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- I am the unluckiest person in the world... - Guyon groaned, tossing and turning restlessly in bed.
Never before had he felt so helpless. Not even during that wretched raid when he was captured and they wanted to kill him, but the bandit leader said such a handsome boy would be highly valued in Lower Lunaria. They took all of Guyon's things and clothes, then put a collar on him and dragged him off for sale like some rightless animal. Back then he was whole and relatively unharmed; even several days of "discipline" in the form of food deprivation and regular beatings hadn't completely broken him.
Now, however, Guyon tried to find reasons to live and keep fighting, and struggled to find any. Everything hurt—even parts of his body he hadn't known existed. With every movement, it felt as if his stomach was about to tear apart. Every breath resonated with unbearable pain, as if thousands of sharp blades were entering his lungs instead of air. A foul cold sweat rolled down his forehead, but the youth lacked the strength even to pull his hand from under the blanket. He was shivering violently and tried with varying success to wrap himself up, but these attempts caused more suffering than benefit.
Guyon tried once more to open his watering eyes, hoping for a miracle. No changes. A pale blur was barely visible where the window should have been, and a dark one where the door should have been. He couldn't even tell if there were people near him; he could only guess at the presence of some furniture in the room by vague smudges. The prognosis is discouraging, the doctors said. Most likely, his vision will never recover. If he's lucky, he'll be able to walk without bumping into walls.
Guyon turned his head to the side and sighed mournfully. His lungs readily responded with pain.
If he can even walk at all.
Guyon closed his eyes again and tried to move his leg... It was a bad idea. His abdominal muscles tightened, and for a second it felt as if he were being cut open alive with a rusty saw. He bit his lip to keep from screaming.
Helpless. Useless. Unwanted.
Why does Carneol even put up with him?
Why does Beata put up with him?
He tried to be useful, necessary, tried to prove himself in battle. All he achieved was becoming a burden with ruined health.
He had always been a burden. There are reasons why he dislikes remembering his family and doesn't seek a reunion with them, even though Beata suggested it.
And no matter how hard he tried, that didn't change.
His caution led to nothing.
He tried to blame Beata for dragging him into all these adventures, but he couldn't. He has his own head on his shoulders; he could have always refused, talked her out of it, or simply tried to run away, for that matter. But no, time and again he followed her, time and again placing his head in the lion's mouth.
And finally, the lion snapped its jaws shut.
And Beata, as always, dodged, while Guyon, being a useless appendage to her, took the full brunt of it.
It would be easier for her if he simply ceased to exist and rid her of this burden.
Carneol wouldn't have to spend resources on him. Perhaps Her Highness would also be pleased—she disliked him from the start; it was clear about her.
Everyone would be better off without him.
Guyon turned on his side and, forgetting himself, pulled up his knees. His exhausted body quickly made it clear that this was a bad idea. The youth couldn't take it and let out a weak groan of pain.
He can't even lift a finger in this state.
Guyon buried his face in the pillow, hiding his tears. Useless, useless, weakling, fool... He can't do anything right, not even rid the world of his useless existence!
The image of Beata appeared before his mind's eye.
"Don't you dare die!" - she had demanded fiercely.
"Don't you dare die!" - she had screamed, pulling him from an abyss after a couple of months of knowing each other.
"Don't you dare die!" - she had slapped his cheeks when they miscalculated their provisions and he suffered a hunger faint.
"Don't you dare die, do you hear me?!" - she had snarled, nursing him back to health after an encounter with a couple of disgruntled fellows with crossbows.
"Don't you dare die, I love you!" - she had said through the bars before that wretched trip to Yanxi.
"Don't you dare die, I forbid you from sacrificing yourself!" - she had snapped at him on the hot air balloon.
"Don't you dare die, please, you are the person closest to me, I would give everything for you to live!" - she had spoken haltingly, dragging him to the hospital the day before.
- Very well, my lady. I will fight for my life a while longer, - he whispered softly.
Never before had he felt so helpless. Not even during that wretched raid when he was captured and they wanted to kill him, but the bandit leader said such a handsome boy would be highly valued in Lower Lunaria. They took all of Guyon's things and clothes, then put a collar on him and dragged him off for sale like some rightless animal. Back then he was whole and relatively unharmed; even several days of "discipline" in the form of food deprivation and regular beatings hadn't completely broken him.
Now, however, Guyon tried to find reasons to live and keep fighting, and struggled to find any. Everything hurt—even parts of his body he hadn't known existed. With every movement, it felt as if his stomach was about to tear apart. Every breath resonated with unbearable pain, as if thousands of sharp blades were entering his lungs instead of air. A foul cold sweat rolled down his forehead, but the youth lacked the strength even to pull his hand from under the blanket. He was shivering violently and tried with varying success to wrap himself up, but these attempts caused more suffering than benefit.
Guyon tried once more to open his watering eyes, hoping for a miracle. No changes. A pale blur was barely visible where the window should have been, and a dark one where the door should have been. He couldn't even tell if there were people near him; he could only guess at the presence of some furniture in the room by vague smudges. The prognosis is discouraging, the doctors said. Most likely, his vision will never recover. If he's lucky, he'll be able to walk without bumping into walls.
Guyon turned his head to the side and sighed mournfully. His lungs readily responded with pain.
If he can even walk at all.
Guyon closed his eyes again and tried to move his leg... It was a bad idea. His abdominal muscles tightened, and for a second it felt as if he were being cut open alive with a rusty saw. He bit his lip to keep from screaming.
Helpless. Useless. Unwanted.
Why does Carneol even put up with him?
Why does Beata put up with him?
He tried to be useful, necessary, tried to prove himself in battle. All he achieved was becoming a burden with ruined health.
He had always been a burden. There are reasons why he dislikes remembering his family and doesn't seek a reunion with them, even though Beata suggested it.
And no matter how hard he tried, that didn't change.
His caution led to nothing.
He tried to blame Beata for dragging him into all these adventures, but he couldn't. He has his own head on his shoulders; he could have always refused, talked her out of it, or simply tried to run away, for that matter. But no, time and again he followed her, time and again placing his head in the lion's mouth.
And finally, the lion snapped its jaws shut.
And Beata, as always, dodged, while Guyon, being a useless appendage to her, took the full brunt of it.
It would be easier for her if he simply ceased to exist and rid her of this burden.
Carneol wouldn't have to spend resources on him. Perhaps Her Highness would also be pleased—she disliked him from the start; it was clear about her.
Everyone would be better off without him.
Guyon turned on his side and, forgetting himself, pulled up his knees. His exhausted body quickly made it clear that this was a bad idea. The youth couldn't take it and let out a weak groan of pain.
He can't even lift a finger in this state.
Guyon buried his face in the pillow, hiding his tears. Useless, useless, weakling, fool... He can't do anything right, not even rid the world of his useless existence!
The image of Beata appeared before his mind's eye.
"Don't you dare die!" - she had demanded fiercely.
"Don't you dare die!" - she had screamed, pulling him from an abyss after a couple of months of knowing each other.
"Don't you dare die!" - she had slapped his cheeks when they miscalculated their provisions and he suffered a hunger faint.
"Don't you dare die, do you hear me?!" - she had snarled, nursing him back to health after an encounter with a couple of disgruntled fellows with crossbows.
"Don't you dare die, I love you!" - she had said through the bars before that wretched trip to Yanxi.
"Don't you dare die, I forbid you from sacrificing yourself!" - she had snapped at him on the hot air balloon.
"Don't you dare die, please, you are the person closest to me, I would give everything for you to live!" - she had spoken haltingly, dragging him to the hospital the day before.
- Very well, my lady. I will fight for my life a while longer, - he whispered softly.
А, вот почему.
🏹🎪+⛓️♿=💕
🏹🎪+⛓️♿=💕