Ragnar stepped inside, and for a moment he found himself stunned by the scene before him.The shattered bowl, the bloodstained robes, the wild cascade of her hair, the soul of his Khatun in violent disarray.
He stepped further in, his gaze sweeping the room as the doors closed behind him.The dripping was loud enough to draw his attention to blood dropping to the floor.The wide sleeve of her white mourning dress was sodden crimson at the hem, a steady trickle of crimson falling from beneath it.
He crossed the space in two strides.Wordlessly, he took her arm.She didn’t resist.He pushed back the heavy fabric.
His heart trembled; her hand was a savage, pulpy mess of puncture wounds, blood welling from a dozen vicious, self-inflicted stabs.
She must’ve been in great pain, and yet her face remained so still that it scared him more than he could express.
Looking down, he noted her bare feet amidst shards.
He said nothing.Instead, he hooked his arm around her legs and lifted her to sit on the edge of the table.Fetching water and clean linen from the basin in the corner, he focused on patching what he could.First her hand, and then he knelt to check her feet.All in silence, for if she did not wish to speak, he was not inclined to disrupt her.Her eyes were transfixed as if in deep thought.
Only when he was done, and her wounds had been cleaned, did he finally speak."Do not take your frustrations out on yourself."He did not fully understand her brain or how she saw the world.But he could tell she was met with an enemy greater than herself, and so she struggled to fight."If you must, you can take them out on me."
It was their contract after all, his protection for her mind.And so he needed to keep her intellect intact; he needed to keep her happy.
She stared at him, her gaze drifting from his eyes, over his face, and down his neck.Her tear-blurred vision caught the raised welts peeking above the collar of his tunic.
Her uninjured hand lifted, her fingers hooked into the fabric at his throat.She pulled as though to undress him; he didn’t stop her, his heart coming to his throat.
The collar gave way, revealing the brutal kiss of lashes across his shoulders and the back of his neck, the skin broken and inflamed.
She shifted her hand, bringing her long, red-rimmed nails to the edge of one of the worst welts.She pressed down, as if to transfer the seething, inarticulate agony in her soul into a physical pain he could share, could understand, could hold for her.
His body trembled, and he clenched his jaw as pain resurfaced, his body tensing, but he didn’t pull away.
He let her nails bite into the inflamed flesh until it drew blood.
When her trembling began to subside, he moved.Still kneeling, he lifted her newly bandaged hand.He turned it over, exposing the vulnerable, uninjured skin of her inner wrist.He pressed his mouth there.
Then he looked up, his dark eyes holding hers.She only stared down at him, her hair shielding the both of them.
A tear fell onto his face, sliding down to his chin.
He wasn’t sure at first if they were tears or whether he simply wished, more than anything, for her to show him what lay in her heart.
"Take it off," she said, her voice a husk of its usual melody.
A beat of silence.Then his hands rose.He unfastened the belt around his waist, pulling down his robes until his torso, scars and all, was laid bare before her.
She reached up to trace the clean bandages hiding the scars she had given him.
"I need to remove the stitches when you return," she muttered, more to herself.
Her fingers moved from the bandages to the skin beneath, following the hard line of his abdomen.She felt the muscles jump beneath her touch, a violent flinch he couldn’t suppress.His breath deepened, audible in the silent room.
"The body remembers pain," she murmured, her cold eyes watching his face."Even when the mind claims it’s healed."
Her hand drifted lower over the taut plane of his stomach, following the trail of dark hair that disappeared beneath the loose fabric still pooled at his hips.He shuddered, a full-body tremor he couldn’t control.His hands, which had been resting by his sides, clenched into fists so tight the knuckles blanched.
"Khatun," he said in a strained rasp.
"Hm?"Her wet gaze flicked up to his.Her fingers hooked into the last barrier of cloth."Does this bother you?"
He held her stare, his jaw locked, the cords in his neck standing out.Shame and desire warred in his dark eyes, both equally humiliating under her detached observation.He said nothing.Sundering.
It bothered him.
