tonight. It is just you and I.” It was her kind instincts that kicked in, pulling her hand away to take the cloth again and wet it. This time though, she reached to wet down his shoulders with the cool water, gingerly getting the cloth to the back of his neck to try and cool that part of him down.

“I have a fresh sheet for you here if you would like it. And the medicine is still fresh today if you would like to try it. It is meant to help you rest peacefully.” The woman doubted he would take it, but knowing it would help, how could she not at least offer it anyway? “Tonight m’lord, let yourself rest and find relief. You have been strong these past few days and I believe you will continue to be. A little medicine will not take that away, not will a small amount of offered help. They will only prove to enhance your power.”

Solomon hugged his legs closer as if tucking himself into the darkness could hide him from the threats it offered him. He had spent the last week and a half running a fever, yet he had never felt more miserable. It was one thing to feel sick, to be physically unwell. But to have your very mind attacked? He could not imagine a more horrible thing. For someone who was always so calm and composed, it was clear he wasn’t accustomed to questioning his very sanity. But if anyone else could see what was happening inside his mind, they would see his breakdown as understandable.

It took a lot of time, or maybe none at all, he couldn’t tell, to convince himself his sweat wasn’t blood. That the pain he was feeling on his back was all fake, nothing but memories. Could they even be considered phantom pains? He had no clue if that was even possible. It had to all be his mind's delusions. Yes… none of it was real. It had been years ago. He was grown, a general in the Concorban army. He was no longer a child who’s mistakes were punished with whips and chains. The battery had long ended and Solomon had not stepped outside of his father’s good graces in over a decade.

He was Solomon Imona, a man who sparked fear into the hearts of his enemies, not a child who was terrified of spending his days in a room of stone.

Although he would never admit it, her voice took a great weight off his shoulders. It reminded him of where he was. What was present and what was merely fiction. He was sick... and… and Zephyra had been sent to help him. Josef’s room was right across the hall and Vivianna’s was next to his. Solomon never answered her question, instead jerking as the cloth was pressed against his head. But he obviously didn’t get very far curled into the ball, so she was allowed to do as she wished. Anything was better than being left to suffer in silence.

Solomon had always despised touching and being touched, but at the moment, he didn’t care. There was something soothing about it even. For someone who could never recall a soft touch, the gentleness brought some comfort to him. He lifted his head as her fingers and words implored him to do so, the man peering out into the dark again. This time he noticed she had brought a candle, though it did little to illuminate either of them. But the little light offered allowed him to see her eyes, which glittered in the dark. He couldn’t imagine how weak and awful he looked.

It took a moment, but Solomon managed to unfurl himself, legs stretching across the bed as he leaned against the back. His breaths were still deep but they were no longer unhealthy. His hands fell limply at his sides as he slowly began to figure things out. His eyes closed, but the man did not fall back asleep, as he doubted he would be able to for a while. She had mentioned something about the fever… how the medicine was supposed to help. It had been a fever dream. Solomon never had nightmares. Did that mean this was going to suddenly be repetitive?

With a new spark of terror, the man downed the medicine without a word. This couldn’t happen again. All he wanted to do was forget. She could have filled the cup with poison and he would’ve taken it at that moment. Anything to keep the memories away, to prevent the dreams from happening again. He didn’t care how weak he was acting or how helpless he seemed because all he wanted at that moment was some peace of mind. And he was willing to do anything necessary to get it, even if by some chance he came to regret it later.

The cup thunked rather loudly against the nightstand due to his lack of coordination, but it wasn’t glass so thankfully it did not break. “I just want a bath…” Solomon admitted suddenly, throat sore from wheezing. He was disgusting and unkempt. He didn’t even want to be on his bed anymore as if he had somehow tainted it with his sick. “I feel dirty… and unwell.” The medicine had made his stomach turn in the most uncomfortable of ways. He didn’t feel like he was going to hurl, but sitting with the nausea wasn’t fun either. The medication wasn’t meant to be taken on an empty stomach.

“My bed is unclean, as is anything I touch. There is sweat everywhere.” Whatever fresh sheet she offered him couldn’t replace the pillows or the sheet below him, which he had been laying on for a week and a half. He changed his bottoms daily, but they were no doubt covered in his sweat at this point, not to mention he hadn’t bathed since the nurses had clean him up while he was unconscious on day one. In all honesty, it embarrassed him. “This is vile.” He commented, moving to run a hand over his face yet again, only to recoil when he realized his palm was sweaty. It nearly caused him to cry out in frustration.

“This is unbelievably out of hand.” He thunked his head against the wall in his irritation, just wanting things to be normal again. “You can return to bed, there is nothing for you to do. Just occupy yourself as you usually do.” He told her, eyes closing for a bit before they reopened to stare at the ceiling. “I’m fine. You do not need to hover, I don’t need any help.” The entire experience was a humiliating one, considering the man had had a breakdown in front of the prostitute who was trying to play nurse with him.

Yes, Solomon was well aware he’d had the fever for a while now, which he knew would not be good for his body. He wasn’t an idiot and his high-temperature state was bound to be more than simply unhealthy, not to mention he still couldn’t keep any food down and was rapidly losing weight. The sickness seemed against him and his body seemed like it was unable to fight it off. Solomon doubted he would die, as that was going too far, but there was always the chance of long term damage to him. That was the man's one and only worry about the entire fiasco.

This time he did not flinch away as her hand reached out, only watched her cautiously. The man figured he could protest, but he knew that she would continue to do it. She hadn’t stopped when he had snarled at her like a rabid dog the first time, so why was he to waste his breath? Solomon glanced over at the sheet she had brought with her, scarcely able to make out the pitch-black bundle in the dark. He did want it, but as she said, it would do little to help. It didn’t change the fact he was beyond disgusting. He may not have been overworking himself or really moving at all, but he still felt unclean.

The idea of a basin of water caused his eyes to lift, faintly intrigued by the idea before his mind briefly shot it down. He could probably make it to the couch, as it wasn’t far from his bed. That wasn’t the issue. The issue was that lied in him attempting to clean himself would only cause frustration. He was too clumsy and weak to properly wash himself down with the cloth. He could already see himself getting angry and stressing himself out to the point of worsening his sickness. It was a good idea in theory, but not for a man who could hardly hold a glass of water.

“I do not think I am in a spot where I can properly clean myself. I don’t think that physically, it is something I can do at the moment.” It stung him and wounded his pride to admit that to her. Soaking in a bath would have allowed him to simply lay there and have the water wash off his sweat, but doing it on his own? He figured it would be impossible until some of his strength returned. His hands were far too shaky and it seemed like it took effort to simply breathe. All in all, he was a pitiful mess at the moment and a far too sorry excuse for a prince.

But the idea of a change of sheets was nice. The ones he currently lied on smelled of the salt from his sweat, as did the pillowcases. Solomon knew it wasn’t his fault, as it was something he truly couldn’t help, but it was humiliating to have someone clean up after him because he was too weak to do so himself. Even though Solomon despised the prospect of her changing his sheets for him, it was something the man desperately wanted at that moment. He had been prepared to simply roll to a dry side of the bed, but that sounded so much better than spending another night on sticky covers.

So, Solomon swallowed his pride and took a breath. “But a changing of the sheets would be appreciated,” He admitted, though he refused to meet her gaze. To think it was now him avoiding her eyes. “I will wait on the couch as you suggested.” And with that, the man shifted very awkwardly to the other side of the bed, his breathing already labored from the minimal effort. Once his legs were over the side, he managed to lift himself up, using the bedpost for support. He needed to do this without her help because he would be damned if he needed her to help him walk.

The short journey to the couch was a hard one and he almost lost his footing several times. But he made it. The man collapsed onto the cushions but kept himself in one corner so as to not defile the place where she was sleeping. Typically he wouldn’t care, but if she was changing his bedsheets for him, the least he could do was not sweat over the one place she was spending her time. He may not be the most considerate of people, but one could argue he had at least one decent bone in his body. Well, half a decent bone at least.

“You know, you can get yourself a blanket. You already know where they are.” Solomon commented, noticing her surface was completely bare. A strange thing for him to notice, but then again, everything about the prince was strange. “Or, you could always return to your own room, where a whole set of blankets and such await you. As does your bed.” It may have been a sore attempt at a joke, but he said it so flatly that there was no true way to decipher it. He watched quietly as she got to work, waiting for the quiet cue that she was done and ready for him to return.

Zephyra nodded when he admitted he could not clean himself down. She had expected as much, but the woman was doing her best to offer him opportunities where he could be independent. She had a strong feeling that all this was very hard on him, having always seen him as one who refused to have any kind of reliance except on himself. After that, there was a moment of silence as she waited for his response for the rest. She watched him, gaze ever gentle and if he would have looked, he would have found encouragement shining lightly against the candle light.

It relieved her that he decided to let her change the sheets, knowing it would be something for him. When he moved across the bed, she stood, moving to the foot. Otherwise, she did not go to help him as he hefted himself to his feet, allowing him to make his way to the couch alone. She simply watched, ready to dart forward in case he did fall. But as expected, his determination got him there with only a few close calls.

Once sure he was safely down, the woman started working on the bed, taking the pillows off before getting the sheet and rolling them up. As she placed them by the door to be picked up the morning, she smiled at his comment about the blanket. She never had gotten one, she didn’t really know why. She supposed she had been waiting for his permission. However, the part about returning to her room made her pause, glancing up at him. “I suppose that would be possible m’lord,” she replied softly, not having caught the joke of it, especially when he was always advocating for her to leave him alone.

Getting a fresh bottom sheet, she started to fit it over the mattress. “Some beds aren’t very inviting m’lord, and some things blankets aren’t worth.” It was the most truthful she had ever spoke in hinting at how she felt about her job. Everything the man had said about his own bed was how she felt about herself, though she would never express such things. Instead, she focused on setting up his bed nicely, shaking the top sheet out and laying it over the top carefully. She quickly retrieved some fresh cases for his pillows and exchanged them out, laying the pillows at the head of the bed for him.

However, she fidgeted to the side for a moment before making her way over to him, bringing with her the basin she had prepared when he had first woken up and a fresh wash cloth. Wordlessly she eased herself in front of him, dipping the cloth in the water. “It would be a shame for you to get the new sheets dirty. You will rest better if you aren’t so damp and you will wake up feeling nicer as well.” She did not wait for confirmation, simply reaching out.

She began with his face to test his reaction, bringing the soft wet cloth over his forehead and along his cheeks. She wanted to try and make it less awkward for him but wasn’t sure what to say, leaving her just watching him carefully before dipping the cloth back in water and ringing it out again. Zephyra was aware that he would allow her to do his face, but the real question was how far she could go. So it was very gingerly that she reached out again, this time bringing the cloth to the side of his neck and starting down towards his shoulder. She simply wished to help...

His head tilted as she spoke of the bed, watching her curiously following the comment. There were some times when she said things that the man felt something he couldn’t explain. The words had been spoken off-handedly, yet they did not bear a very casual meaning. This seemed to happen often when he found himself in her company. She would say things that were far beyond what he would ever expect from her and the general wouldn’t know what to say. Solomon opened his mouth to respond but no words escaped him. Sometimes, he learned, things were just best left alone.

“I much prefer to sleep in a cot in my tent within our camps. Occasionally we’ll be in fort towns, where we occupy inns. This place is not much of a home to me.” Solomon admitted, leaning his head back to rest against the cushions, eyes closing, yet he wasn't falling asleep. He seemed to be doing that a lot. “It is not that I am ungrateful. I just have my own preferences I suppose.” He noticed his headache had dulled some in its pain, probably due to the medicine. It was some hardcore stuff and that cup's worth had to have been enough to drop a horse unconscious.

But his stomach was still upset, causing him to wrap his arms around his middle as if he could make it go away. Such was not the case. When she approached him, golden eyes cracked open, looking down at her as she set the basin on the table. Just what was she planning? Her words came as a confirmation of what he had begun to assume, causing him to grimace. Again he did not flinch as she touched him, only shuddering after a moment as the cloth was dragged over his skin. Again, he was never the type who enjoyed human touch.

Keen eyes watched her as she moved the cloth over his skin, but soon he had to look away, eyes squeezing shut. Solomon didn’t like this. He didn’t like her in his space. Granted, she posed no threat and that was very evident, but every part of him screamed to run. To push her off and go back to bed. He wasn’t sure why every part of him told him to escape by any means necessary, but he managed to keep himself planted. His arms tightened around his torso. Solomon understood that if he could endure this, he would be clean and she wouldn’t need to touch him again.

“It would be wishful thinking to think the sheets will not end up dirty. The sweating never seems to stop.” Solomon spoke meekly, finally replying to her earlier statement. It was probably why he was so thirsty all the time. His body was sweating out all the moisture as soon as he got in his body. “And I highly doubt there will be any improvement tomorrow. You are far too positive.” It wasn’t an insult, but after a week and a half of pure misery, Solomon didn’t see a light at the end of the tunnel. But who knew, perhaps by some chance the woman would end up being right.

“Stop.”

His words came so suddenly, not even he had expected them. It might have appeared that Solomon was going to remain composed, though uncomfortable, but that clearly was no longer the case. He recoiled into the couch, everything about him looking defensive. “That’s… That’s enough.” He told her, his body shuddering with an exhale. He had told himself he would sit through it, but in the end, the part of him that felt attacked had won and he was left feeling like a caged animal. Touch could never result in anything good. He had learned that early on.

Solomon took a deep breath. He kept having to calm himself down and it did nothing but make his mood sourer. “This is unnecessary,” He added with a sigh, “I’ll be fine.” It was a lie. No, Solomon probably wouldn’t be fine, but he was overwhelmed and in need of rest. Within minutes he had been reduced to a weaker version of himself than he had thought possible. That nightmare… There was no doubt it had rattled him to his very core. “I should return to bed, as should you.” He finished quietly, sitting up so he could prepare himself for the short, yet long journey back to his bed.