Limbo between Kings

Day 17 - Father

Olivia curled against the headboard, tucking her knees to her chest. The steam from the fresh cup of tea rising near the window shelf and evaporating into the cool air. The subtle wind blew from the open window, tendrils of her ebony hair wisping around her face, much to her annoyance. Her eyes stayed locked on Silas' emerald eyes, watching as they stared right back at her. Flecks of brown scattered across the rim of his right eye, absent in his left, giving him a notable difference in color. How had she not noticed that before?

She had spent weeks with him now, studying his mannerisms and watching the slow way he chewed his food. She had seen the scars peppering his forearms and the beauty mark decorating his right cheek. How had this intricate detail alluded her?

"Would you care to talk about it?" He asked from the floral chair at the base of the bed. The same chair he had spent his week watching her from as she remained unconscious.

"I wouldn't, no." Olivia turned her face to the chilling cup of tea. She thought about topping it off with a nice rum or whiskey from downstairs but it would require her to leave the comfort of her warm bed.

"So I'm just to ignore that- whatever that was, out there?" Silas leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He seemed more approachable when he took that position, more human, rather than the giant that exuded authority with every fiber of his being.

"You are." Her fingers laced around the cup, bringing it to her mouth. She tried her best to ignore her shaking hand, drinking from the cup as if it weren't splashing her in the face with each tremble.

"Damn it, Olivia. Stop playing games!" His voice raised, only slightly, only enough to cause her tea to slip from her hands and onto her lap. She was glad for letting it cool, and angry for letting it fall. Am I so easily intimidated? She scolded herself.

Silas sighed, pushing on the arm of the stair to stand. In the two small steps it took for him to reach the door, Olivia noticed a slight limp from his left side. It was hidden well, barely noticeable, but in his aggravation he let it show just enough for her to catch sight of it. His large hand pulled roughly at the brass handle, slamming the door behind him.

Olivia lowered her eyes to the brown liquid seeping down her calves, pooling at the sheets. She dreaded having to sleep in the sticky wet bed, though she had slept in worse and quite recently. Blankly Olivia stood, stripping the sheet from the bed, grateful that the blanket had been tucked in the corner and remained unsoiled.

She wished he hadn't left, even angry. It was a stupid wish, she knew, yet she could not help feeling a longing for his company. Even in the silence, having him within the vicinity made her feel safe, and comfortable even. It made thoughts of her attacker seem like an impossibility, it made thoughts of her brother seem so far away. It scared her how much she had begun to rely on him for safety, in such a short time at that.

What would she do when he delivered her to his king? Beg him to stay by her side as she was held captive? Have him watch as his king tortured her, beat her, or worse? She would need to find a way to survive without him. He was not a constant, only a temporary.

The door swung open revealing Silas with sheets and fresh garments in his arms, a grimace still plastered on his unshaven face. "Sit," He commanded, nodding his head at the corner chair.

"I can do it." Olivia attempted to argue, her voice sounding weak, but in truth, she was too tired to argue. Without another word, Olivia walked to the floral armchair and huddled into it, crossing her legs together in the seat. She watched as Silas tucked the sheets into the corner, folding them delicately at the sides. Not many men knew how to properly make a bed, it didn't surprise Olivia that Silas could, however. He seemed to be adept at anything he tried. It was irritating and impressive all at once, watching someone be so perfect.