I watch Princess Celyz light up a fire in the hearth near us, using a couple of tendrils with dexterity to rearrange some half-burnt logs in a pile before anchoring a fire construct around them.

She then opens a cabinet and takes out an actual glass jar filled with a brown paste. That much glass has to be worth a fortune. She also takes out a flat wooden spatula and a small iron pan, before taking a few swaying steps towards the fire.

“What is it?” I ask, talking about the paste.

“A mixture of grub saliva and a type of mushroom we grow, there is also some of my blood inside that gives it this brown color.”

“Your blood?!” I blurt out before I can stop myself.

“For two reasons, it allows me to have a better control over the healing construct that I will use, also our blood is very nutritious to the skin of mammals and reptilians. I assure you, there is no danger for you.” Princess Celyz nods twice in rapid succession.

“Okay.” I say, slowly.

The Rykz Princess makes use of the spatula, holding it with a tendril rolled around its end, to transfer a decent amount of the brown paste into the iron pan that she places above the fire. I then notice that both the spatula and the pan have long round handles, very similar to human ones. Of course, those spherical handles must not be very practical to use with tendrils.

Princess Celyz uses the spatula to turn, mix, and twist, the paste inside the pan, occasionally lifting some of the semi-liquid up above the pan to let it slowly fall down from the spatula back into the pan.

After a few minutes of working and heating, the paste becomes somewhat fluid. That's when she decides to take the pan off the fire, taking a few long swaying steps to the bed I'm sitting on.

“It will cool down quickly.” Her resounding voice calmly states, but this time I can detect a bit of tightness in her tone.

Princess Celyz makes her tendril pick up the shirt I took off to move it to the bottom of the bed. She then uses the same tendril to push my right shoulder lightly.

The brief touch of her appendage felt smooth but hard, the long tendril is barely as thick as my little finger, but I suddenly have very little doubt that she could arm wrestle me with only a few of them.

“Lay down, it may hurt somewhat.” She adds after a bit, possibly when I fail to read the push on my shoulder as a gentle demand to recline into the bed.

I follow her instruction, carefully resting my bare back against the thick sheet of rough fabric fixed on the bed frame, functioning as a mattress. It isn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be, the feeling of hanging in the air is novel, it isn't unpleasant.

Princess Celyz bends her reversed knee almost entirely, much more than I would think possible while remaining standing, lowering almost an entire meter in height to level with my laying on the bed. I am not bitter that she is only slightly shorter than I would be standing even after that. Not, a, bit.

She starts applying some of the paste over the black bruise centered over the cracked ribs on my right side, her method isn't painful as she lets the paste fall down on the skin from the spatula rather than smearing it directly.

The paste loses its heat quickly when it leaves the pan and touches my skin, it makes the change from liquid to semi-liquid so rapidly that none of the paste has time to spills away from the intended treatment area. An intended aspect of the paste, I'm sure. That characteristic must be even more useful to rapidly fill and seal open wounds.

Could the Rykz possibly be more advanced than our Empire? No. I said so not long ago, the Izla is in a remote part of the Empire. I haven't even heard rumors from the capital in two years, how could I possibly make a comparison between the Emperor's University and the Rykz without information?

Princess Celyz moves on from the bruise to the wound, letting the paste flow from the spatula. The liquid lands on a sensible part of the flesh, making my nerves twitch and the nearby muscles spasm a little, but the pain it provoked is so ephemeral that it doesn't even rate on my scale anymore.

As I watch her spill the liquid over my stump, is it even a stump if there is nothing left of the shoulder? Regardless, I've learned over the past few days that a short bout of intense pain is so much easier to bear than constant waves of pain radiating from a wound for an entire day.

A whole minute passes before the Rykz Princess is done applying the paste all over the wound, she walks back to the hearth to place the pan and spatula on it, extinguishing the fire by draining the construct feeding it of her energy.

“I don't know exactly how sensitive humans are to pain, so I'm warning you that it may hurt.” She tells me while making her way back to the bed.

“What are you going to do?” I ask as an uncertain feeling fills my chest. I've suffered enough to know I don't want any more of that.

“I am going to use a construct to help the paste infiltrate your flesh, it will be most useful around the infected sections.”

“I don't know if … I mean, it'll work naturally on its own, right?” I use my elbow to straighten myself enough to look at her.

“It will, but you will spend a few days suffering instead of a dozen hours to clear the infected areas with the healing flow supporting the paste.” She shakes her empty ovaloid head sideways a few times.

“Well. … Fuck.” I sigh, letting myself drop back onto the sheet mattress.

I stare at the ceiling, observing the underside of the clay tiles, the dozens of differently sized wooden beams interlocked to support them and each other.

One of Princess Celyz' tendrils passes across my field of vision to lay itself down softly on the patch of paste resting on top of the black bruise. I feel another couple of touches as she positions her tendrils very lightly over the wound.

I detect the constructs as soon as they enter my body, they are full of energy, still much less than the staggering amount Lady Lance used on my ribs. I refrain from inspecting the segments structured to build the constructs as doing so would inevitably disturb the whole, and that's never a good idea when dealing with a construct affecting the inside of your body.

I feel the exact moment when she activates the process of helping the paste to integrate into my flesh, it begins with an itchiness over both areas. I swallow the panic rising in me when I recognize the feeling. It is the same itchiness than the one I felt during the ambush, when the Rykz scout's burning construct affected my skin, changing it somehow.

I luckily don't have enough time to linger on the matter as the expected pain quickly follows. I withstand it silently, taking long deep breaths to keep myself calm.

The ache is sharply persistent but not unmanageable.

Ironically, this is the last coherent thought I form before I begin screaming my lungs out, an automatic response to the brutal agony that courses through me when each and every centimeter of the flesh covered by paste begins to expand, all at once, in every direction, in different directions.

“Aaaaaaaaaaahhhhrrrrrr!” I gasp reflexively to take the air I urgently need in before … “Aaaaaaaaaahhhhhrrrrrrrrrrrraaaaaaaaaahhhhhhh!”

“What are you doing to her!? Stop! Please! Stop! No, let me pass, we have surrendered, there is no need to do this! Stupid warriors, let me pass!” Lady Lance's voice pierces through the hazy blur of my thoughts.

A wide smile, an insane grin, rises to the surface of my lips when I regain enough sense to notice how anguished my Leomi's voice was, the audible distress in it. Next thing I notice is my continuing screaming when my lungs demand that I take another reflexively desperate gasp of air.

It is somewhat difficult to draw air in as my back is currently arched backward, it takes an effort to make my back lay down on the sheet again.

“Aaaaaahhhh!” I hear my own screams begin anew. What am I? A fucking shrieking damsel in distress? “Fuck! Me!” I yell out instead. “This hurts!” I add, involuntarily crying out. I succeed in clearing my brain enough to make a quick judgment: it's okay to howl if I use words.

“Mother … fuck her!” I manage to stop myself in the middle of my holler, keeping myself from a breach of manners. Mother has ingrained in me that swearing is fine but only if it doesn't involve an insult to someone's parents. “Shit, cunt, dick, I'm running out of words!”

Luckily, the agonizing feeling of having my flesh being torn apart in every direction at once finally stops, simply ceasing all at once in the middle of my last exclamation. I still have to bite down on my tongue, hard, stopping the nascent wail instigated by the few seconds of lingering phantom pain.

Wait, was that still an insult towards Mother back then? I hope not, it was a general her, not a directed one, so it shouldn't count. I notice when Princess Celyz removes her tendrils as their light touch disappears.

“Fuck me that hurt a lot.” I force the groan out of my sore throat.

“I am sorry. I did not know exactly how much pain you would suffer.” The Rykz Princess apologizes in a low tone.

“Don't, worry about it.” I smile at my wordplay, the silent coma allowing me to express everything I want to without alarming the Princess.

I force myself to move, grabbing the bed frame with my hand to help myself up into a sitting position over the edge of the bed. I don't feel safe laying down in front of her.

This Princess definitely knew how much it would hurt me if she didn't lie about knowing that the paste would work. It isn't a coincidence that she used the word exactly before and after when speaking about human pain tolerance. I'm sure she doesn't have exact knowledge, and I suppose it is enough of a loophole, but it's also a dishonest one.

“Do you mind if I ask you something very personal?” Princess Celyz asks while I take a pause sitting on the bed frame to gather my breath and strength to stand up.

“Sure, go ahead.” I say, curious about what question she could possibly ask.

“Are humans normally sexually aroused by pain?” She asks, calmly with her head inclined sideways in curiosity.

That was a mistake. I calmly note while my cheeks fire up in a furious blush. Did I really …

“Exactly, …” I swallow my saliva. “Exactly how good is your sense of smell?” I ask, delaying.

“Good enough.” She answers with one of her chuckles.

“I haven't been wholly in my right mind lately, this last couple of days.” I say hurriedly. “I've had a fever, and lost my arm.” I do not sound desperate for excuses.

“I have knowledge of your hardships, yes.” She agrees, I can hear the underlying curiosity in her tone. I let my shoulders sag down in resignation.

“When I heard her, … her voice, like that. I … just reacted. I can't help it, she's … so …” I exhale roughly, my cheeks finding a way to blush intensely enough that I can feel the red blaze spread all the way up to the tip of my ears.

“You associate her with your pain?” Princess Celyz asks, head still curiously tilted sideways.

“No! I just heard her worried voice within the pain, I just grasped at it and … Oh.” My voice cuts short. “That's … new.” I whisper before realizing that the Princess is still waiting for an answer. “I … might be … doing … what you said.” I stop myself from speaking once I've said that, considering that it answers her question well enough.

I stand up with a grunt, knees shaking slightly. I assemble a quick nourishing construct with most of my meager reserves and disperse it all over my body, an altogether wasteful use of energy but I decide to shake the weakness in my three limbs sooner rather than later.

I struggle to slip the simple brown shirt back on, taking a couple extra minutes because I take care to sliding it on with an exceedingly gentle prudence.

My thoughts go back to what matters. The discrepancy between my assumptions and her actions. Why would she decide to risk being dishonest here when she could have easily told me the truth? After a few seconds of fruitless thinking, I realize that it's the wrong question.

What did she gain by being dishonest with me, by risking another lie of omission, by downplaying the degree of pain that I would feel? I was unprepared as a consequence, I lost control. I screamed out and Lady Lance …

My Leomi was distressed. For me! The wide grin returns to my lips.

I shake my head, was that the point? Find out how the group would react to my screams? Who reacts? She is still trying to learn more about us but trying to do so discreetly.

Princess Celyz waves a tendril towards the door before wrapping all of them back around her torso. I nod and follow behind her into the street. I have a brief moment of fear and panic when I see it empty, neither Lady Lance nor Yvonne are here.

The disruption in my feelings calms down when the Princess keeps walking without even pausing. She probably gave the orders to move them herself, by whatever means they use to talk. Heat? She has said that Rykz can sense heat …

No. Maybe. Humans can see but they don't use their hands to converse. Having a sense doesn't mean you use it to communicate. We use sound to speak and the Rykz can clearly hear and emit sounds, so why don't they use speech?

As we approach a building, I hear Yvonne's voice coming from one of the windows. Her tone is reassuring. I would have sneaked closer and waited near the door to hear more. But, unfortunately, Princess Celyz decides to directly walk into the building without pausing, interrupting the conversation.

“This building is yours for the duration of your stay, you are free to roam the area, but please do remain within reasonable bounds.” She states while I walk into the room right behind her.

“What did you …” Lady Lance starts asking in a harsh tone, but the Princess is already turning around.

She leaves the building with a single wavering step that seems to make her torso swing wildly to the side to avoid me, her tail making two wild swings, left and then right, to stabilize her.

Princess Celyz' gait is incongruous to me, every move she makes seems unbalanced, her entire body swaying much more than necessary. Like a small tree caught in gusty winds, except her swaying is intentional and purposeful.

“The peasant was obviously tortured.” Patrick's voice breaks the silence, I only now notice that both Yvonne and Lady Lance are observing me. Waiting for me to speak?

“No.” I reply. The ordeal took enough out of me that I'm not even in the mood to argue his ludicrous point.

“That creature chose the weakest link in the group, and she was correct since the wench obviously broke within five minutes. Tell us, now! What did you divulge to the Rykz?” He speaks with no hesitation, nothing to indicate any doubt in his words, utterly convinced by his delusion.

Did I break him when I toyed with him earlier? Doubtful and I'm too tired, the nourishing flow isn't doing nearly as much as I'd hoped it would.

“No.” I repeat myself before heading towards one of the beds, there is one in each of the large room's corners.

The only other thing in the room is a closet against one of the walls in front of me, opposite the door. As I make my way towards the bed, I coincidentally pass near Lady Lance.

My eyes wander around the level of her chest, which is simply eye level for me so it is completely unintentional. With no more hard leather armor for her breasts to hide behind, I can finally quell my aching curiosity.

Her two small round breasts are high on her chest, pressing slightly against the simple brown shirt she is wearing. I notice only now that my feet stopped, that I am standing immobile in front of her, staring at her chest.

“They're perfect.” I say, trying to control the flurry of emotion twisting the inside of my stomach, fear and longing at the forefront while a dozen others lurk right behind them, timidity, insecurity, lust, a fondness for her that disturbs me because of its intensity, a drive to tell her what I feel for her, and how much I feel it. “You're perfect.” I add while exhaling, voice trembling slightly.

Lady Lance remains standing in front of me for a moment before her body executes a volte-face, startlingly quick, but not quite enough for my eyes to miss the nascent red tint rising on her cheeks. My grin widens to insane levels.

“You're obviously feeling fine.” She mumbles quietly, fast walking towards the bed I was going towards a minute ago. Or two. I'll be honest, I no idea how long I spent staring at that perfect pair of small round breasts.

I follow her with calculated light steps, pushing my exhausted body that would rather I stay relaxed and sloppy. Lady Lance sits her lap on the edge of her bed frame. It seems obvious to me that she is designing her movements to keep her back facing towards me.

When I am but two steps away from her, I make a small “Ah!” sound, not even bothering to make myself sound distressed because the point of it is to make her notice my proximity. She turns around on the spot, switching the lap she is resting on over the bed frame.

This time, I am too exhausted to admire her breasts. Their shape is the only thing distinguishable under the cloth, it would be enough to keep my attention any other time, but right now my fatigue calls for another course of action.

One more step. She looks up to me for once as the step puts me right in front of her. I let myself fall forward, throwing myself into her arms before she even spreads them to catch me.

Her reflexes are, thankfully, much faster than my fall and she does manage to move her arms in time to receive my plunge. But, as planned, she cannot stop our momentum with so little warning.

We both land on the rough sheet mattress. Me on top of her, the fact that my face remains buried in-between her small breasts throughout the whole sequence of events is no accident. It is the marvelous result of devious planning and meticulous execution.

My muscles lose all tension as I let myself melt inside her soft, warm embrace. She seems to wiggle under me, I begin preparing myself to let go but not before striking a couple more blows. For the first one, I slip my arm under hers, gathering enough strength to complete a brief tight hug.

“Sorry, I slipped, but I'm too exhausted to move now.” I lie, half-groaning, half-whispering, lifting my head for only the couple of seconds that it takes to deliver this second blow before letting my face fall back into its wrongfully obtained paradise between her breasts.

Her attempts at getting away falter, she seems to freeze in indecision. Did I do it!? Lady Lance breaks my rising hope a second later as she moves her right arm. Probably going to use it to peel the peasant off of herself.

I feel her lifting both of us slightly, then hear her arm moving somewhere between the sheet mattress and her. The next thing I hear is the metallic cling of an object hitting stone coming from the ground right next to the bed.

Did she manage to keep the silver lion pommel of her broken sword? Doesn't matter, is she going to ignore me and change bed? She moves her arm back around my back.

I wait, anguish in my heart, but she doesn't do anything else. Her arms remain immobile, laying there, wrapped around my back.

A long sigh full of relief and satisfaction escapes my lips, I push the warm breath through her shirt. She shivers, a tremble so slight that I only catch it because I am so entirely focused our physical contact, on the vibrations of her body against mine that nothing would escape me right now.

My insane grin is so wide that even my lips hurt, but I wouldn't let it drop for the world, literally. I would choose this single instant over the world. Every-time. A decision between a single second against an eternity. It wouldn't even come close.

I laugh my happiness out, desperate to communicate it to her. The beat of her heart fills my ears, each of my breaths brings in a bit of her soft sweet scent. Tears of joy fill the corner of my tired eyes as my eyelids serenely close themselves shut …

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