Awaiting Trap

The assassin tried to dart out of the cell, but the Northern King shifted his body ever-so-slightly to block his attempts.

"Where do you think you're going?"

His low voice vibrated the stone walls. And as he towered above the assassin, he gripped the assassin's neck like a cat pinching a mouse's tail.

"Don't you think you need to give me something before you leave?"

A pang of pain suddenly hit Daphne once more, and she tried to steady herself and prevent herself from crumbling to the ground. There was a flash of black, and colored spots danced in her vision. Taking deep breaths, she found herself in the arms of the Northern King.

He looked down at her, a hint of worry laced into his eyes. She blinked again, and that trace was gone as if it had never been there in the first place.

The assassin took the opportunity to try to bolt out of the dungeon cell doors.

As he stepped out of the cell, Daphne motioned to stop him, but her arms fell limply at her sides.

"Don't...He's..." She coughed, feeling as if her lungs were slowly collapsing onto themselves. She motioned for the Northern King to leave her and pursue the assassin, but he didn't even slightly move.

"Shhhh..." He pressed a finger to her soft lips, shushing her. "If you don't talk, I'll perform a magic trick."

She wanted to retort that she needed a miracle to save her own life instead of a magic trick, but the moment she opened her mouth, another wrenching cough came out.

"Three...Two..."

He held her tighter. Clenching her teeth, Daphne let the waves of agony wash over her, more used to the agony than before. Yet, against her best efforts, a single tear slid out from the corner of her eyes.

"One."

On command, the before gleeful assassin fell to the floor, writhing in pain as a bloodcurdling pain split the air. He tossed around the ground, rolling on the cold stone floor until his wounds reopened, staining the dark hues red. The crimson liquid quickly disappeared on the floor, almost as if the stone was eagerly lapping it up. But the assassin seemed not to notice, instead clenching his stomach in pain.

"For every inch of damage you do to her, I'll return a foot. And for every drop of blood she sheds, I'll make sure you spill a cup." She vaguely heard these words, but the meaning was clouded behind the pain.

He nudged her limp head with his palm, letting the side of her head fall against his chest.

"Do you understand?" He spoke to the assassin on the floor, but he was speaking through him to someone else.

By now, Daphne had partially recovered. Or at least, her mind had cleared enough to want to protest against the Northern King's touches. But with another thought, she burrowed her face further into the man's broad chest.

He temporarily froze, his arms still in midair.

In response, she only fell more entirely onto him, letting him support more of her body weight. Flashing a look at the assassin, her message was clear--she was capable of becoming his weakness, and she would become his weakness.

Much to his chagrin, it took the Northern King a moment to regain his thoughts. He stared at her, the comparatively small figure plastered against himself. Something in his still chest skipped a beat.

"Prin--"

"What...what did you...feed me?"

The assassin's shrieks dragged his attention back to the present.

"I couldn't decipher the antidote to your poison, but my years of study did not prove to be entirely fruitless." The Northern King coughed, trying to hide his momentary fluster. "I told you, for the pain you inflict upon her, I will return ten times the favor."

"The poison?" The man on the floor croaked, his face pale and beads of cold sweat rolling down the sides of his head.

He looked at Daphne, his eyes dulled once more.

After exchanging a look with the assassin, Daphne must admit that she thought he had gotten what he deserved. She knew she couldn't really trust him earlier, but she had no other choice. But now...

She realized that she couldn't trust anyone. The water that the Northern King had fed the assassin was not water at all.

"I simply enhanced it a bit, adding in a bit of my own flavors. I thought you enjoyed the ants too much to not add them to the mix." He gingerly brought an arm over Daphne's back, careful not to startle her. "So the faster you write down the antidote, the faster you can enjoy it for yourself."

He tossed a piece of parchment to the ground.

"So don't you think you can give the wrong cure. Because the first one to taste it will be yourself." He rested his chin on her head, breathing in Daphne's soft flowery scent. "Oh, and don't you think you can just feed yourself another poison for an antidote. The concoction heals your physical wounds, making sure that you won't be able to die. I'm sure you've already experienced that feature already."

The assassin gritted his teeth, trying to claw his way back to reach for it. "Pen..." He whimpered, his body tingling as if a thousand red ants were stomping against the walls of his stomach.

At that moment, he knew exactly what the old proverb had meant: living is even worse than death.

A dagger landed by his side, exactly missing his right pinky.

"You're too filthy to hold my pens." He kicked the assassin's hand towards the sharp blade.

His hands shaking, the assassin struggled to pick up the heavy hilt.

"Unless you want your entire hand to be gone, I advise you to hurry up. Plus, this new poison should strike more frequently."

Taking a deep breath, the assassin brought the blade to his own index finger, and blood welled from his fingertip.

Daphne let out a whimper, reminding herself that the sight of blood should no longer scare her.

A pair of hands covered her eyes, and for once, she found the darkness comforting.

All she could hear was the faint rustling of parchment as something dragged across its surface.

"Don't keep my princess waiting." From her position against his chest, his words were amplified, and she realized that his silky voice would have been pretty if not for the words that came out of it.

The rustling continued, accompanied by the occasional moan of pain until it was finally over.

As a servant scampered over to bring the parchment to the royal medics, Daphne caught a glimpse of the spotted scarlet on the paper. The before-beige page was now covered in entire columns of red.

She closed her eyes again, not knowing whether that recipe was enough to save her own life.