Red Queen One-Shots

Getting Better

A/N: Wren x Ptolemus one-shot. During King's cage

Trigger warning for mention of child abuse.

It was the heat that woke him, a smothering, heavy warmth. Both onerous feelings were, Ptolemus realized when his eyelids flew open as if his weariness had vanished, not caused by any sunlight. The air was cool, and only few rays made it into the room between thick curtains of dark velvet. Choking him were padded duvets of the same material that covered him up to his chin.

It's still spring, he remembered. This is my suite in Ridge House.

And I am a prince.

Recently elevated to royalty, he'd returned to the ancestral home of House Samos, and he hadn't even noticed. Or forgotten, likely due to the fever he felt in his skin, along with a terrible itch. Again, he cursed the velvet embroidered with metal pieces that his ability couldn't not sense and alert to him. He didn't want to hear their thuds in his head, programmed to examine any material until he knew which metals it contained, how much there was, and how to wield it. He didn't. He wished he was free of his ability for once, for an hour, when he was in such a poor state and just the thought of controlling the metals made him wince.

He forced himself to move despite his soreness all over, and tried to shove off the duvets, teeth grinding as his hands –

Hands

"Hey," a voice muttered. He couldn't see her behind the bedpost at first, before Wren Skonos rose and turned toward him to slow him down. Mostly urging him to "be careful!" with his right hand.

Their eyes met for a moment. Wren's concerned gaze calmed him, although his head still beat too fast. How could he have forgotten? He'd lost a hand in the battle at the wedding. He'd felt the absence and the pain. The injury was the reason why his body was weak and his mind not sharp and he'd known that deep down.

But this hand ...

Wren took it, this new ... thing, in hers. "I numbed its nerves for now," she said. "For the most part. You'll need to reassess it, though, to ... recalibrate."

A light flush glowed coldly on her dark cheeks. Recalibrate indeed. As if he was a machine that had to function, and his hand was a motor in repair. It looked as strange as one. Oddly soft and raw, with a strong grey tint like from heat or a hit. He could imagine the pain throbbing in it he had to thank Wren for not feeling.

Wren's lips twitched like she was restraining herself from biting them. She always hid her distress so well. Everyone he knew did, because all of them felt great distress. But it was somewhat different for Wren, a young skin healer who saw and saved the most powerful people of Norta at their worst. Her patients would want neither pity nor worry, but whether they wished for Wren to be talkative and comforting or quiet and unnoticeable, she had to find out.

What do I wish her to be for me?

"I'd recommend to move your fingers," Wren said eventually. "Do you consent?"

He blinked at her and as she stared back, he realized he still hadn't said anything to her. You're getting as taciturn as your father, Tolly, he thought with dread. He cleared his throat. "Yes," he groaned.

Wren nodded, her grey eyes lingering on him before she focused on his hand. "I'll move the fingers and you tell me if you feel it. Then I'll lessen the numbness piece by piece."

"Yes," he repeated. And then winced and soughed as Wren started the examination. Pain radiated through his new limb. Not for Wren being careless, but because the pain was inevitable when he needed to heal, get used to and train the new hand.