The Unwritten King

7. Jasmine

It turned out, being held prisoner by evil mages wasn't all that bad. Boring, yes- Nicholas was starting to feel stir-crazy, which said a lot coming from someone as inactive as him. Normally when he had nothing to do, he could write. He preferred it that way. But recent events had made thinking of his story markedly bitter, and besides, it wasn't as if he had anywhere to put his thoughts down. He was used to turning to his laptop when inspiration dawned, or his notes app, or a document on his work computer, or a sticky note from someone else's cubicle. He was not above scribbling on a napkin. In the infirmary, his best option would be to carve words into a bandage with a scalpel. With his hands cuffed. It hardly seemed worth it.

At least he was in the infirmary. For the first few days, he had braced every time he heard the lock, sure he was about to be moved to a dungeon. Aside from some burn scars and scabs, his injuries were healed. Even his ankle had mostly stopped twinging. But the door opened to Yasmin or Cairo bringing a meal every time, and Nicholas was left to his own devices.

The bodyguard and the counselor were the only people he saw. Never any of the other castle staff, and never the king.

He spent most of his time in the bed farthest from the door. It wasn't any comfier than his own, but it was by the window. It had been the middle of the night the first time he'd approached it with the brilliant idea to climb out and make a run for it. Considering the infirmary was on the bottom floor, he had been reasonably shocked when he'd peered down at the ground outside and instead found a long, long drop into still water.

There was a strip of clifftop between the castle foundation and the plunge to Lake Charlatan more than wide enough to walk on, but Nicholas would be one strong breeze away from splattering like an egg yolk on the lake's twinkling surface.

He opened the window sometimes for fresh air. Those winds were no joke.

Still, he liked to stay by the window. The natural light made him feel a little less like he was decomposing, and the Caldoran night sky glittered unlike anything he'd ever seen in Seattle. Even the Montanna countryside never got so starry. Nicholas yearned to draw it.

The breeze was nice, too, from safely inside. All things considered, he could have been much worse off.

"Hiding? Boo," said Cairo from somewhere past the row of curtains. Nicholas could have sworn it had been daytime just a minute ago, but the sky outside was dusky purple. Imprisonment was making him concerningly good at dissociating.

"I'm here," he said, making his way back to the first bed. Cairo grimaced when he saw him. "Right, yeah, thanks."

"Do I have to say it?"

"You really don't."

"Should I say it?"

"No, it's okay, honestly."

"You look like a prolapsed-"

"Oh my god?"

"Sorry, too much. Perhaps you are overdue for a bath?"

Nicholas perked up. "Really?" He hadn't asked for one (he wasn't in much of a position to ask for things), but it had been a week. Though Cairo carried a tray of food, the state of Nicholas' skin took precedence over the growl in his stomach. He felt the way he assumed fish tanks did when their glass was taken over by biofilm, or like a ship hull covered in barnacles. That wasn't the writer in him exaggerating. It was alarming that he couldn't smell himself. Maybe all the sweat and sebum had clogged his nasal passages. He was willing to suffer another boiling if it meant he could be clean.

Cairo threw a black cloth onto Nicholas' face, then took a hopping step to the door and held it open, sweeping his arm across his front like he was ushering a valued guest. It helped that he was dressed even nicer than normal, head-to-toe sleek indigo satin, though the effect was ruined when Nicholas bumbled blindly past and he said, "Wow! Can't say I've smelled that before!"