Fidor Gribowski

Cathlinn mumbled as she opened her eyes, glaring at the figure next to her bed reading a book. She reached for them, stopping at how tight her back had been and dropping her arm before there was more pain. "You seem to sleep restlessly," the blurry figure shifted, the sound of the book closing. "And yet at the same time you barely move."

"Fuck off," she muttered. "Where are my men?"

"Your men are helping with the decorations," it was Fidor as Cathlinn soon realized. The cooling touch trailed in her back and she gritted her teeth.

"That's not necessary," she muttered.

"You need to be healed as soon as possible," Fidor stated. "The queen replaced the ball gown you had selected."

Cathlinn pushes up, letting her head swim as she walked towards the closet, "That fucking cunt."

"Princess, you can't be so quick," Fidor grabbed Cathlinn's arm after sliding something over her shoulders and tying it closed carefully. "What is so wrong with your mother choosing your gown?"

"Why the hell are you in my room," Cathlinn spat. She swayed a bit and squeezed her eyes shut, the action getting rid of the blurriness.

"I'm here because I wanted to be. Your men are busy and so are the other royals in your castle," Fidor took Cathlinn's hands and led her back to the bed. He sat her down and sighed, sitting in front of her after pulling his chair over. She glared at him, taking in his jawline and his glaring eyes. "What is so wrong with your mother picking out your dress?"

"I'm a grown ass adult and you're asking me what my problem is," she sniffed. "When did your parents stop picking your fucking clothes out?"

"When I was eight," he replied. Cathlinn waved her hands a bit as she rose her eyebrows, her chest heaving.

"Do you think that maybe- maybe- I'm upset because she's had it out for me for a while now," she fumed.

"Had it-"

"Or maybe you'd think after what you saw you'd get why I wouldn't want her fucking with my shit," Cathlinn continued. Fidor's mouth formed a hard line and his brow furrowed more and more. "Maybe because she's a shady little bitch that likes to do shady little things? Maybe I'm the one willing to put up with her shit because it's all leading up to a fucking trial? Oh! Or how about the fact she's been purposely redirecting conversations between the king and I so that neither of us are on the same fucking page? I imagine you'd be way more than pissed the fuck off!"

"Princess Monique-"

"It's fucking Cathlinn! I'm not that god damned push over," Cathlinn yelled. Her back stung and she winced, trying to relax herself as she fumbled with the robe she had on. Her face turned a bright red as soon as she realized she had no clothes on underneath the silk.

Fidor sighed and stood up, walking around the bed and crawling onto it behind her, "I understand that there are many things at play here. Sometimes one must play another's game to get where they need to go with as little energy as possible." He pushed the robe down carefully after getting comfortable, the magic from his fingers tickling at her back, "I also understand now, I suppose, why your servants are so out of place around you. Why they speak their minds instead of letting you hear what you want."

"Oh fuck off," Cathlinn muttered.

"You're not Monique," he stated. Cathlinn went rigid but his ministrations didn't stop, "It was very confusing why you were okay with showing so much skin. Why you can take a hit. Mostly how the Princess who had no grasp for magic could suddenly use it so freely. Please, tell me if I'm out of line, your highness."

Cathlinn couldn't speak a word, her body shaking slightly. She shouldn't have said anything. Now that she was fully aware, the squeezing of her chest, the dark and negative emotions that buried her heart and mind into the abyss, and the irrational anger were all stark white on a canvas of black. She rubbed her face and let out a shaking sigh. "Your heart darkened as you slept," Fidor hummed softly.

"What's that supposed to mean," she asked dryly.

"I don't know. There have been little to no records of this sort of thing," he replied. She snorted and shook her head as the tingling stopped. "Tell me, are you sad?"

"What a dumb fucking question," she muttered. "If I was sad, I'd cry."

"Some don't cry," he moved next to her, sitting forward with both feet on the ground. "I have seen a woman in misery with no tears. A man whose lost his brothers and lover not weep on the ground encasing the dead. So again, are you sad?"

She stared at him and rubbed her face again, looking away as she pulled the robe up, "Are you trying to get a free show? Didn't realize you were perverted."

"The question demands an answer," he nodded. A long silence stretched between them that made Cathlinn even more uncomfortable than before.

"I am sick," she told him. "It's in the head. It doesn't affect my decisions. It takes over my thoughts some of the time and it changes my behavior drastically. It doesn't change anything physical as long as I keep a normal routine."

"So, that whole tantrum you just threw," he waved his hands in front of them and then laughed, "Those were very valid statements, your highness."

"You can't tell anyone," she muttered. "You can't tell anyone I'm sad all the time. Or that I'm ill. It's not an illness they can see and they'd be scared i was cursed or some stupid shit like that."

"You know, I was caged in my room most of my life with nothing but my books as company," Fidor smiled softly. Cathlinn stared at him and put a finger to his lips. "There is a high price for information, Cathlinn. It's only fair you know what no one else is supposed to know as well."

Her eyes slowly teared up and she rubbed at her face, "Fuck." Fidor moved closer, putting his arm over her shoulder carefully as he pulled her head to his chest.

"It's fine time cry, Cathlinn," he whispered. "I found it quite comforting."

Cathlinn woke up with her head on someone's lap, her vision blurry again as her back burned. She turned a bit and stopped at the clatter of something by the bed. The sound of glass cracklings was next to reach her ears and the person she laid on shifted a bit. "My, what an idea," Cathlinn heard Fidor's voice and she stiffened. "To think, someone has the balls to come after an injured woman in her own chamber."

"You shouldn't-"

Cathlinn held her hand out in the direction of the voice, something heavy in her hand. It was a comfort to hold and she recognized the feel of a trigger under her finger. She pulled it, feeling warmth splatter as someone gurgled.

"The fuck," she groaned. She carefully pushed up, moving herself to sit as Fidor looked at her with a straight face. She stared at him for a second, marveling at the morbid beauty of blood on his pale visage.

"Quite ruthless, Cathlinn," he hummed. "But now you won't get any information on who sent him."

"I don't want it," she mumbled. "It was Olvar or the Queen. There are a few people not happy with me." She didn't turn her head to see the body, purposely keeping her eyes on the blood splatter.

"You should return to sleeping, Cathlinn. You're never going to get better if you keep being so active," he nodded.

"You don't have to be in here. You could have left," she mumbled.

"I specialize in dream magic and your dreams intrigue me," he stated. "I've also kept many of the bad away, so I don't mind being here at all."

She stared at him before laying on the bed next to him, "I'm sorry I got you bloody. And I'm sorry about what I did."

"No need to apologize, little petal," his hand rested on her head and her entire body began to relax. "We are all only human. We are subject to emotions if we want to be or not so none of it is your fault."