Grateful

They went to the princess's room four hours ago. I glance at the clock: it's 2 in the morning. Sighing, I get up and make my way up the stairs. Passing Valendor and Nicholai's rooms, I sense their absence. When I reach the princess's room, I can sense three bodies inside.

I open the door softly and am greeted by a tangle of limbs and hair on the bed. I stifle a laugh. The princess's hair is insanely long, as is Valendor and Nicholai's. The gold, white, and purple strands have intertwined, creating a colorful mess. Their limbs are sprawled everywhere, creating an image of serene chaos.

Quietly, I move to the bed and press a gentle kiss to the princess's forehead. I can't help myself—I pinch Nicholai's nose and watch as he struggles to breathe before letting go, his breathing evening out as he falls back asleep. I do the same to Valendor, just because. Satisfied, I leave the room.

Just as I'm about to reach my own room, I trip over a vine. When I get up, I trip on air again. I chuckle quietly. Petty bastards. Exhaustion weighs heavily on me as I fall onto my bed, hoping for some rest.

However, not even an hour later, I wake up in a cold sweat. Breathing heavily, I reach for my sword, clutching it like a lifeline. Sliding down to sit against the wall, I hug my sword tightly, the metal cool and reassuring against my skin. Memories and fears swirl in my mind, refusing to let me rest. The room feels colder, and the night stretches on, but I cling to my sword, finding a semblance of comfort in its familiar weight.

*

I can't breathe. Hands tighten around my neck, squeezing the life out of me. I claw at my opponent in the dark, my fingers scrabbling desperately against his grip. He's relentless. My hands search frantically over the jagged, cold floor, feeling for anything—anything at all—to help me. I scream, but I know no one will come. No one cares in this godforsaken place.

My fingers brush against something blunt—a stone. Summoning all my strength, I swing my arm and strike my opponent. The grip on my neck loosens, and I seize the chance, hitting him over and over again, the stone growing slick with—

*

I snap back to the present, gasping for air, the memory fading but the terror still lingering. On nights like this, the only thing that can ease my mind is the feel of a weapon in my hand. I sit on the wooden floor of my room, clutching my sword like a lifeline, its cold steel comforting against my skin. My heart slowly calms, the frantic beats settling into a more manageable rhythm.

I lean back against the wall, the sword pressed tightly to my chest. The room is silent except for my breathing, and I find solace in the familiar weight of the blade. Gradually, exhaustion overcomes the lingering fear, and I doze off, the cold steel still gripped in my hands.

*

"What a dumbass," I mutter, shaking my head as I look at Haroun, clutching his sword like it's his lifeline. Valendor is working his magic, sprinkling a sedative plant powder over him. I watch as Haroun's body goes limp, collapsing to the side with a thud.

Valendor nods at me, signaling that it's done. I use a small spell to gently lift the sword from Haroun's grasp, ensuring it doesn't maim him in his sleep. With a sigh, I step forward and hoist him up. He's heavy—his solid frame a testament to his training and strength.

Carrying him down the hall, I make my way to the Princess' bedroom. The door creaks open, and I gently lay him on the bed. The Princess looks at him, concern etching her delicate features. She reaches out, smoothing the worry lines on his forehead, her touch tender and soothing.

Valendor, ever the opportunist, slips into bed on the Princess' left side. I glance at the space beside her—now taken by Haroun's broad form—and let out a sigh. There's a Haroun-sized gap between me and her, a chasm that seems to widen by the second. But I'm not one to let that deter me.

With a resigned sigh, I roll into bed next to Haroun, careful not to disturb him. The warmth of the room, the steady rhythm of their breathing, and the softness of the bed all lull me into a state of calm. I close my eyes, feeling the tension of the night melt away.

*

Soft light filters through the curtains, gently attacking my eyelids. I try to stretch, feeling the comforting pull of sleep still lingering in my limbs, but the movement elicits a few mumbled protests. Bodies? I slowly open my eyes.

The Princess is nestled against me, using my chest as a pillow. Her hair cascades over her face, and I gently move a strand away. To my left, I catch sight of a tuft of purple hair peeking out from beneath the beddings—Nicholai, without a doubt. On my right, I can't see the head but the golden hair gives Valendor away.

My body feels surprisingly rested. I don't often experience this level of restfulness, but occasionally, they do this for me, ensuring I get the sleep I so desperately need. It's their way of looking out for me, and though I'd never admit it out loud, I'm grateful.