The King Trials.

~Awakened~

The more I gain consciousness, the more the pain strengthens.

My eyes peel open and life welcomes me back into being. I shift slightly, feeling the goose feather bed beneath me with fluffy pillows, and a white sheet laid over me. Spun from spider silk, sumptuously soft. Both of my arms are bandaged at different places with cream wraps, surrounded by minor scrapes and cuts.

The sheet is raised to my chest, pain hampering even the tiniest of movements. I lift it up to peek at the gauze on my side. My discoloured stomach billows with bruises from light shades of inflamed red, tints of yellow to a dark purple. I release the sheet.

"You are awake."

I look beyond the canopy frame of the bed. In the bedchamber, there are white drapings that hang from the ceiling all around, draperies of silky white. Warm air rouses them all, causing them to rustle and frolic. Amidst the white, a shadow roams. A brawny figure outlined behind a dancing drape.

Kelan reveals himself and moves to stand at the foot of the bed. He is not in his uniform, instead; he wears casual clothes with the same cloak he wore at the light festival, shrouded over his dark clothing.

"How long have I have been...slumbering?"

His face twitches with something uncomfortable. "This is the third day."

My gaze falters before I drag it back up to look at him. "And how long have you been...waiting, here with me?"

A defined muscle protrudes from his jaw. "This is the third day."

I can barely move. My body inoperable. A giant weight dropped on me, mooring me to the bed. Every graze and wound on my body throbs and aches, searing and constant. Battered, bruised, and sapped of all my strength. But I lived. Though others did not, and many who fell before my blade.

Because of me.

I glance back at Kelan and he observes me thoughtfully. His meticulous gaze defines every feature of my face, like's he's studying me. It feels like he is scrutinising every mark that tarnishes my skin.

If I look how I feel, then I'm glad I cannot see myself.

"Why are you staring at me?" I demand.

"Because," he states.

My eyelids are so heavy, I fight to keep them open. "Because." My lungs struggling. "Because what?"

"I have seen you wear the most exquisite gowns," he begins and moves away to round the foot of the bed, slowly making his way to me. "At the initiation banquet. At the Citadel. Many times, you thought I did not see you, but I did. And each time you looked glorious. But you have never looked more beautiful than as you do right now."

I chaff at the compliment. Even though my heartbeat dashes, sparking like black powder before it plateaus again.

"You do not believe my sincerity?"

It's too much effort to shrug, so I force a dubious smile. "How can I when I'm sure I look like I have participated in the Blood Games, killed, was nearly slain and got pummelled by Spartans." I feign a look of remembrance. "Oh wait, that did happen."

He stops at my side. Those stygian eyes look down at me. His gaze embraces mine, so palpable it's like his arms are around me. "That is not what I see." Outstretching his arm, his fingers brush against my cheek. His touch like a balm over every wound. A remedy for my pain. "Every bruise shows how you fought. Every wound proves your might and despite it all. You triumphed. Life shrinks or expands in proportion to one's courage." His knuckles softly trailing down. "And your courage is unparalleled. You fought with heart and skill and there is nothing greater, nothing more beautiful than the one that overcomes."