26

Intrusive and Impulsive Thoughts

Sweat beads across my brow as the convulsing grants me a reprieve.

I groan after dry heaving for the third time this morning, clutching the chamber pot tighter, knowing Jerrick expects me in the library. Yet I can't seem to care about the reprimand for not showing up, my cycle finally arriving.

I was sorer than usual yesterday, and I did not think anything of it. But I should have known. I should have tracked my days to prepare for it and taken medicine the night prior.

Instead, my mind was preoccupied with thoughts I shouldn't even be thinking, especially now as my insides clench.

Sweet Makers, why does every day my cycle starts have to consist of pain, nausea, and fatigue? Why can't I just bleed and be done with it?

My intrusive thoughts have me comparing this pain to when I was shot in the back, which was far more tolerable.

Only because you fainted and don't remember much about it, Tove.

Easing my grip from the chamber pot, I hold my stomach and pray to the Makers I can make it back to bed.

I will crawl if that means preventing further embarrassment here.

Dorit has already seen me cry and has witnessed my nightmares. There is no telling what she will do if she sees me like this.

A burst of pain radiates above my center, my nerves pinching and seizing.

Tears line my eyes as I bite down hard on my lip, trying to fight through it while finding my bearings as I stand.

I brace my body on the wall, the interior stones of the castle cold and a relief against my hot, clammy skin. Trudging through each step, I stagger while maintaining pressure on my abdomen.

But bile shoots up my throat, and I collapse to the floor, hand covering my mouth to stop it from escaping. It doesn't force its way out, just triggers the heaving again, and this time, I am too far away from my chamber pot, so I keel over into the bathing tub, clutching the cool sides of the metal as pain erupts through me.

It could be worse, Tove.

I press my forehead against the tub, counting my breaths and building up energy. When I want to move again, the door to my chambers opens, and I call for Dorit.

"Tove?" she answers, hurrying in.

Her sentence is inaudible, my heartbeats thrumming in my ears as my breaths begin to increase faster than I can handle.

My groans and heaves fill the chamber, and a cold hand touches the small of my back, rubbing in soft circles. I cannot even savor it because my vision turns spotty.

I gasp to Dorit. "Cycle."

I pant. "Medicine."

Another pant. "Please."

I hang my head, exhaustion tugging in my chest. The soreness from yesterday has increased, the tension tight and weighing down my arms and legs.

I blink slowly, feeling as if I am drifting in and out of consciousness.

Time slows without Dorit.

The cramping remains, gnawing and gnashing its way through me.

I lose my grip on the lip of the tub, and I slink back to the floor, curling myself into a ball. Darkness and light take turns as I lie here, waiting, pleading for medicine.

Once I have medicine, I will be fine. The pain will dull enough for me to function, and then I can dress for the day and maybe ask Cordelia and Ophelia for extra pastries.

Jerrick won't be happy with my absence.

In the back of my mind, I fear he will withhold training for a longer period.

The thought adds to my stress and brings forth more tears.

I tuck my head into my chest, squeezing myself tightly. Sobs escape me as I tremble and lose control over my body.

An aching song wraps itself around me, unsure why each step toward redemption, toward saving, toward healing, is stripped and ripped away.

Darkness sings and calls to my pain, the abyss of grief creeping to the surface of my mind, knowing my misery will be joined with good company.

My breaths turn ragged, a figurative idea of Oblivion not only dragging me from my family, but torturing me for deceiving those I've come to care for here in Palaena. The harsh reminder of guilt persecutes me, my efforts to rectify my assumptions and misgivings gone.

I wish there was something real—something tangible to bring me back from the disarray of my mind.

Warmth prickles against my arm, and I whimper at the small prayer being answered.

But even through my agony, I cannot manage to face Dorit and thank her. I'm too wrapped in myself, body and mind, to break free of this torment.

I burrow deeper into myself, hating the feeling of helplessness that always seeks me out.

Helplessness is a wound which opens any time a glimpse of hope shimmers in my life, festering and infecting its way through my body and soul to keep me from helping myself, my people, and my kingdom.

But now it's also keeping me from helping Palaena, from my friends, from—

The warmth trickles down my arm again, and it only makes me bawl harder, believing this small mercy will be taken away soon, too.

"Tove," a feminine voice says. "Tove, we are here. I've brought medicine."

The soft sound touches my heart, but it's the second familiar, beautiful, rich tone that touches my very soul.

"Come here, Frostbite," the man murmurs in my mind.

I scrunch my face tight, the nickname Jerrick gave me sounding endearing and beckoning. Deities, if he were here, he would probably scold me for not bringing our food tray to the library.

I would take being scolded by him rather than the throes of misery right now.

At least if I were around him, rather than dealing with this, I could offer him extra pastries from the kitchens, only to gorge on them myself when he wasn't looking.

A gentle hand touches me, gripping tight and tugging me away from the shell I've hidden in.

My face is damp from crying, light salt in the air, but when I am dragged out from under myself, cologne hits me like a boulder.

I whimper as Jerrick's smell and touch guides me from the pit of darkness in my mind, drawing my eyes open to see him.

My turmoil and suffering dissipate as I take him in, my heart hammering.

And when that damn dimple appears through his worried gaze, relief overcomes me. I don't know if I am crying because he has seen me in worse conditions or because he is here and helped drag me away from my despair.

I can barely stutter an apology through my pained sobs. "I-I'm sorry I am running late this morning."

Jerrick's brows pinch in confusion before he shakes his head. "Do not apologize for things beyond your control," he says softly, scooting closer to me.

He snakes his hand around the back of my head, bracing it as I rest on his knee. It's much more comfortable than the floor.

He tilts his head up to Dorit. "Are cycle's always like this?"

Dorit shrugs, unsure. "It varies based on the woman."

"M-My first day is always the hardest. I just need medicine to dull the pain," I bite out, still holding myself together.

Jerrick combs his fingers through my head, gently massaging my scalp and—fucking Deities, I might die right here and now from how amazing it feels.

"Leave the medicine with me," he says. "Go get food and have a few staff members assist you in bringing up the books on our table in the library."

Dorit hesitates, checking to see if I will be okay.

I offer her the best smile I can, nodding once to her. As long as I have medicine, I will be fine. Maybe I can even rest for a bit.

Jerrick darkens his tone once more to my lady-in-waiting. "Dorit."

Her eyes turn on him, placing medicine in his upturned hand. "King or not, Jerrick, I will beat you senseless if you make her feel any worse right now."

My eyes widen at her threat, and Jerrick rolls his eyes.

Dorit rests her hands on her hips and lifts a brow at him. Her features are scornful, but Jerrick is unaffected.

"You have nothing to worry about, Dorit. I've got her."

Dorit holds his gaze for a few seconds before she glances back down, and I don't know what I did to have earned such loyalty and devotion from her. She nods once to Jerrick, leaving my rooms in a hurry.

Jerrick's attention remains on her departure before he glances at the pack of medicine, then to me. His brows pinch tightly, perplexed.

"You promise this will help you feel better?" Jerrick asks cautiously.

I eye the medicine, wishing I had the energy to take it before he can hold it against me. "It will dull the pain." I sigh.

His blue eyes hold mine, sincerity lacing his next statement. "There has to be something else to help you."

A twist in my stomach has me scrunching my features, and I apply more pressure.

"Frostbite?"

Worry heightens Jerrick's tone.

The sensation abates, and I relax a little, opening my eyes and meeting his gaze. "I-I'm here. Just cramps."

His features remain bundled tight, scanning me over. He moves to open the medicine pack.

"Here." He offers me the herbs.

I move my hand away from my stomach to take it, but another twinge of pain ruptures, and my thighs clench and muscles flex. I wince inwardly, returning my hold on my abdomen.

"Here, let me," Jerrick says, slowly and tentatively extending the medicine to me.

I lift my head as his fingers brush along my lips.

A tremor unrelated to my cycle rocks through me. Dark desires pulse, wanting to draw my tongue around other areas of his skin.

I gulp down the medicine, shaking away yet another intrusive thought of Jerrick, praying to the Makers the herbs will take effect soon. "Th-Thank you." I smile softly.

But Jerrick's jaw works for a few beats before he asks another question. "How long do we have to wait?"

"It's hard to say. I am usually better about taking medicine proactively, but I've been preoccupied."

His entire face falls at my admission, his dimple vanishing and eyes turning distant. "I am to blame for that."

"No, well—yes and no," I amend.

Jerrick's head drops, his warmth retreating.

I rush to explain, "I don't blame you for my stress. It's everything we are trying to do and accomplish for your curse, for the ball, for the kingdoms, and for my powers. I know we have not tackled everything, but managing it all can be a lot."

Our eyes meet, and he offers me a solemn nod.

It feels like he is withdrawing more, despite me still resting on his knee. I push through my pain and grab his hand.

His gaze flicks to it, and I squeeze it once, rubbing small circles as he has done for me. "I don't blame you," I repeat in reassurance.

His stern and distraught features lighten, his thumb rubbing my hand gently. "You should," he says, low and quiet.

I shake my head adamantly. "I don't."

I try to voice that I don't blame him for my family, for my trauma, but the rest of my words run dry in my aching throat, the only two that really matter lingering between us.

He looks me over, our hands still rubbing against each other. Being the object of his attention has always made me flush, but now I am molten.

I swallow carefully, and his eyes track the movement.

"May I try something?" Jerrick asks.

Caution prickles up the length of my spine, unknowing where he is going with this.

I really hope he isn't trying to pick me up. I don't even want to think about how mortified I was when Niko did that during my last cycle.

But at least Jerrick is asking.

"Wh-What do you mean?" I ask.

"May I use my gifts on you?"

I tense, the past occurrences of him using his abilities on me flashing in my mind. But he wants to help me, and he is asking for permission.

Hesitation ebbs the longer he stares, waiting for my response.

"H-How do you intend to—"

"You said you have cramps. If I heat your blood, it will increase your blood flow, and I could—" He stops when my face falls. "You don't have to say yes. I'm only offering a suggestion that could help."

"I wish you did that the last time this happened," I blurt.

Recollection draws a chuckle from him as he quirks a brow. "Who is to say I didn't?"

Surprise widens my eyes. I drift to the last time I was on my cycle, remembering the pain—the fainting.

"Did you use your power on me when I fainted?" I ask. "At the ball in Axidoria?"

Jerrick's teasing shifts into regret. "Yes," he admits quietly.

I fidget with my other hand, seeking more answers. "Have you—have you used them without my knowledge beyond that?"

Jerrick's eyes fall to the floor before repeating himself. "Yes."

"If you can manipulate blood, why didn't you heal me when I was shot?" I ask curiously, feeling a phantom prick where the arrow punctured me.

Jerrick slumps, as if it pains him to revisit our past. It is evident he is trying to avoid replying, his features mask away the pain as if I cannot read him.

His demeanor shifts, and I ache seeing the transformation.

Jerrick smirks, rubbing my hand. "Why can't you just tell me yes or no to my question?" he asks, half annoyed, half amused.

But the haunted, kind Jerrick is beneath this mask, just as the tortured mess I am lies underneath my own.

Even with his question hanging between us, I don't let him get away with not answering mine. I've seen different sides of this man, and I want to understand him. The need to differentiate the man from the king and the king from the curse grows the more I am around him.

I remind him. "You promised you would answer all my questions. Do not make me ask you why you are avoiding answering me, too."

The smirk vanishes, and he withdraws. Jerrick averts his gaze, but I remain focused on him, studying the rise and fall of his chest to see if I have angered him.

But then he closes his eyes and slowly inhales.

He confesses, "My gifts are that of Letum. They are not meant to heal, only to take."

A spasm rolls through my gut, and I wince, moving from the twisting happening internally.

Jerrick acts quickly, helping brace my body seizing.

I am beyond grateful for his quiet support. When it settles, I give myself a few moments before trying to communicate again.

"Well, maybe in this situation, taking will make me feel better," I concede.

The anguish in Jerrick dissipates when our gazes meet once more, a soft smile drawing back his dimple.

But the knowledge of feeling his powers again brings unease to the surface. I harness my courage and brace myself. "H-How do we do this?"

He touches my chin, tilting me up to him as he leans in close. "Well, I could always just kiss—"

"No!" I blurt, sending him back in surprise.

But he doesn't let that stop him from saying, "Last I remember, you liked it."

"Last I remember, you did it without asking."

"Hmmm," he muses, feigning he is not affected by my remark.

Jerrick shrugs, his decision made. His hold on my chin lessens as he asks, "Can you move at all?"

"Why?" I groan, not wanting to move but willing to if it means faster relief.

"If you want immediate relief, the best course is to place my hands wherever the most pain is."

The thought of his hands warming me so close to my sex lures desire to the surface.

But the potential immediate relief has me mentally preparing for the energy to move, but Jerrick halts me.

"Here, I have a better idea." Jerrick carefully helps move me off his knee.

I relax, grateful to not have to move more than necessary, but confusion furrows my brow when he stands.

Jerrick moves behind me, his legs stretch around my body before he touches my side.

"I'm going to ease you upward. Is that alright?" he asks.

Gratitude hums in my chest. It is reassuring and comforting despite the daunting thought of moving. But I brace myself and muster my strength, nodding quickly to Jerrick.

The movement is swift and over before my next heartbeat, Jerrick pulling my back to him.

I keep pressure on my stomach, my chin dipping as another ricochet of cramps explodes. I tense, wincing, and I immediately regret moving too fast.

Jerrick trails his hand around my neck, guiding my head up to rest against him. His heartbeat is erratic in my ear, my own drowned out by the sound of his.

A need surges forth when more than his hard chest presses against me.

My nipples harden as his hands snake above my breasts, a teasing caress before removing my hands from my stomach.

I close my eyes from his touch so close to my center as he leans in, whispering softly, "I'm here, I've got you, Frostbite."

His soothing voice uncoils the tension from my neck and down my spine. His words and hands envelop me in a blanket of safety.

I release a breath, giving him permission.

Jerrick remains close as his magic flares to life. His power is recognizable, the essence of power reminding me of my own.

Heat radiates through his palms as they hold a light pressure against my abdomen. The balm his abilities offer uncoils my muscles one at a time, and my entire body submerges in warmth and relaxation.

"Mmmm," I moan my gratitude.

Jerrick's lips kiss my hair. "Is it working?"

"Mm-hmm," I respond, too lazy to offer any answer beyond that.

Jerrick exhales behind me, easing us backward as he rests against a wall. "Good." He chuckles, hands still warm and holding my stomach.

I hold them as waves of relief cocoon me and my entire body now. "How do you manifest your gifts?" I ask, envious of how he can control his gifts and wishing for the chance to do that myself.

Jerrick is quiet, the moment spreading as his lips graze my hair. "Meditation," he answers.

"Deities, I wish I could do that," I reply, knowing I get too far gone in my own mind that meditating seems impossible.

"You can, though."

I shake my head, not wanting to admit aloud another flaw about myself.

"Let me show you," he says, drawing our hands forth.

I almost beg him not to, but with his pressure removed from my stomach, my blood thrums and the comfort in my body remains. I lift my head in astonishment.

"H-How are you—"

"Meditation, Frostbite," Jerrick repeats, sitting straighter against me as he turns my palms upright. "When you feel your magic, where does it stem from?"

"Mostly in my chest or stomach."

"Okay, good, you already know that." He holds my waist. "Now, close your eyes and count your breaths."

I do as he says, remembering times when counting my breaths had helped, but I never managed to do much beyond that with my abilities.

I remain focused on each breath, one right after the other.

The fortitude of Jerrick behind me mixed with tension leaving my body is comforting.

But the fear of the past, fear of the pain, fear of my magic call forth—

A cracking shakes through my skull, and my eyes burst open.

"Why did you stop?" Jerrick asks.

I cover my face with my hands, shaking my head. "I-I can't." Shame and fear dig into my skin.

Jerrick eases my hands from my face. "Try again, but this time, when your mind wanders away from counting your breaths, give yourself grace. Then return to focusing on the rise and fall of your chest."

I close my eyes. The dread of returning to those same thoughts has me hesitating.

Jerrick holds my palms steady, never letting go, and kisses the top of my head once more. "Relax your eyes," he murmurs against my scalp, drifting his thumbs back and forth across my skin.

I listen to his guidance.

"Good girl," he purrs, and my heart stutters at the smooth drawl behind his approval. "Now, breathe with me."

I focus on the rise and fall of Jerrick's chest, concentrating on moving past his praise and having my breathing align with his. The heat in my stomach remains strong, granting me more relief from my cycle and a chance to try again.

With Jerrick's power surrounding me, it's easier to match his breathing, especially as he repeats the same words. "Inhale. Exhale."

Eventually, he stops speaking, letting our bodies breathe in tandem. His calloused thumb taunts me, and my thoughts wander again.

Jerrick's voice keeps me at bay, as if knowing the second my mind wandered.

"Now, feel," he breathes.

Memories, distant and far between, twinkle along the edges of my mind. Faint feelings beyond grief and despair drift back to me, causing my lip to quiver.

The caress of love and happiness of my family is light, drifting away faster than I can follow. The pit of my own Oblivion crawls forward, snuffing out the glimpse of emotions I long felt forgotten, and the reality of my situation thrashes.

I instinctively move my hands, but Jerrick holds them firm.

"Grace, Frostbite," he reminds me gently.

A weight builds in my chest, and I try to resist accepting the monster that I am. I squirm adamantly.

"I-I—"

"Say you are doing your best," Jerrick instructs.

Warmth spreads over me as I struggle through repeating him. "I-I'm doing my best…"

"Say it is okay not to be okay."

I hesitate at his words, tempted to peer up at him and ask why he wants me to say that.

He nudges me with his body, reminding me to do as he says.

"It's okay not to be okay."

"Good, now focus on those words and come back to your breathing," Jerrick says. "I'm here with you every step. I've got you."

He resumes his own meditation, keeping hold of my hands and twiddling lazy circles.

Concentration should be hard, yet his touch and magic ground me and help me find my own center as I chant. The conscious thoughts of matching Jerrick's evened breaths pull me away from the phrases, even as Jerrick's uplifted voice instructs me to open my eyes.

I hesitate, my mind too preoccupied with breathing. But a beacon of cold kisses the center of my palm, drawing my attention to it.

A startled gasp escapes at the small snowflake hovering a few inches above my hand, with no sign of frost or ice along my skin and no sign of it expanding beyond what it is.

I cannot help but laugh at the sight, a flurry of snow twirling around in response.

Tears blur my line of vision.

"Beautiful," Jerrick hums from behind.

Words can't escape me, so I nod, shocked to see my magic manifest like this.

The weight of Jerrick's chin rests on my head as we both study my gift. "Now, close your palm," he encourages gently.

I do as he asks, the familiar heat of his magic closing over my hand.

The surge of power lingers in the air, Jerrick's hold lingering as if he doesn't want to let go. But even as he does, I still keep my palm closed, debating on opening it.

Drawing a long inhale, I hold it for a few seconds, expelling my lungs and opening my hand to see the snowflake completely dissolved. "I-I-I made my magic not appear on my arms."

A breathless sob of joy escapes.

"With my help, of course," Jerrick teases from behind.

I deflate. "You just have to go and ruin all my fun now, don't you?"

Jerrick's chuckle is light as he says, "Manifest your magic without my help and then we can train."

He—he offered to train me…

I peer up at Jerrick, my teeth flashing with excitement and his wide grin matching my own.

His head tilts toward mine as the air surrounding us shifts.

Jerrick's intoxicating cologne has me licking my lips, my hungry gaze lingering on his mouth inching closer to mine.

The sound of staff entering my chambers, with Dorit in tow, reminds me of myself.

"Thank you," I spill out, averting my gaze from Jerrick and saving myself from acting on impulse.