Marianne at Court Ch. 06

Prince Jason Algrave sat in Misthallow's narrow infirmary. He looked down at his naked chest. Blood ran down over his sweat-dampened muscles, beading and drying against his skin. He felt a bit lightheaded, but he somehow felt himself in a good mood. His duel with Garth left him bloody, but Jason couldn't deny the effect that victory in battle had on him. This was why he was a warrior.

His mind swam. He couldn't recall this girl, Renore, that his opponent kept talking about. He supposed it was possible - Jason bedded many women, he had to admit. He couldn't possibly match names to all who've shared his sheets. Regardless, the knight was a fool. Attacking a skilled enemy when your strikes are delivered by anger is a good way to leave yourself open to mistakes.

Then again, Jason had to admit that he only found himself with a knife in his side because he turned to the crowd watching him. That's something he supposed he didn't have when he was on campaign. He noted that it was a good thing that war did not have seating arrangements for spectators. His thoughts shifted to Adam Mullenax, and the pain in his side flared. A quiet grunt escaped his lips.

Sir Beron and Sir Peter Wepple had helped him to the room, and went for help. Jason could only lift his head and stare into the mirror on the other side of the room. It was old, and towered over everything else in the room - the beds, the shelves, and the crates of what remaining medical supplies Misthallow held. Jason didn't know much about medicine, but he figured what was here was not robust.

The man in the mirror looked tired. Jason's dark locks were hanging, slick with sweat, over his brow, just peeking into his line of vision. Blood ran down through the curves and crevices of his muscles, intermingling with the copious amount of sweat that made his chest glow in the dim lighting of the room. Beron had stripped him of his shirt and once Jason had gotten into the room, he'd added his dark riding trousers to the pile as well. He was only clad in silken grey undershorts that clung to his thighs. Also sweaty. Jason wondered how much of the sweat came from his duel, and how much came from his body fighting the wound. Some thin, bloodied, bandages barely hung to his form.

"Jason" Sir Peter's voice came. It was soft and worried, and Peter was usually so severe and businesslike. "I've got someone who can help you out." Peter was of an age with Jason, and had wispy light brown hair. They'd gotten to know each other on the warpath. His family was a knightly house from Broadrock, near the outskirts of the capital. Peter had come up for the party.

"Thanks, Pete." he said, grimacing again. "Whatever works."

The girl that sheepishly entered the room after Peter was tall, with wavy dark hair that hung down dutifully. Jason noted her light brown eyes, astute and curious, darting around the room - yet never leaving his form for long. Her green dress was modest, he noted, quite unlike what women normally seemed to wear around his parties. Around him.

And he recognized her.

"Ahhh, Marianne." Jason said with a tone tinged in gravel. His wound was eating at him, but he thought he could feel it getting better already. Marianne was undoubtedly pretty, and what man doesn't enjoy the attentions of a cute girl in a time of need? He fixed a devilish smirk to his face as she stepped further into the room. "I'm sure you didn't imagine you'd be showing me your...abilities, so soon, did you?" the prince flirted.

Marianne Newhook stopped and blushed deeply. "I, uh....well, no..."

"The bandages are in that crate." Jason said with a sharp, pained exhale. He could feel the sweat on his body accumulating. With the way his dark hair clung to his body, he had to imagine that he looked like he'd crawled out of the hot springs. "I think. Or maybe it's that one."

The girl awkwardly, cutely, leaned down and went through the wooden crates on the shelves. Jason watched as Marianne rummaged through the jars, packages, and fabrics that were left in there. Eventually, she straightened up with a frown, looking down at the squat bottles in her hands. They were glass, and were colored a foggy blue. Jason thought that he also noted a thin layer of dust coating them. She leaned in and grabbed some bandages as well.

She turned and then knelt before him. Jason shifted to allow her to pull away the bandages that were dirtied, bloodied, and cut. "Sorry about this." Jason quipped, in a pained tone. "Next time, I'll try to be stabbed someplace that has my own doctor present."

"Ahh. Not satisfied with my handiwork?" she asked. Her voice shivered a bit, and she despite the deft and practiced way that she moved her hands, her demeanor was one of nervousness.

"Not quite. I just don't enjoy being stabbed in front of pretty girls. I much prefer to...ah, be doing the stabbing." he quipped with a grunt. She blushed at his words, but continued her work. The wound was revealed to be bloody and red, and it ran down, staining the tight shorts at his side.

Marianne slid slowly to her knees in front of him, looking uncertain. Her brown eyes flickered to Jason's blue ones for a silent moment that lasted less than a second, but sent a wave of lightning through the prince's body. His lips curled into a smile as he looked down and she began to dab and wipe at the blood that remained on his body around the cut.

Nervously, she slid cloth across his wet skin. The only noises in the room were low gripes from Jason. The pain was still palpable, but he watched as the dutiful girl rubbed the blood from his body. At one point, she paused, staring at his hip, before moving a hand to the hem of his shorts. She pulled at it slowly, on the side, exposing his side where the blood had ran down beneath the fabric - as well as the side of his ass, and even a few of the short hairs above his pelvis.

Marianne turned bright red, to Jason's amusement. Still, she did her work, and Jason found that he was losing the strength to issue her any more japes. Once she was finished with the cleaning, she dispatched of the bloody cloth and massaged a salve into his wound. It burned exquisitely, and Jason growled with frustration, black and red flashes of pain dancing in his dimming vision.

"God, fuck...fuck." he said breathily, his chest flexing, as if his body tried to run. But her hands never left his sides, and before long she was bandaging him up again, snow white linens wrapping around his body as he hung over her, holding on to her shoulder.

He sat back with an exhale. "Ah..."

Marianne stood, smiling slightly before looking around with an uncertain look in her gaze. "Well...that's that. I'm sorry you got hurt, your grace." she said with glistening eyes.

Jason smiled and nodded. But when Marianne turned to leave, he called her name and bid her turn back to him. He reached out a hand.

She looked at his outstretched arm like she'd never seen one before, but eventually put her hand in his. Then, her wide eyes met Jason's with curiosity and bewilderment.

"Thank you." said the prince.