Bondage (formerly Escape from the Obstinate Prince)

“Jack!” Ami shrieked, grabbed a bedsheet, and threw it over his back in an attempt to keep the blood suckers away.

Jack grunted and his face contorted.

“There are five of them!” she picked up a pillow and swung her pillow around.

“Just let them bite me. It’s going to happen someday,” he muttered.

“Jack!” she didn’t stop swinging. “I’m not going to let them bite you!”

She whacked the air with vigor.

“Don’t trouble yourself.”

A fly managed to land on Jack’s back.

“Ouch!” he arched his back and flopped over. “That hurt!”

She dropped the pillow. “Are you alright? Jack? Ouch don’t whack me.”

He spasmed on the bed. The flies were unable to land on the rippling surface. After the first fly sank its mouth into Jack’s flesh, the thirst of all five seemed to abate. They glided around the room before vanishing.

Jack’s skin, where the fly had landed, turned a cherry red, and as round as a walnut. He stopped jerked and groaned instead. “Am I dying?”

“I’m not exactly sure,” she felt his forehead. Was he warmer than usual? Was he getting a fever? “What should I do? Should I ring for a servant or something? Are-”

He gagged.

Ami flinched.

She scrambled off the bed and ran to the bedroom door. Locked. She shook the handle again. It didn’t budge. Ami look around the room for a servant’s bell. Her eyes locked onto a dusty and faded bell ringer across the room, and she hurried to pull the tassel at the end. She got a puff of dust in her face, and no ring to summon a servant.

Ami heard Jack gag again. She glanced over at him. Sweat bubbles spritzed his forehead, his eyelids had turned rosey, his cheeks flushed. “He’s getting worse by the second,” she murmured.

She scurried to the door and started banging her fists against the engraved wood. “Somebody help! Jack is ill!”

Jack moaned. “Too loud.” He proceeded to shiver.

Sweat bubbles formed on his arms and back.

Ami puckered her lips and glared at the door. “God, I need a miracle,” she slumped against the door.

The rain beat against the glass window, tumultuous clouds rolled through the sky.

Ami felt herself being pitched forward as the door opened. She sprawled on the bedroom floor.

“Oh, I am sorry.” a man of maybe forty years, squeezed through the opening in the partially opened door. “I was told to come here. Are you ill? Do you need any help getting up from the-”

Ami didn’t know if she should frown at his rude shoving, or be delighted that he was an answer to prayer. “I’m quite alright. My husband, he’s over there, he needs attention immediately. Blood flies found his exposed skin and he got stung, bit — whatever they do — and now he’s ailing!”

“Is that so?” the physician sat his bag on the bed and rolled up his sleeves.

She decided to frown. His words mirrored indifference towards her husband.

“Has it been long since he was bitten?” he asked. “The name’s Doctor Crowley, by the way.”

“A few minutes at most, but his back was torn open long before that,” she got up from the floor and sat on the bed.

Jack gave a frail cough. “Is he going to be alright? Are blood flies really so deadly?”

“I haven’t the foggiest.” the doctor muttered and pulled out a long rubbery tube with an earpiece.

What is foggiest? Why on earth does he need that instrument? her frown deepened. He’s a quack of a doctor.

He pressed the tool next to Jack’s neck. “He’s still breathing.”

Ami flat out glared at the doctor. “I could tell he was breathing, thank you for that observation.”

He put his snakelike instrument back in his bag, and replaced it with a bottle. He uncorked it and saturated a linen cloth with the yellow liquid.

“What’s that?” she sniffed the air. Licorice and mint, with a hint of citrus, assailed her senses.

“Medicine,” he replied and rubbed the cloth against Jack’s raw skin.

Jack winced under the pressure.

“What’s it doing to him?”

“Healing him,” he let out an exasperated sigh. “Dear girl, do you ever shut up?” Ami flopped down on the bed and glared.

Jack yowled. The doctor grimaced, his face was guilt-ridden.

“And that’s that!” the phoney Mr. Crowley stuffed his supplies back in his bag and he turned to go.

“Doctor! He’s still not better!” Ami scooted off the bed and caught his shirt. “You can’t leave without really, honestly, helping him!”

“Let go of me!” he brushed her hand off and slid through the door, slamming it behind him.

Ami took in a deep breath. Don’t scream. It won’t fix anything. Do not scream, Ami. Her frustration burned like a fire within her soul.

“Does that foul man have to slam everything?” Jack moaned.

Ami whipped her head around. “You can talk?”

He didn’t answer.

She walked back to the bed and put her hand on his glistening forehead. “I don’t think that quack did anything to help.”

Jack looked up at Ami with glazed eyes, almost looking past her, as if he couldn’t quite focus on her. “Where are we?”

“We’re on an island,” Ami said. Next he’s going to ask who I am.

Sweat trickled down his forehead and onto the sheets. He asked no more questions, he only emitted a groan every so often.

Ami sat on the bed and peered at his damp face. Was he getting worse? Better? Was he in danger of dying?

“I refuse to sit here like a useless mongrel,” she huffed and scooted off the bed. She pushed up her sleeves and poured some water out of the bedside pitcher, into the bowl, dipped the linen cloth in the cool water, and dabbed his forehead. “Get better, my darling.”

His fever raged on. The rain increased and decreased. Ami kept wiping Jack’s forehead in hopes that it might help ease his pain. Soon the water became luke-warm, and he seemed no better off than before.

“What am I to do?” she closed her eyes. Her stomach rumbled. “And I haven’t eaten a thing all day.”

Ami looked around the bedroom. Stone walls encompassed her. A tall cabinet stood against it, but other than that, there was scant furniture. I do wonder what’s inside there. Maybe something to eat, she sat the bowl of water aside, dried her hands on her skirt, and walked over to the wooden cabinet.

She tugged the knob. It didn’t budge. She glared at the carved piece of wood. She put her foot against it and pulled harder. It opened, exploding dust in the process.

Ami coughed. Once the dust settled, she opened the door farther, exposing shelves, storing layers of dust. She hissed at the disappointment and settled back on the bed, careful not to jar her husband.

Having nothing to do other than look at the ceiling and worry about Jack, she soon fell asleep.

“Ami!”

She frowned. Who dared wake her? The sun wasn’t even up yet.

Jack.

She looked to her right. His eyes were open and glazed. “Ami? Or Mother?” he squinted.

“I’m Ami,” she propped herself up on her elbow. “Are you feeling worse?”

“What are you doing here?” his forehead was glistening and the sheets next to him were drenched. “You shouldn’t be here until we’re married.”

Ami flinched. She put her hand on his sticky forehead. He was burning up. “You’re delirious,” she said to herself more than him.

“Where’s Mother?” he frowned.

“Mother isn’t here right now,” she reached over Jack for the bowl of water from the bedside table.

Jack grabbed Ami’s dress and yanked her down on top of him.

She squealed and put her hand on the bed to catch herself. She failed, and she face planted into Jack’s arm. She pushed herself up. “You are quite sweaty.”

“And you are quite beautiful,” he brushed her cheek with his clammy hand. “Your nose is a bit,” he shook his head ever so slightly before he corrected himself, “it’s perfect.”

She looked at his face. “You are quite touched in the head today.”

His eyelids and cheeks were a purply-pink, his eyelashes had parted due to sweat, and his gray eyes look straight into hers. “Are we married? Where are we?”

“Captured by the enemy. On some island, far away from home, and yes, we’re married,” she whispered, as she had no need of talking loudly with his face so close to hers. She paused. He was rather close. It was a bit awkward. She pushed herself back up.

He pulled her back down. “What will Father say? I’m sure he shan’t be pleased. Maybe he’ll lock them all up.”

“I quite agree with you,” she avoided his eyes and chose to look at his arm instead. Ami’s arm rested on Jack’s chest, propping herself up, maybe crushing him.

“Ami, I think,” he paused. She looked up. He creased his brow and looked up at her. His voice was soft, and though he was delirious, he sound quite sober. “I think I might be falling in love with you.”

Ami’s arms turned to jelly and she collapsed on top of him. Her heart beat took off in a flurry. He said it so softly that she thought she maybe had made it up. She looked at him and knew that she hadn’t.

“You’re sick. You don’t really mean it,” she breathed, barely audible.

Jack turned to his side, pushing Ami next to him. He looked slightly offended at her remark. “I think I do.”

“Go to sleep, Jack,” she shook her head. “You’ll feel better in the morning. Hopefully.”

“I feel fine,” he said. “My head hurts a bit. And my back too.”

“See? You’re not well,” she moved her hand to his face so she could close his eyelids. He caught her hand with hers. “Your hair is brown. Has it always been brown?” he furrowed his eyebrows. “Blonde is better.”

“Sleep, Jack.” Ami requested.

His face was still flushed red and his face was still damp. “I’m not tired.”

Ami pulled her hand out of his. “Yes, you are.”

“How can I sleep when I see your face? So close and within my reach, yet still so distant,” his eyes were glazed and couldn’t quite focus on hers.

“Go to sleep,” she closed her eyes. She was no longer tired. Her heart still beat erratically. She glanced over at him. His pink eyelids were closed. His separated hair went in every direction.

Does he really love me? she shook her head. He thought my hair was brown. He’s not thinking clearly.

She didn’t know what scared her more - Jack being convinced that he was falling in love with her, or that she was in danger of succumbing to his charm, with all her defenses gone.