“What?” I frowned at the ridiculousness of the situation. Was he more concerned about how I pronounced his name that picking himself off the floor?
“My n…name,” he swallowed a gulp of blood, peering at me through crimson blinks. “Not Gale.”
“Your name is not Gale?” I repeated, taking a deep breath because I knew he could not, as if I wanted the effect to pass onto him, to help him breathe better.
“Galen…Galenor…”
“Galenor…” I repeated, raising a relieved sigh from his lips.
“Galenor, okay,” I nodded again, instantly deciding to never call him Gale again. I knew better than anyone how difficult it was to be an outsider, with an outsider’s name. How many documents needed to be redone and repaid for because someone didn’t pay enough attention to spell my name correctly. Did not care enough to double check.
Galenor…difficult to pronounce for an untrained tongue, so I assumed the soldiers automatically decided to shorten his name. And he didn’t bother to correct them, did not want to give them the power. By the way he exhaled in relief at my pronunciation of his name, he hadn’t heard it sound correctly in a long while.
“Galenor, you need to help me,” I started again, this time my words meriting his full attention. “You need to pull yourself up so I can remove your shirt. I can’t cut it because it’s a Human Realm uniform, I am not allowed to destroy the symbol of the realm,” I explained, making his chin jut towards me.
“Do you understand?” I asked again, panic thrusting through my sentence at the blood that continued to flow across his torso.
“Okay…” he finally spoke, one of his arms twisting around my neck to help support him while his palm pushed to the ground to force his body to lift.
I made quick work of undressing him and took the opportunity to slip a clean towel underneath his injured torso, which I had already dipped in alcohol.
His deep moan scraped down my skin at the thought of the pain he must be experiencing, his chest, his breath willing out groan after groan as the alcohol invaded his wounds and cuts.
“I’m sorry, but I have to clean them,” I spoke the apology while his emerald eyes gawked betrayal at me.
“Here,” I hurried to bring him the steaming mug. “It’s Cloutie, it will make you better soon.”
“Why should I trust you?” he snarled, pressing his lips together in protest.
“Because I’m trying to heal you!” I replied, exasperated. He kept bleeding from a deep cut on the right side of his torso, right below his ribs, which told me his liver must have been affected. And now the fool decided not to trust me and refused healing medicine.
“Why?” He swallowed more blood but kept his lips sealed.
“Because!” I shouted, desperation and annoyance taking control over my voice and impulses. “I’m here to help you,” I tried to convince him, and tried to plead with his better judgement.
“No human has ever helped…” Galenor murmured, his gaze blinking away from consciousness.
Determined to pour the Cloutie tea down his throat using force if I had to, I lowered the mug to his eyes, placing it in front of his nose and hoped that the metallic tang of blood did not overpower his other senses and allowed him to examine the contents himself rather than trust my words.
“It’s the same one I gave you while you healed from the chains. The exact same batch,” I said, dropping the mug a few more inches and tilting it just enough to show him the turquoise root releasing dark waves into the hot water. I always hated Cloutie, it smelled foul, made you sick and came with the cost of lives or lifetime debts.
But when Galenor’s lips reached for the mug, I never loved the plant more. Supporting his head with my shoulder and sliding part of myself under his back to gain more support, I slowly poured the contents down his throat, giving him enough pause to swallow and breathe as I did so.
The last drop sent the fae into a deep sleep, giving me the opportunity to examine him and clean the blood and the cuts while struggling to keep my focus and observe his every breath. The way his chest dropped up and down, how his arms relaxed and allowed his body to rest, to find peace.
Involuntarily, I found myself stroking parts of his skin that did not hold injuries, my fingers captivated by the softness and allure of his naked torso.
When I finished cleaning him off, I returned to the bedroom to grab the spare blanket and a pillow to keep him protected from the cold while he healed. I didn’t care that I had received clean linen when they came in to install the door. I knew Galenor needed to be comfortable and in that moment, it was all that mattered to me.
The bedroom door remained unlocked that night.
The fae did not have a good night and neither did I, his groans of pain keeping me awake until the late hours, forcing my consciousness to push me from bed with the need to check on him on several occasions.
All my actions were met with more snarls and grunting.
Galenor and I started a tradition that night, where I would express my concern regarding his situation and offer to help, while he grumbled and dropped insults with every word.
“Stop pretending you care, muffin. Go get some sleep…” he’d murmured between heavy breaths, urging me away.
