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Ryder’s POV

It was painful—that’s how it felt when that fùcking bastard stabbed me in my abdomen. My father’s enemy ambushed us in the middle of the forest and, fùck, I'm glad I had my sword to kill some of them. But we were outnumbered, and while my men tried to protect me, I, on the other hand, went through the forest to escape.

My wound on my gut was preventing me from running fast, but nonetheless, I was glad that I outran them. I walked for as long as I could muster and didn’t stop until I gave in. I slumped against a tree and proceeded to cover my wound as I felt my body draining every bit of energy I had. It was then a boy came to me—he looked harmless, but nonetheless, I swung my sword at him. I could clearly see the fear in his eyes, and as he raised his hands, I just slumped my sword down, unable to hold it any longer.

I was shocked when the boy suddenly helped me cover my wound, but I just glared at him. I didn’t know if he was purposely doing it to tempt me or if he just really wanted to help. He looked like he didn’t know who I was—there was no reaction from him when he saw me, only worry.

I asked what he was doing, and he answered me with the softest voice I’d ever heard. He was honestly pretty to be a boy. At first, I thought he was a lady—but I was wrong, and I was in awe of how beautiful he is. He tried to lift me up, but I was heavy, so I helped him to stand me up with his support.

The pain was unbearable while I walked, and the way the boy rubbed my back, as if it could make the pain go away, made my heart skip a beat. He looked so innocent and caring and very nice.

Fùck, what am I thinking?

We arrived at the back door, and the boy slowly opened it before carefully walking inside silently. I think he was sneaking me in, and I supported him on that since I didn’t want to risk being recognized by anyone here.

“Keep quiet,” he whispered softly, and I swear, my dìck suddenly hardened just by hearing it. I was literally in pain, and somehow my body had the audacity to feel aroused just because of a soft whisper. What the fùck.

We crossed some hallways, and luckily no one saw us. We walked down the stairs heading toward the dungeon. After the boy opened the door, we entered and he laid me down on a very awful-looking bed before closing the door.

He came towards me, worry evident in his eyes.

“Let me treat your wound...” he said and started to unbutton the top of my shirt, but I looked at him with a frown. His face turned red.

“I—” he started, but no words came out of his mouth, probably feeling embarrassed for what he did. Thinking that he didn’t want to be the one to take off my clothes, I then did it myself for his sake. I could feel his eyes glued to me, and honestly, I felt proud showing him my body—and I didn’t even know why.

I took my top off slowly and carefully before laying back on the bed while grunting in pain. He came closer to look at my wound, and he looked scared—he didn’t know what to do. He wanted to talk, but somehow he kept closing his mouth, as if he was preventing himself from speaking.

I closed my eyes, fighting the pain, when I heard him walking away, only to return later with some things I heard him placing beside me. I opened my eyes and saw him wetting a clean towel before wiping the blood off my wound.

“Fùck…” I grunted, and the boy, in return, looked at me with an apologetic expression. It was painful, but if this was the only way to treat my wound, I had to bear it. After wiping the blood away, he started to apply some kind of ointment—and it fùcking burned.

I was restraining myself from pushing him away, but fùck, I had to bear it. He was about to apply a second layer of the ointment when I punched the bed, causing the boy to jump in surprise. He seemed scared, but he looked determined to treat my wound—and I honestly thanked him for that.

I was breathing heavily when he finished applying the ointment. I opened my eyes and saw him wrapping my waist with a large bandage. After bandaging my wound, he started putting all the things back into the aid box he had. I closed my eyes, trying to relax, when I felt a soft hand on my face. I opened my eyes and immediately grabbed his hand, causing him to look startled and scared.

I was confused why he touched my face at first, until I realized I had a cut on my right cheek.

My grip on his hand loosened, letting him apply ointment to my cut. After doing so, he started to clean the towel soaked with my blood as well as the ointments he had taken. And before he could leave my side, I took his hand, which made him look at me.

“Thank you...” I muttered, and I was glad he heard it because he gave me a small, soft smile in return. I let go of his hand, which allowed him to finally leave, and only then did I close my eyes, taking a rest from everything that had happened.

•

I opened my eyes, and the boy was no longer in the room. I slowly sat up and winced in pain because of my wound, which was now treated well—all thanks to that boy.

Come to think of it, I didn’t even know his name. I made a note in the back of my mind to ask him when he returned. I looked around and inspected the room—it was mostly dark, and only the small light above me gave any illumination. Judging by the looks of it, the boy must just be a worker in this place.

My eyes then landed on a tray of food just beside me. I picked it up, and It honestly didn’t look bad. I ate it up, quite surprised at how hungry I was, because I finished it all in a short amount of time. I felt content and was about to lie down on the uncomfortable mattress when the door opened. It was the boy—and he looked tired. He looked in my direction, and I suddenly felt myself getting angry when I saw a cut on his lip.

“What happened?” My voice hardened, and I saw him looking at me with a frown.

“I said, what happened?” I repeated, but the boy only looked at the floor, not wanting to meet my eyes. I sighed for a moment before letting the question go, since he most likely wouldn’t answer me.

He suddenly went to a drawer beside me and took out an old-looking notebook and a ballpen before writing something in it. He showed me the notebook, and I frowned when I read the question:

*Are you okay?*

“I’m fine. Why are you writing? Don’t you speak?” I asked, and the boy just looked at me, biting the inside of his cheek, hurt evident in his eyes. It seemed like he didn’t want to talk about it.

“What’s your name?” I asked softly, and the boy soon went back to writing in his notebook.

*Clyde.*

His name is Clyde. What a unique name.

“Ryder. My name is Ryder.”

He smiled when I told him my name, and I couldn’t help but smile back.

If someone I knew saw me right now, they would be shocked to see me smiling—because I had never smiled before. This boy—he’s full of surprises. He’s giving me emotions I’ve never felt before.

And I’m ready to explore it.

To be continued.

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