The Demon's Hostage

Chapter 4: Alice's Trial

Alice slowly regained her senses, finding herself lying atop a soft, cushiony mattress. Her eyes flicked around the room in a frantic search for answers. Where was she now? It seemed she was always waking up to unfamiliar surroundings. A dull ache throbbed in her head—the aftermath of being struck by her father. Her memory was foggy, but she clearly recalled the pained expression on Adrien’s face as her father tried to end them both.

She tried to stand, but her body refused to respond. Panic flared as she realized something was wrong. Her breath quickened, and she twisted helplessly in the bed. Moments later, Adrien burst into the room, his eyes locking onto hers as he gripped her shoulders and gave a firm shake. “Calm down,” he said, his voice stern but edged with concern.

“My legs… I can’t feel my legs,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she looked to him for an explanation.

Adrien’s expression hardened as he turned and stormed out, leaving her in a suffocating silence. Why couldn’t she feel her legs?

Outside, two men dressed in pristine white robes followed closely behind Adrien as he descended the stairs. They were inside a remote yet modest inn with polished wooden interiors. As the men struggled to keep pace, one of them spoke cautiously. “We’re fortunate she’s alive, but as we warned you, she may never walk again.”

“That’s not an answer I’m willing to accept!” Adrien snapped, seizing the man’s robe and pulling him close, fury radiating from him. The other doctor quickly intervened, attempting to defuse the situation. “Please, we’ve done all we can. Release him.”

Adrien’s grip loosened, “We’re deeply sorry,” the doctor said, genuine regret lacing his words.

“I don’t need your apologies,” Adrien replied coldly, his eyes narrowing.

He glanced to the top of the stairs where Alice's room was, uncertainty gnawing at him. For reasons he couldn’t fully understand, he had grown attached to her, protective even, driven by a possessive desire to keep her close. “Doctor… is there truly no other way to help her?”

“Our knowledge of elvish anatomy remains limited. If you want the best care, you must take her to the elven capital.”

It wasn’t that he didn’t want to—it was that he couldn’t. Going to the elven capital would mean certain death for him. He stood in brooding silence, angered by his inability to act. “Leave me,” he finally ordered, dismissing the doctors.

The doctors left Adrien standing alone in the hallway, his gaze fixed on Alice’s door. She was alone in that room—scared, helpless. Inside, she fought desperately against her own body, pouring every ounce of her willpower into a futile attempt to make her legs respond. But they wouldn’t.

The doctors had said it was the trauma, that the magical energies that had damaged her spinal cord. Adrien hadn’t fully grasped the technical jargon, but he understood enough to know it was serious—likely permanent.

He climbed the stairs, dreading what he had to tell her. As his hand reached for the door, he heard a dull thud, as if something had hit the floor. His heart clenched. Pushing the door open, he saw Alice crumpled on the ground, her hair a tangled mess, hanging over her tear-streaked face. She was crying, clutching onto the desperate hope that maybe—just maybe—her legs would start working again, even though deep down, she knew the truth.

Adrien stood frozen in the doorway as he watched her struggle. Then, with a choked sob, she began pounding her fists against her legs. “Move… move… move… move… move… please… moveee!”

Adrien rushed to her side, gently grabbing her hand. She flinched, startled, unaware he had even entered the room. When her eyes met his, they were filled with despair. “Adrien… I can’t feel them. Why can’t I feel them?”