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"Which death is preferable to every other? The unexpected."

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[slight descriptions of injuries]

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For three days, Zephyr had been in and out of the imperial villa alongside Kristin. Their job was to make sure that George remained healthy and in a stable condition. With help from the royal doctor, the emperor was slowly nursed back to health.

However, George had not been able to hold onto consciousness for more than a few minutes over the past three days and every time he did wake, Dream made sure that he was not in room.

The gladiator had come to realise that he couldn't even bare to see George. An overriding sense of guilt was nestled into his subconscious like a parasite, and he despised it.

On the third day since his arrival, however, George cracked his eyes open and, although they felt as though they weighed a ton, they did not immediately close. Instead, he wrenched them open and stared hazily at the ceiling, painted intricately by the best artist in all of Rome.

His entire body ached, with his arms and legs in particular feeling battered and bruised. He wiggled his fingers and toes, concluding that at least he could still move them.

Inwardly, under his breath, George groaned. His head thrummed with pain as everything flooded back to him. The sneaking out. The market place. The kidnapping. The torture.

"Ow, shit..." George mumbled as he attempted to sit up, but a crippling pain in his back practically sewed him to his mattress.

"Oh, good evening your highness," a soft voice surprised the emperor. "Please don't move. You've sustained a few injuries."

George looked over, to where a young woman with locs of hair piled atop her head, stood. She appeared to be packing up a range of medical supplies and oils, which smelt of the seaside and the emperors childhood.

"Who are—?" George began, but the woman beat him to it.

"My name is Zephyr, your imperial highness," she bowed gracefully, having packed up her supplies. "I have been taking care of you, alongside my boss and your doctor."

George grimaced, drawing his eyebrows together in a dazed frown. His dark eyes washed over the woman, before he turned his head to gaze back at the sky painted on his ceiling.

"Currently, you have no critical injuries, but you have sustained a severe concussion, several cracked and bruised ribs, internal bleeding in your abdomen, large lacerations to your back, arms and legs, and multiple surface bruises across your arms and legs." Zephyr explained acutely, idling up to the emperors bed with her basket of medicines tucked into the crook of her elbow.

"Oh, is that all?" George asked sarcastically.

Zephyr didn't react like she wanted too. She wanted to roll her eyes and lecture him about the severity of his situation. However, she bit her lip to stop any rude words, before continuing.

"Your injuries will heal naturally with time, as they are not as critical as I had originally thought. However, you will be bed ridden until further notice," Zephyr ignored the look of pleading shock on George's face. "To ensure your healing is quick and precise, your doctor will visit you every two days unless you require to see him more often."

George mulled over Zephyr's words, before asking: "Then what about you? What do you do, exactly?"

"I'll come to check up on you at the end of each week, as my practises a purely natural and partly holistic," Zephyr told the emperor, indicating to the oils and herbs and other strange items in her basket. "You will also be monitored around the clock to ensure your safety."

George took a few deep breaths in. "This is a lot to take in."

Zephyr nodded. "I understand, and I apologise if I have come on too strongly. I will leave you to rest, and I will see you again at the end of the week."

Zephyr bowed on her way out the door, before George could even ask her anymore questions. His mind buzzed with different thoughts that he was finding extremely difficult to pick up on.

Now alone in his room, the emperor took time to gingerly peel back the covers and examine the state of his body. Not to his surprise, his arms and legs were a mosaic of bruises and cuts. On both his right and left legs, a thick bandage was wrapped around his knees, leaving space for him to bend them.

His arms were decorated in harsh bruises and his wrists displayed a raw, red ring of rubbed flesh from where his arms had been bound. George then winced as he peaked beneath his light cotton shirt, exposing bruised ribs and a taut stomach wrapped snuggly in bandage. George also found that the bandages seemed to glitter, and he poked at it, finding it bouncy, and stringy to touch.

"It's spiders web, dear. It's very good for you and, don't fret, all spiders were removed during the harvesting process," A woman entered the room while knocking hesitantly, closing the door gently behind her. "I'm Kristin, by the way, and I'll be helping you recover."

George gaped at her. "So you're telling me that I'm wrapped up in a spiders web?"

"That's right."

George suddenly felt like his skin was crawling as he went to reach for the webbed bandage. The women stopped him with a gentle hand, covering his pale fingers with two of her hands.

"There is no need to worry, your highness. I promise you that this is clean and completely safe."

[: woo history lesson!: in both Ancient Rome and Ancient Greece, doctors would make bandages from spider webs as they supposedly have natural anti-fungal and antiseptic properties (which would keep the wounds clean and prevent infection!). Apparently, spider webs are also rich in vitamin K, which is said to help with clotting, and lessen the intent of bleeding.]

George eyed Kristin skeptically as she drew his shirt back down his abdomen, covering the bandages, before reaching up to place a hand across his forehead.

"Your temperature has definitely gone down," Kristin said, before tilting the emperors head back to expose his throat. "And the cut beneath your chin has healed nicely as well."

Like a vigilant mother, Kristin stepped back to assess the emperor with her kind eyes. He blinked almost drunkenly at her with slightly parted lips, and this caused Kristin to chuckle.

"You certainly have more colour in your cheeks, and you are quite responsive, meaning my work for today is basically over. Do you have any questions before I leave?"

Emperor George processed Kristin's words thoughtfully, picking through the fogged parts of his brain in search for a question that he desperately wanted answered.

"How long have I been asleep for?"

"You've been in and out and of consciousness for almost three days now."

Three days, George bristled at the words.

"What happened to the people who attacked me?"

Kristin shrugged. "I'm not too sure, but I do know they have been taken care of, so don't worry your pretty head about that."

George fought off a flattered flush. Instead, he posed the woman another question and, this time, he was not anticipating her answer.

"Who will be looking after me while I'm in bed rest?" George asked, a tinge of worry brushed against his face.

"Karl will obviously be here for company—"

"—Oh, thank god—!"

"—But Dr— eh hem, Nightmare will be here to keep you safe."

George's stomach dropped at the woman's words. It dropped in both dread and anticipation because, despite what he was continuously trying to convince himself, there was something else within him that made him feel... odd.

"Oh." Was all he managed before Kristin bid him good luck and farewell, before slipping out of the door, returning the room into silence.

The sky outside was dark now, and lanterns lit the emperors room in a soft, flickering glow, that made shadows dance along the walls and waltz along the ceiling. Their distorted shapes kept George occupied as he lay in bed.

In his state of daydreaming, he didn't notice the door creak open again. After a moment, the door closed, and soft-soled footsteps bounced around the room and off of the marble floor. George looked away from the ceiling to take in who had just entered his room.

"I suppose you're mad at me for sneaking out, aren't you?" George asked Dream, who had just entered the room.

Dream stood a few feet away from the side of the bed, fists clenched at his sides. He fumed silently, taking in the emperors vulnerable state and cut face.

"As always, your silence speaks volumes," George spat. "So, I apologise for putting you through any trouble, and would completely understand if you wished to quit."

Dream's eyebrows shot up beneath his mask at the royals blunt words. The gladiator wasn't entirely sure whether the words were a trick, or if George was actually being serious.

"Well?" George pressed, and his tone of voice struck a nerve within Dream. "Are you going to accept my apology and quit?"

Dream sighed, taking a step closer to the bed, looking down towards the emperor. George peered back in return.

"No, I do not accept your apology, and no I will not quit. Firstly, I'm not allowed to quit because you quite literally own me. And secondly, I don't accept your apology because you had me worried sick— I couldn't find you, and I spent hours looking for you, all the while thinking you were dead. So no, your highness, I don't accept your bullshit apology." Dream finished with a huff, and his fists twitched at his sides in frustration.

George's face didn't falter; a stoic mask. He watched the gladiator with his dark eyes still narrowed, before he sighed, closing his eyes and pinching the bridge of his nose. Dream watched him do this for a minute or so.

"Right, okay, I see..." George stumbled over his words. "Well, for the record, I didn't intend for you to worry. I just wanted to go to the market—,"

"—Without me." Dream finished spitefully.

George nodded. "I wanted to feel normal."

Dream took another step closer. "Unfortunately, your highness, you won't ever be normal. There are always going to be people out there that want to hurt you, and it is my job to make sure they don't succeed."

George sighed. "You're right. I am sorry, Dream, truly."

"Now, that's an apology I can accept," Dream said, before mumbling: "But that still doesn't change the fact that I was worried sick."

"Oh, so you were worried about me?"

Dream nodded seriously. "Of course. It's my job to protect you."

His job, George thought negatively as he plucked at his silk sheets, eyes flitting from his bed covers to the tall man beside his bed.

"Don't look so disheartened," Dream stepped closer again, his knees now pressed against the emperors mattress. "I know you were probably thrilled to get away from me."

George scoffed. "I was until I got kidnapped."

"What? Then you wished that I would swoop in and save the day, right?"

George smirked at the gladiators confident, cocky tone. He looked the blond dead in the eyes, saying: "I suppose. But then again, I wasn't the one crying and clutching me to their chest and muttering absolute nonsense."

Dream choked on his own saliva. "You were awake for that?"

"Mhm..."

"Fuck," Dream cursed, and George felt something flutter in his stomach. Dream ran a hand down his face, groaning: "You better not tell anyone about that or I swear to god I'll..."

George smirked. "You'll what? Punish me? I've just survived a kidnapping, and you're going to punish me?"

George fake pouted, battering his eyelashes at the gladiator before bursting into a fit of laughter. His laughter soon dissolved when Dream leaned down, placing two hands either side of the his head.

George's breath caught in his throat as the gladiators masked face stopped only a few inches away from his, and the emperor could see Dream's green eyes clearly.

George's chest, rising and falling with increasing speed, brushed against Dream's. A strand of the gladiators blond hair fell away from over top of his mask, flicking out to brush delicately against the emperors forehead in their close proximity.

Dream then chuckled lowly at the emperors loss for words.

"You'd like that wouldn't you?" Dream whispered lowly. "You'd love for me to put my hands on you, yeah? To touch every single inch of you, and you'd fucking beg for it, wouldn't you? You'd love for me to bend you over my fucking knee and—"

A loud knock cut off Dream's sentence as the emperors entire face burned up.

George was meant to not care about this gladiator, but the heat in his cheeks and the butterflies in his stomach were saying otherwise.

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Hey homies, this is an authors note!

I'm sleep deprived as 🎶fuckkkkk🎶

This chapters question/statement: what's your favourite thing about yourself? (And don't even try and say 'nothing' because you are obviously so handsome and pretty and swag).

Until next time,

Blue :)