Out Of The Woods

Seven

"Do you wish to talk about it?" Magnus asks, glancing over at Ambrose from his much smaller bed in the corner of the room.

It had been a full week since Ambrose came back to the palace, a sobbing mess in Magnus' arms. Johnathan had not yet come to visit Ambrose, and for that he was grateful.

Ambrose's family kept their distance, thinking that he caught a minor illness. But in reality he was sleeping for days, only waking to eat or relieve himself. His body working in overdrive to heal its wounds.

Magnus took care of his young master, being much more compliant than he usually was. Meaning, he did every task without a roll of his eyes or his fists clenched.

He refrained from asking Ambrose what happened, not wanting to further upset him.

He knew that it had something to do with Johnathan, and he wanted nothing more than to help Ambrose.

But as soon as he arrived at the palace, he ordered Magnus to keep his mouth shut about the situation. To not inform the king of his injuries.

Ambrose's breathing problems continued, his breath shallow as if he couldn't get enough air into his lungs. He was in pain, a deep pain that not even his wolf could heal.

He was already weaker, seeing as he was an omega. But whatever happened to make his wolf fade into the back of his mind was delaying his internal healing even more.

Ambrose tried to breathe as deeply as he could, but all he could get in was a few short, rattling breaths.

"Master?" Magnus says, hoping for a response from the prince.

"No," Ambrose murmurs, placing his hand over his chest. "I can barely breathe, let alone have enough strength to talk so casually."

"I cannot help you if I do not know what is wrong, Master," Magnus argues, eyes narrowing on the prince.

Ambrose worries his lip between his teeth. Would Johnathan hurt Magnus if he told him what went on in the estate? He didn't want Johnathan to hurt him. He couldn't risk it. The less Magnus knew, the better.

"Leave me be, Magnus," Ambrose demands, turning onto his side, burying his body under the thick quilts covering his bed.

Ambrose sighs as his bed dips, feeling a hand on his back.

"Your breathing is quite shallow, Master. Are you having difficulty getting air into your lungs?" Magnus asks, trying a different approach.

Ambrose says nothing, swallowing the lump that began to form in his throat. Tears appearing at the corners of his eyes.

"If you allow it, I can use some of my energy to heal you. All you have to do is tell me how you acquired your injury."

Ambrose pales, horrible flashes of what Johnathan did to him, passing before his eyes.

The way his hands tightened around his neck. Crushing his windpipe. The way Johnathan held his head underwater as he struggled against him. How the scented bath water rushed into his open mouth, stinging his sinuses and filling his lungs.

Ambrose's neck throbs the more he thinks about it. His lungs beginning to burn. The feeling makes him sit upright in bed, gasping and trying to suck in as much air as possible. It was like he was attempting so breathe through a small tube.

Ambrose moans out a sob, clinging to Magnus as he struggles to breathe. Magnus keeps his arms at his sides, knowing that embracing the boy would give him further breathing inabilities.

"Oh, it was horrible, Magnus!" Ambrose whimpers, clutching onto the Fae's shoulders.

Ambrose opens his mouth to tell him the details of the horrid night, but stops himself before he can get a word out. He could not tell him what happened.