Alessia drifted, never quite reaching wakefulness.
Pain pulsed through her shoulder. Slow, heavy, in time with her heartbeat. Each throb dragged her under again before she could fully surface.
Something was wrong.
She tried to open her eyes, tried to move.
Her body wouldn’t listen.
Memory came in fragments: Stella’s fever, the king, the tent–
Her shoulder.
She hadn’t said anything.
Not to Odrian. Not to Dionys.
She tried to speak, to alert them.
Her lips barely moved.
Nothing came out.
A flicker of panic cut through the haze.
They didn’t know.
She needed to be awake when Stella woke.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Odrian noticed first–the change in Alessia’s breathing, the unhealthy pallor creeping up her neck.
He was at her side in two long strides, barely remembering to keep his voice low enough to avoid waking Stella.
“Dionys.”
Odrian’s fingers hovered over Alessia’s brow, not quite touching, but close enough to feel the heat of her skin.
Dionys was moving before Odrian finished saying his name, his knees hitting the ground next to the bedroll. He pressed his palm to Alessia’s forehead before pulling back with a hissed curse.
“Fever. High.”
He reached for the discarded medicine jar–
“She’s hurt.”
He tugged aside the fabric at her collarbone, far enough to reveal the dirty bandage she’d kept hidden from them. The deep rust of old blood and the sickly yellow-green of infection stained the once-white linen. He unpinned the shoulder of her chiton with another curse.
“Infected,” he said as he began unwrapping the bandage. The putrid smell of the injury filled the tent, but neither Dionys nor Odrian faltered.
“Deep,” Dionys continued. He tossed the filthy bandage into the brazier, burning away the disease along with the ruined fabric. “She hid it.”
There was no time for reprimands. Dionys was already at their medicine chest, reaching for a bottle of strong, undiluted wine to flush out the wound. His gaze flicked to Odrian.
“Hold her still. This is going to hurt.”
He didn’t wait for acknowledgment, pulling his knife from its sheath. He would have to remove her sutures first.
“We should have asked,” Odrian corrected as he carefully shifted Alessia off the furs and onto a cloak he’d laid on the floor of the tent. “She stole bitterroot. Garlic. I should have realized…”
He glanced at Stella, still asleep on the bedroll, debating whether he should wake her or let her sleep. She would wake soon.
And he’d have to explain why her mother was screaming.
He grabbed a nearby leather strop and worked it between Alessia’s teeth.
“Bite down, thief,” he said gently. “This is going to hurt.”
He braced a hand against her uninjured shoulder, straddling her lower body to keep her from flailing. With his other hand he took hers, squeezing it once.
He didn’t look at Dionys.
“Do it.”
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Even in her delirium, Alessia sensed the shift. The looming threat of pain cut through the fog of her fever. Her fingers spasmed against Odrian’s. Whether in plea or recoil, she couldn’t tell. Her breathing worsened, quick and shallow.
She couldn’t open her eyes.
“Do it,” Odrian said from above her.
She didn’t have time to brace.
The moment the alcohol hit the wound, Alessia’s back arched violently off the bedroll and a hoarse, shattered cry tore from her throat.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Stella bolted upright at her mother’s wail.
For a moment she just stared, frozen.
Her fists clenched the blanket as she took in the scene.
The cloth in Dionys’s hand. The glint of the knife. Her mother’s face twisted in pain.
“… You promised.”
Odrian didn’t look at her.
He held Alessia fast, keeping her from thrashing.
“Again,” he grunted as soon as Alessia had slumped back, drenched in sweat and panting.
Dionys cursed as he looked at the wound.
“I have to reopen it.”
He didn’t hesitate. The blade cut, and he pressed clean linen to the wound, forcing out the infection.
Alessia whimpered–raw, wet, and wrong.
Odrian’s grip tightened, but his voice remained steady.
“Breathe, thief,” he said. “Or she wakes to see you break.”
Odrian’s grip on her hand tightened.
“I did,” he said to Stella, voice rough. “And I mean to keep it.”
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Alessia choked as Dionys flushed the wound again.
Stella flinched at the sound, at the guttural wrongness of it. Fear flickered across her face for the first time since waking.
Then she was moving, bare feet planted on the ground, small hands scrabbling at Odrian’s arm as she tried to fight him off her mother.
“Stop!” she cried, her voice cracking. “You’re hurting her!”
She fought as though she could undo Alessia’s pain.
Odrian released Alessia’s shoulder to catch Stella’s wrist before she could reach Dionys–gentle but firm as he pulled her against his side.
“Listen to me,” he said, his tone low and urgent. Stella stilled, recognizing it as the same one her mother used when she really needed to obey. Odrian met her glare without flinching. “This is how we fix it. The bad thing is already inside her. We have to get it out. I know it hurts. But we have to do this or we’ll lose her entirely.”
His thumb brushed over Stella’s knuckles, an apology born of necessity.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Dionys swore under his breath.
“It isn’t clearing.”
He pressed harder. The wound bled, but the corruption beneath it held.
His jaw tightened.
“What?” Odrian asked.
Dionys didn’t look up.
“She’s worse than I thought.” A beat. “Get–”
Before he could finish the sentence, the tent flap shifted.
“–Patrian,” Dionys finished.
Patrian took one look at Alessia and stepped forward.
“Move.”
Dionys shifted away without argument.
Patrian crouched, fingers already at her wrist.
Too fast. Too thin.
“How long?”
“Days,” Odrian said. “Maybe longer.”
“And you opened it.”
“I–” Dionys began.
“I can see what you did,” Patrian said. No heat, just fact. “Boil water.”
Dionys moved.
“You. Hold her higher.”
Odrian adjusted immediately.
Patrian’s gaze flicked once to Stella.
“Keep her back.”
Stella hesitated, then stepped back, giving Patrian room.
“Can you fix her?”
“She’ll live. Do exactly as I say.”
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Stella’s panic pulled Alessia from unconsciousness just enough for her to reach for her daughter. She only understood a fraction of what was happening, her thoughts muddled and confused. She clung to it.
She understood enough.
She had waited too long.
She’d been too afraid to show weakness. To ask for help for herself. She thought she would be fine.
She always was.
“S’okay, Starlight,” she slurred. Odrian pulled the leather strap free. “They’re tryin’ t’help.”
Stella’s breath hitched. She hesitated, her small fingers clutching Odrian’s sleeve.
“Promise?” she whispered.
“Nose-touch promise,” Alessia slurred.
Stella lurched forward, bumping their noses together, sealing it.
“…Okay.”
“Less talking,” Patrian said without looking up.
Odrian didn’t argue.
“She’s fighting,” he said to Stella. “We’re helping her win.”
He pulled Stella’s hand to Alessia’s chest.
“This is your post. Keep her anchored.”
Alessia reached toward Stella, weak and shaking, curling her fingers around the small hand on her chest,
“Yer gonna hate th’ story for this one,” she mumbled dryly. She fixed her gaze on Odrian. “Princess was a dumbass.”
Odrian huffed a quiet laugh,
Stella’s fingers tightened on Alessia’s as she glared at Odrian.
“Don’t laugh at her!”
Then, solemn, “You are a dumbass, Mama.”
Dionys snorted.
“Rude,” Alessia said.
She looked at Stella.
She shouldn’t promise.
She did anyway.
“Still got lotsa stories t’tell ya, Stella. M’not goin’ anywhere.”
Stella straightened a little at being addressed by name, something like protectiveness filling her too-small frame.
“It’s clean,” Patrian said. “Pack it.”
Alessia tensed with a whimper.
“Bite down,” Odrian murmured.”
Patrian didn’t look up.
“Now.”
Alessia didn’t scream when the poultice touched the open wound.
Her vision whited out and for a heartbeat she was somewhere else. Somewhen else.
Somewhere with the smell of the harbor on the wind and someone calling a name. A different name, one she hadn’t used in years …
“Skia!”
And then nothing.
Nothing at all.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Odrian saw the panic in Alessia’s wide eyes. Saw the way her body locked up against the pain. The way she choked on air.
He smacked her sternum, grounding her with his sheer weight. His other hand grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at him.
“Breathe,” he commanded. “In. Now.”
“Slow,” Patrian said without looking up. “Not like that.”
Odrian nodded and drew an audible, obvious breath through his nose, exaggerating for Alessia’s benefit.
His gaze flicked to Stella then back to Alessia.
“Keep holding her hand,” he ordered.
“Don’t let go,” Patrian added.
And if they noticed Stella continued to guide her mother through the breaths? They said nothing.
Alessia stared at them mutely for a long moment as she tried to remember how to breathe, copying Odrian and Stella despite the pain. Despite the terror clawing at her lungs.
“Bossy bastard,” Alessia gritted out as her breathing finally found a rhythm.
“And yet, you’re still breathing.”
Odrian leaned back to let Patrian finish bandaging Alessia’s arm and chest, keeping his voice low and firm. “Your little tyrant would have had me skinned alive if I had let you faint.”
His hand lingered a moment longer, checking the rhythm of her heart beneath her ribs, before he withdrew.
Patrian tied off the final stitch, checking the bandage.
“She’s through the worst of it,” he said. “For now.”
Odrian nudged a waterskin toward Stella, who hadn’t moved an inch. Her fingers remained tangled with her mother’s.
“Drink, little strategist. Field medic.”
Alessia looked at Stella with weary pride.
“M’still here, Stellaki,” she said as she gently tugged Stella to her uninjured side. “Y’saved me today.” She pressed a kiss to the crown of Stella’s head. “Thank you.”
Stella collapsed against her side with boneless relief. Her hands trembled as they fisted in Alessia’s tunic.
“Y-you promised stories,” she sniffled, pressing her face against Alessia’s uninjured shoulder. “S-so you gotta be okay. It’s th’rules.”
“Well, I wouldn’t wanna break the’rules,” Alessia said softly. She placed another kiss to the top of Stella’s head. “‘M sorry I scared you,” she mumbled.
The words were for Stella, but her gaze went to Odrian, Dionys, and Patrian, including them in her apology.
Odrian scoffed–deliberately loud and exaggerated–before he flicked one of Stella’s braids with feigned irritation. “Scared us? Please. You think a little blood and screaming frighten me? Never.”
He leaned back on his hands with theatrical arrogance. “Next time you plan on dying dramatically–warn us. I would have brought snacks.”
Stella giggled, small and watery.
“Besides, you’re only sorry because you lost the chance to brag about stitching yourself up.”
But when his eyes flicked back to hers, there was something earnest beneath his dry humor.
“You should’ve told us sooner, princess.”
Alessia huffed something that was almost a laugh.
“I’ll be sure t’let y’know in advance next time,” she said. “At least a week.”
Odrian rolled his eyes with an exasperated laugh, then turned his back to her, straightening medical supplies with needless precision.
“See that you do,” he said. “Two weeks advance notice. At least.”
Dionys and Patrian exchanged a look.
Dionys tossed a clean rag at Odrian’s head.
Odrian batted it away without looking, his mouth twisting into a scowl.
Stella watched the entire exchange with exhausted fascination.
“Mama? Are all kings this grumpy?”
Dionys barked a surprised laugh as Stella’s question broke the last of the tension that had settled over the tent.
Odrian should have felt offended.
He was too busy trying not to smile.
“Not all’ve ‘em,” Alessia said with a tired, wry grin. In a stage whisper, she added, “Some’re worse.”
Odrian gasped in mock outrage, his hand flying over his heart as if her words had dealt a mortal blow. He fell back against the chest he had just finished organizing.
“Betrayal!” he declared to the tent at large, loud enough that any eavesdropping soldier would hear every overplayed syllable. “And from my very own court physician! Is this the thanks I get for–”
–rescuing you from fevered oblivion?
–making Stella laugh?
–ensuring you both survive another dawn?
“–graciously allowing you to steal my finest stolen rations?”
Stella watched Odrian’s dramatics with wide-eyed delight. She couldn’t believe this flailing, overacting braggart was the same terrifying king who had loomed over her mother with a sword. Giggles bubbled from her as the last of her fears melted away.
“Mama’s right!” she affirmed cheerfully. She pointed at Odrian as if her were the most ridiculous thing she had ever seen. “Way worse!”
“Quiet,” Patrian said as the conversation rose. “She needs rest.”
Stella snuggled closer to her mother with a yawn.
Alessia pulled her close with a gentle squeeze.
“Go back t’sleep, Starlight,” Alessia murmured softly. “I ain’t goin’ nowhere.”
Odrian watched Stella burrow beneath Alessia’s arm. He saw the way Alessia’s eyelids drooped. He deliberately turned his back on them, granting them privacy.
“Sleep,” he muttered gruffly. “Someone has to keep watch while you two are useless.”
He waved a dismissive hand as he strode across the tent toward the entrance.
Dionys snorted, soft and knowing, as he moved to follow.
Both men lingered just a second too long at the threshold, glancing back at the nearly sleeping pair. Just to be certain.
Neither of them would ever admit to it.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Alessia was nearly asleep when Stella patted her face.
“Yeah, Starlight?” she mumbled, soft and bleary. “What izzit?”
“I like them,” Stella whispered, clearly drowsy herself but stubbornly fighting sleep until she had said what was on her mind. “I’m glad they found us.”
Alessia’s smile softened, and she kissed Stella’s forehead.si
“Me too, Starlight,” she whispered back.
Her eyelids grew heavy, but she didn’t sleep until Stella’s breathing even out. She was determined to hold on to the moment, the fragile peace they had somehow wrestled away from the world, for as long as she could.
Alessia shook her head in disbelief before closing her eyes and slipping into sleep.
─ ·⋆˚☆˖°· ─
Patrian sat just inside the tent, back straight despite the long night, watching the slow rise and fall of Alessia’s chest.
He didn’t speak.
Didn’t move.
Counted every breath.
At the entrance of the tent, Odrian was pretending very hard that he hadn’t been eavesdropping.
“…Hmph.”
He pointedly adjusted the drape of his cloak to hide the fact that he was grinning like an idiot.
Dionys leaned against the tent post beside him, arms crossed as he glared at the still sleeping camp beyond the tent. A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, which was somehow worse than any outright teasing.
“‘Hmph?’” he echoed, his voice pitched low to not wake the sleepers inside. “Eloquent as always, my king.”
Odrian elbowed him in the ribs.
Neither king acknowledged the way their shoulders pressed together a little longer than necessary before they separated. Both pretended their focus was on the early morning watch.
The rising sun cast long shadows as the camp began to stir, soldiers waking to start a new day. Stoking fires, pulling on armor, beginning drills.
“Princess Dumbass,” Odrian mused. He caught Dionys’ eye with a smile.
“Princess Dumbass,” Dionys echoed, his own lips quirking into a lopsided grin.
War made strangers of them all.
Sometimes war made something else.
Sometimes that was enough.
Tiny Raven 
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