Trapped in Lace (lgbt)

Ch 4

Mikhail groans. God, he is so sore and tired. His body is weighed and as he tries to move, he finds that he can't.

His brows furrow in confusion and he whines low in his throat.

Every movement causes a jolt of pain to travel through his muscles. He aches and hurts in the worst way possible.

"Do not move," a voice commands gruffly.

Mikhail's eyes flutter open and through blurred vision he finds the source of the sound. He blinks away the sleepiness, his breathing just a bit labored. He attempts to move, clearly ignoring the warning. He finds that he can't. Again, he frowns before discovering why.

He is chained to the bed posts, wrists bruised with purples and blues.

"Are you deaf or just daft?"

Mikhail bristles at that, "Let me go."

"You trespassed onto private territory, if anything I should behead you where you lay."

Mikhail pauses before beginning to struggle in earnest.

"Stop that," the man orders once more.

Mikhail doesn't listen, too panicked because he does not put it past the man not to kill him. His bravado melts and all he is left with is fear.

"Stop it."

And warm breath fans over his cheek. Mikhail stops, breathing erratically, chest rising and falling as he works himself into a panic attack.

"I cannot breathe," he gasps and whimpers.

The man looks confused for half a second before his instincts kick in. Warm calloused hands cup Mikhail's cheeks. His face is gently turned until he's forced to meet the dark eyes belonging to the stranger.

"Breathe with me," the man coos gently.

Mikhail closes his eyes against the onslaught of tears, but he tries to follow the man's direction for the first time since waking.

It is slow progress, but finally he can feel himself breathe normally again. He calms.

"I have done my best at patching you up. You have lost much blood, but the shell is gone, and I have tried suturing the wound close. So, stop squirming unless you want my handy work to come undone."

Mikhail gulps, turning to look away as his heart palpitates.

"Thank you," he manages hoarsely.

The man finally backs away now that he is sure Mikhail will not hurt himself.

"My lord?" A muffled voice calls from just outside the closed doors.

The man stands with a deep-seated sigh as he treks toward the wooden double doors. Mikhail follows the man with his gaze. He takes in the sight before him. The man is tall and well built. He is older than him, mature. There is a heaviness set on the man's shoulders. Mikhail does not doubt that the man can kill him with his bare heads. He ponders if escaping is an option.

"Beatrice," the man greets politely, the door swinging open.

Not enough for Mikhail to see the person beyond.

"Sire, a letter from your father, Ki -"

"Thank you," the man interrupts, taking the envelop, "you may leave."

The servant courtesies, Mikhail is sure, before leaving.

Again, it is just them two.

The letter is tossed onto the night table. Forgotten for the moment.

Mikhail stares at the man with those doe wide eyes again. The man sighs as he pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Who are you?" He asks once more, "Who sent you?"

Sent him? Mikhail thinks in utter befuddlement.

"No one sir," he answers.

The man cannot detect a lie, but he does not let his guard down.

"What is your name?"

Mikhail bites his lip. He owes the man this much, right?

This man practically saved his life, right after and before threatening to end it.

"Mikhail," he whispers at last, "My name is Mikhail."

"Mikhail," the man hums in contemplation.

"And yours?" The younger questions.

The man stares at him as if he truly is daft. It makes Mikhail uncomfortable.

"You... You truly do not know who I am?"

Mikhail shakes his head, should he?

"You may call me Antony," the man settles.

"Lord Antony," Mikhail nods, testing out the name as the man had with his.

Antony does not correct him on the title. It is best this way.

"What happened to you? Running away from the military?" Antony wonders.

Mikhail stifles a laugh, groaning when the movement tugs at the hand cuffs. God his arms are numb from the lack of proper circulation. Antony takes notice and he chooses then to unlock the cuffs.

"Thank you," Mikhail sighs in relief.

The man grunts in acknowledgement.

"As to answer your question I... I was, am travelling, when I was mistaken by a hunter chasing game."

It is a clear and obvious lie. One Mikhail hopes he can pass, but Antony has already caught on. Fine, if the boy refuses to be truthful then he will not push. But that he means he will not trust. The boy will be under his cautionary gaze at all times.

"I umm was seeking help when my belongings were stolen. I am truly grateful Lord Antony, if you had not come along, I am sure sepsis would have set in soon enough."

Antony nods. There is no lie there. Mikhail was already burning with fever. Infection. He is not quite sure Mikhail is out of the woods just yet, he does not have the heart to tell him, but he knows he must.

"Perhaps a medic would be ideal. I have only done what was necessary in an act of emergency, but there is a chance of infection still -"

"No," Mikhail refutes immediately, sitting up all too sudden.

Antony raises a brow.

"You have done more than enough, and I have no way of repaying you for your kindness or even consider paying a medic," Mikhail explains, shutting his eyes to stop the spinning of the room.

Antony sits upon the bed beside him and a cool hand reaches to Mikhail's forehead.

Fever, Antony notes.

"Rest, I shall take care of the rest," Antony promises.

Mikhail leans back onto the pillows and he melts into the cushions. His breathing slows and he is once again in a fitful sleep.

Antony contemplates his next move.

Another knock.

"Boyd," he calls in.

"Sire," the man bows, palm pressed to his chest.

"How long until my presence is required?" Antony asks.

"The Queen of Selva Mountainshire requires your presence within the next moon as the start of the season nears."

Antony eyes the letter from his father, "Alright."

"What shall we do with mister..."

"Mikhail," Antony offers, "And I believe he is a lord."

Boyd hums, "Lord Mikhail, then."

With his mind made up, Antony orders, "Call for a medic, Lord Mikhail shall be my guest."

"As you wish, sire."