𝐀 𝐑𝐨𝐲𝐚𝐥 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐓𝐡𝐞𝐢𝐫 𝐆𝐮𝐚𝐫𝐝// OxO // OPEN

“Nothing,” Farah answered his first question quickly. She remained still, almost shockingly so, as he approached her, but when he lifted his hand to her wound, she flinched away from the touch.

When his skin touched hers, she couldn’t bring herself to look him in the eye. Her face heated with shame, but the blood blush in the hazy shape of a handprint was still distinguishable on her cheek

“I ran into my father,” she answered quietly. “He scolded me for slacking off on my duties and made sure I knew the consequences of such actions. But I’m fine, Adrien, really.”

(Farah is the personification of the “who did this to you?” trope 😂)

Farah’s eyes widened slightly; she couldn’t help it. Adrien was firing her father. And he would only see it as her fault. Her fingers curled into fists at her sides, and she inhaled slowly.

“Adrien…” she whispered, her stomach beginning to twist with a sick feeling of dread. Farah dipped her head, closing her eyes to hide the tears pooling in them. “Don’t…”

Farah sighed heavily with relief, and as she did so, the pain from her side flared up immensely. She couldn’t help her reaction as she winced and clutched the area her father’s sheathed sword had connected with.

“Dammit,” she moaned and cried out, nearly doubling over in pain.

Farah inhaled sharply and winced again. “I’m fin—” She gasped as another bolt of pain shot through her side while she laid back. “Maybe it’s not such a bad idea,” she admitted through gritted teeth.

Slowly, she slipped off her breastplate and began to lift up the side of her shirt. Her eyes widened as she remembered the other bruises hiding beneath her clothes, and she quickly moved to cover them up again. “Actually, that’s not necessary.”

“There’s no wound,” Farah insisted quickly, too quickly. “It’s probably just a small mark…”

The area throbbed with pain again, and Farah quickly lifted her hands to cover it. As she did so, her shirt lifted up a bit, and skin patterned with purple, black, and blue new bruises along with yellow and green old ones was revealed in a thin strip.

Farah winced at his words, but he did manage to calm her fear a bit. It was enough to make the woman lift her shirt to reveal a quickly bruising area on the side of her ribcage, just under her bra. Since he had struck her with his sword while it was sheathed, it hadn’t cut her, and there was no blood. But the spot looked nasty, and the hit had been deliberate. The commander of the king's guard knew where to hit to make it hurt.

Farah refused to make eye contact with Adrien.

Farah flinched and pulled away as he touched her bruise. No matter how gentle he was, it was still tender and painful.

She watched him work, wincing slightly as he wrapped each time. The area throbbed painfully, but it was feeling slightly better thanks to Adrien’s work.

“Yes, thank you,” she whispered. Her eyes flickered briefly down to her knee that Adrien was touching before meeting his eyes again. “You didn’t need to do that… it would’ve healed on its own.”

Farah sighed. “Thank you,” she replied quietly. Her side still ached with pain, but it was noticeably less than it had been before.

She laughed, causing the pain to flare up, but she ignored it as best she could. “Stop that. You’re not old at all.”

Farah rose slowly to her feet, and her ankles popped in the quiet. Her jaw dropped open in surprise. "By the gods, that makes two of us," she teased with a playful grin returning to her features for the first time since her run-in with her father.

Farah did her best not to wince when he patted her back, and she nodded to cover it up.

“I suppose you’re right,” she remarked with a dry laugh in return. “Though I’m not ‘unwanted’ as much as I am ‘not good enough.’”

Farah looked away from him quickly as she realized what she'd just said. Wasn't it embarrassing enough to have to run to Adrien when her commander – her father – beat her? Now she was saying what was much better left unsaid.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I shouldn't have said that."

Farah jerked to attention at the playful shove, then she frowned, trying not to smile. However, a twitch of her lips betrayed her efforts.

“You may be the crowned monarch of Sunstasia, but you don’t tell me to shut up,” she replied, finally smiling at him.

Farah inhaled sharply at the mention of Adrien's sister. "Diplomatically, yes. That would be best," she responded dryly. "Draft some kind of neutral agreement. You don't have to necessarily be allies unless a situation in the future were to demand it. Simply make it a basic agreement – we won't attack you if you don't attack us. But make it sound more regal than that."

Farah's eyes widened as he took her wrist, and she blushed at his name for her. "You must be referring to someone else," she teased lightly, appreciating that he slowed his pace. "I don't know any warrior princesses."

The sound of someone clearing their throat reached her, and Farah looked up to see her father striding down the hallway toward them. Instinctively, she tugged her wrist out of Adrien's grip and straightened herself up to her full height. The bruise on her side sang with pain, even as she only looked at him. The scabbard hanging from his waist was beautiful… but when the sheathed sword struck Farah's side, it lost its beauty in her eyes.

"Farah," General Castian Dowling greeted his daughter shortly. "I'm glad to see you're taking your job more seriously after our talk." He gave her a smile before bowing to Adrien. "Your Majesty. May I have a word with you?"

Farah refused to meet his eyes as fearful chills shot down her arms and legs.

The general narrowed his eyes in a flicker of a motion. "Very well. But allow me to dismiss the present company who shall not be needed for this conversation." His eyes cut to Farah. "Go on and wait ahead, sentry. You may resume your post when we're finished speaking." He motioned to the doors at the end of the hall that led to the dining hall.

Farah clenched her jaw tightly. What she was about to do was something she had never done before in her life. But it was a long time coming.

“I’m afraid that as the king’s personal guard, anything that relates to His Majesty is worthy of my attention as well.”

Castian’s eyes were the only perceivable outlet of his anger. They locked on Farah, scrutinizing her with a withering glare. “I’m afraid you’re mistaken, sentry.”

Farah tightened her fingers into fists behind her back.