A Fairy Tale

Chapter 11

Xander

The silence in the air breaks as Emma enters the room carrying ice. The sound of her steps continue on, unaware of the conversation that had just ended.

"Here you go Doctor," ice shuffles as she hands it to him. "Hopefully it's enough."

"Yes, quite. Thank you." He leaves the right side of the table to retrieve the bounty. Emma hands him the ice before sitting next to me. As her hand slips beneath mine I recognize uncertainty in her touch. She doesn't say anything as the doctor wraps some ice in cloth before walking over to us. "Let me stitch up those holes in your wings first, then we'll put ice on them."

"What?" Confused, I speak up.

"Where do you think all that blood came from genius?" Emma reaches over my shoulder, her fingers leaving my sight, before returning with a single feather in tow. "Your father's tight grip broke skin." The black feather disappears. "Such a shame too," her voice sounds muffled. "Now you have a bald spot."

"I what?!" Turning my head around in panic, I try to see for myself. The black feather is touching Emma's lips, covering her whole face, except for her eyes. The crinkles around them whisper a smile. "You better be joking," I look at her, clearly not amused.

"She's right my Prince," the Doctor picks up a feather as well. "You seem to be lacking some scapular feathers. Especially on your right wing." Emma finally bursts out in a light laughter.

"It's not funny Emma." She continues laughing, hugging her sides as if in pain.

"I'm sorry," she wipes her eye. "It's just, you look like a featherless chicken." She bites her lip before laughing again. I ignore her as I rest my head back on the table. My neck is sore from being in a weird position, and the medicine the doc injected earlier is only making my muscles feel weird.

"Well Commander, as funny as that is, if you're going to continue with that unprofessional display, I will have to ask you to leave the room." A few more laughs escape Emma before she calms down.

"No worries Doctor. That won't be necessary."

"Good." He digs around in his stupid metal case before coming to attend to my right wing. "This will only take a few minutes," he says right before I feel a sharp prick in my shoulder.

As he repeats the motion of moving the needle in and out of my skin, the area starts to grow numb and I'm unsure of where the needle's at anymore. Emma is still sitting beside me, her hand never leaving mine.

I look out of the corner of my eye to see her watching the doctor with a serious expression on her face. Her eyes are zoomed in, recording every little movement he makes. I find it reassuring to know that at least one of us can see what he's doing.

I'm unsure if she's watching him so closely for a future reference in the battlefield, or, if she's watching him so closely for my sake. Either way, I'm happy she's here with me.

I go back to staring at the floor. The doctors words repeat over and over in my head; "Then I suggest the next time you anger him... Run."

I close my eyes. It's not that running scares me, or the fact that my father might chase me if I do run. The doctor knows I'm too stubborn to let that happen. It's the notion that having to run, means: