“Wake up, damnit!” she screamed, dashing for the man as he poised his dagger to strike the king.

Eden jumped onto his back, locking her arms around his neck in a vice hold and jerking herself backwards as best she could. The man let out a roar that was pure frustration, swiping for Atlas who was no more than a hairs breath out of reach.

When that failed, he turned his focus back to Eden, which was really all she wanted. Unfortunately that meant that he decided to bash her into the wall – hard. Hard enough that the air left her lungs the first time, but he still did it twice more after that.

When he went for the fourth crushing blow, Eden unravelled her arms from his neck – blade still mercifully in hand – and raised it between their bodies. He flung himself back at her with a shout that was cut short by a nauseating ‘thunk’. The blade had found a lung.

The man staggered forward, taking her dagger with him. He seemed more shocked than hurt, and turned to look at her with a bewildered expression.

Eden leaned against the stone wall, her vision wavering and her breathing stitched. When he barrelled at her again, seeming to realize what she had done, and jammed his fist into her ribs, her vision went white. The pain was excruciating. It was the kind of pain that stopped all thought, sent the bearer into a moment of near shock.

Another punch broke her out of shock and into a moment of realization. The hilt of her blade had been knocked back into her ribs. That’s why his punches hurt so much. Was she bleeding internally? Was that why she couldn’t breathe?

His next punch was slow enough even in her state that she managed to move aside, and his fist cracked into the wall. Eden used her remaining strength to push him back, hooking her heel around the back of his foot to topple him. He fell, grasping at her in desperation but to no avail and landed heavily on the blade that was protruding from his back. His movements ceased.

Eden stood there a moment, trying to control her haggard, painful breathing. Something was definitely wrong internally. At this rate she would be likely to faint.

But Atlas was a priority.

She limped over to him, still slumped in his chair, and leaned heavily on the arm as she tapped his cheek. His eyelids wavered like he was struggling, but he still did not awaken.

“What’s wrong with you?” she gritted out quietly. Taking his shoulder, she shook him.

Atlas stirred, and she pushed herself back a little. Enough to see his hands clench tightly against the wooden armrests, and the tendons in his neck go taut. It was a strange reaction, like the pull of his slumber was so strong he was reacting physically to try and escape it.

But after a long moment, he appeared to succeed. His eyes cracked open, and he stared at the ceiling without immediate recognition.

Unnerved, Eden snapped her fingers in front of his face. “Hey, pull yourself together.”

His gaze connected with hers finally, and he jerked up a little in apparent realization. “You—”

“Yes, me,” she drawled, “Going back on my word; you got to see me one more time. Don’t think I take that lightly.”

His brows furrowed before glimpsing the state of the room and more importantly – the bodies.

Atlas pushed himself up a little unsteadily.

“You had some company,” Eden explained. “Though, I’d be more careful about who you mingle with in the future. You seem to be falling in with the wrong crowd.”

His storming eyes raked over the mess before lowering to hers. “You… you saved me.”

Eden shrugged. “I need you alive. I’m waiting for you to choose a bride.”

The honesty seemed to shock him, and he just stared at her.

“So you’re awake. Can I go?” she asked, turning away without waiting for an answer and placing a subtle hand over her aching ribs. It felt like something was constricting. “I assume there will be no further threats to you tonight.”

“Wait. You’re hurt.”

“I did this to myself. I deserve it.”

“Wait—what?” Atlas asked in amazement. Feet padded across the floor behind her. “Stop,” he said. A hand landed daringly on her shoulder. “Sto—”

Eden’s last knife zinged out in a flash, the metal coming to press against his throat. He looked momentarily taken aback, but not frightened, she noticed. Had the novelty of death warn off of him?

“Don’t touch me,” she warned. “I haven’t forgotten what you did with the mangradora. Just because I saved you, doesn’t mean I forgive you for that.”

“I would be dead if you had forgotten,” Atlas admitted softly. “I was wrong to do that to you.”

She narrowed her eyes vehemently. “That is nothing more than a carefully constructed line that you would feed to anyone who escaped your little trick.”

“True, but it’s my first time using it.”

“Oh,” she sighed sarcastically, “I’m flattered. Now move—”

“No.”

Eden wasn’t expecting it at all – which was the only excuse she could make for herself when Atlas’s hand snapped up to snag her wrist securely, keeping the knife at bay. He twisted her sharply, and incredible pain bolted through her chest. Enough so that she went with his movement almost willingly – anything to make the pain subside.

A high-pitched gasp escaped her as she landed on her back on the bed. Atlas quickly forced her free hand up and gathered it in his grip with the other above her head. The position arched her back only the tiniest amount, but she felt as if she was splitting apart.

But pain did not reason or bargain. Pain just was. She choked back any cries of protest, of weakness.

“I’m sorry,” Atlas said, “but you’re not leaving in this condition.” He glanced over his shoulder. “And certainly not through the window.”

“Get. Off,” she hissed between breaths.

His face moved a little closer to hers. “Just tell me where you’re hurt, or I’ll go looking.”

Eden attempted to jerk her arms free, but immediately regretted it. Not only did her struggling fail, but the pain in her ribs turned from a burning ache to a burning stab instead. She stiffened in response, barely able to think through it.

“Don’t fight me,” Atlas warned. “It’s a bad idea.”

“Says the man who was at my mercy not one minute ago”.

“I know, but you didn’t have to step in. You could have let them kill me.” He paused, his mouth pulling into a hard line. “Maybe you should have.”

Eden couldn’t allow herself to feel sympathetic, though she wondered about the statement all the same.

“Maybe I should have,” she agreed.

His other hand began to move, coming to squeeze just above her knee. When she didn’t react he moved higher, to her thigh. There was no pain there either, but she stomped down the sudden urge to squirm.

“So,” he said casually, his eyebrows lifting. “Since this is our second meeting, I don’t suppose you would like to grace me with your name?”

Eden gave him a withering look.

He smiled, amused. “Not going to make it easy for me to learn who you are, are you?” His fingers probed her waist experimentally. “I could have sworn that I’d seen every face at least once by now, but I’ve never seen you. I’d remember those eyes.”

Panic and pain ganged up on her then. Panic as she thought about what Thetan might do to her now that Atlas had noticed the obvious freckles in her eyes, and pain from the way Atlas probed gently at her ribs. Though she managed to bite back what would have been a truly shameful whimper, her inhale wavered traitorously.

“Your ribs are broken,” the king informed her. His gaze flicked over her face. “And yet not a single tear. You’re made of stronger stuff than most.”

To her horror – a horror she didn’t know she possessed – his hand moved the edge of her cloak aside, away from where it lay folded over her body and wound. Eden was fully aware that if he wanted to undress her further, she would be powerless to stop him. Part of her was pre-emptively preparing for it, and failing. Somehow she always thought she was stronger.

“I’m going to let you loose now, but you’re not going to move. Are we clear on that?”

Eden didn’t answer because he was already lifting his weight from her wrists. She hesitantly reeled them in to her body.

“I am going to take care of this for you,” Atlas continued, keeping his other hand gently over her broken ribs, “but you’re going to have to trust me.”

When he moved to slip his fingers under the fitted shirt she wore beneath her cloak, she grasped at his wrist, her grip tight.

“It’s okay,” he murmured. The softness in his eyes seemed genuine, full of understanding and sympathy. For a moment she was distracted by it, fighting herself on whether to trust it or condemn it. It couldn’t be real. Good didn’t exist without condition.

But why would the king, who had had many beautiful women spread out beneath him, even consider touching someone like her improperly? There was no intrigue or attractiveness to her scarred skin. Why was she even fighting this? Why did she even care? She was not supposed to care.

Her hand slipped away to fist into the bed sheet, and she stared at the ceiling with a dose of concentration that was perhaps a bit too intense.

Still, it didn’t stop her from feeling his heated fingertips graze up her stomach, over her sternum to her battered ribs and trying not to think about the foreign fluttering in her belly. Pain pulsed as he laid his hand flat against the divots of her ribs, but the warmth was not entirely unwelcome.

“Depending on the severity of the wound, this could be… unpleasant,” Atlas said.

Eden had trouble imagining any pain worse than what her training with Thetan had put her through so she just murmured, “Do it.”

“You don’t want a second to prepare yourself?”

“No. That would be wasteful.”

“Hn,” he hummed gently. Eden was suddenly fighting back a scream as the temperature of his hand skyrocketed into the unbearable. “There is no doubt about that.”