Thread: Sword & Shield

He just lay there. During all this, this aftermath, this woman cruel, this woman foolishly disregarding what was going to happen to her for injuring Tamur's prince... he just laid there. There was nothing else Prince Tierian could do. Naked, exposed in her tent, his wrists bound, there was nothing anymore he could do to resist the merciless bitch. That acidic paper had done more than simply leave a scalding brand, its pain that was sent coursing through his body from the severe burn had seemed to rob him of a great deal of strength, if not resolve. His skin seemed to pale a bit. His laced tongue had fallen silent, only the slightest of whimpers emitting when she pressed that wet rag the burns on his back. Tierian's brown eyes were painfully shut as he simply lay there breathing, laid there bent over, his body a mixture of fire and ice, and the shame, the shame bore down on him worse than any physical pain. His family, his servants... they could never see this. He would have to somehow mar the skin further. No one could see this. None could ever know of it. But right now it was hard to think of that, much as ridding himself of this insult was indeed prevalent on his mind. Right now there was just the dull, searing pain of the burn, one not likely to go away for many days. The droplets of hot water that fell from the rag caused his bare back to arch sharply and twist against the table, but only in reaction he did not fight her, not anymore. His will, it seemed, was broken, as was his strength. He'd been reduced to this nude, bound, pathetic sight, and could only lay there, forehead sweating, hair clinging to his skin, eyes closed and lower lip bearing a very, very slight quiver. Perhaps he could throw himself backward, Tierian thought. Perhaps he could send her crashing to the ground, maybe even get a kick or two in to her skull. Maybe. But he knew that any twists or other jarring motions would have him writhing in even worse pain. He knew that right now there was nothing he could do but try to relax beneath the scalding, but gentle touch of the rag as she cleaned his wound with, honestly, a much more gentle care than he would have expected. When Keara helped him to a stand, Tierian instead stumbled. It was slightly, he falling to a bare knee against the grass as she held him, his usually ruggedly handsome face twisting in a contortion of biting pain, but it was a definite one. He stumbled from the pressure put on his mid-to-lower back from standing before, with her continued holding him, he pushed back to a stand, half on his own and half of her pulling him up. His chest rose. His chest fell. He didn't have the strength in him to fight anymore, just breathing, wincing and breathing. Tierian's lightly bearded chin rose upward, hair clinging to the sweat on his neck, eyes lilting closed as he just breathed. He stood up straight. His wrists were throbbing, not as bad as his back but they were red and raw from the rough hemp rope. He'd never been so humiliated as this, he thought. Whatever grand plan this foolhardy wench had in mind, she'd accomplished at least that much. But then he froze. He heard her voice. That laugh. He could feel her eyes, and he froze. Fuck. Fuck, fuck! He knew before she said a damn thing, what she saw, what she must have assumed. The arousal had faded some in the past minute or two since it reared its unwelcome head, having been unexpectedly summoned forth by the soft whisper of a feminine voice, by the touch of her lips so close to his ear. It had been an unconscious reaction on his part, his body's brief arousal, and as she'd been patting him with the cloth so too did it fade with the pain - but not fully, apparently. Not completely. Not yet. Tierian's eyes shot wide. As she openly chastised him he said nothing. His back, his whole body stiffened - ironically, including his member, its fading glory now once again aroused by knowing she was looking at it, by the excitement of being naked in her tent, humiliation and pain aside. This wasn't his thing. Fuck no, it wasn't. But that touch on his right hip, the slow, smooth circle she rubbed against his bare skin... His body didn't know how to interpret it, how to interpret anything, the humiliation and pain mixing with the gentle touches and the warm-breathed whispers. It didn't know how to respond other than to betray him, and all the fallen prince could do was stand straight, stiff as a board, jaw set firm, his face half in shock and half in a sneer, and... do nothing. Caught red-handed, anything he might do or say would only make things worse. Hopefully she'd just carry on with whatever she'd been planning to do next. ...What an awkward thing to hope for. Fuck you, trash, was all he managed between grit teeth, his voice defensive, and barely above a whisper.