Chapter 14 Secrets in the Smoke
SECRETS IN THE SMOKE
VIKTOR
Imade it to my quarters on will alone. Each step was negotiation with a body that wanted to quit. Shoulder throbbing where shrapnel had torn through. Ribs screaming where the bullet had grazed. Arm numb where the third round had caught me.
Dr. Amir had done his work an hour ago. Extracted the bullet lodged near bone. Stitched what needed stitching. Wrapped what needed wrapping. Given me antibiotics and painkillers I'd refused and a lecture in Urdu I'd endured because I deserved it.
Now I just wanted to lie down. To close my eyes. To stop feeling the weight of almost failing.
The door was already unlocked. I registered that through the haze of pain and exhaustion. Wrong. Security breach. Someone had been here.
My hand went to my weapon. Drew it smooth despite the screaming in my shoulder. Pushed the door open with my boot. Swept the room.
Clear. Empty. Nothing disturbed except—
A medical kit sat on my desk. Open. Supplies arranged in neat rows. Fresh gauze. Saline. Antibiotics. More bandages than Dr. Amir had used.
Movement in the corner. I spun, weapon raised.
Sebastian stepped out of the shadows by the window. Hands up. Non-threatening. “It's me. Don't shoot.”
I lowered the gun. “What are you doing here.”
“Checking on you.” He moved into the light. Still wearing the clothes from earlier. Blood-spattered. Torn. Face pale but composed. “Dr. Amir said you refused painkillers. That you walked out before he could finish the full examination.”
“He finished enough.”
“Did he?” Sebastian crossed to the medical kit. Started pulling on latex gloves with practiced movements. “Because from where I'm standing, you look like you're about to pass out.”
“Am fine.”
“You're bleeding through your bandages.” He pointed to my shoulder where red was seeping through white. “Sit down before you fall down.”
“Do not need—“
“Sit.” Not a request. A command. Wrapped in concern but steel underneath. “Please.”
The please did it. Made me realize I was swaying on my feet. Made me acknowledge that standing was becoming difficult. Made me move to the chair he was pointing at and sink down before my legs gave out.
He moved behind me. I felt his hands on my jacket. Helping me out of it with care that made my chest tight. The fabric stuck to wounds. He worked it free slowly. Patient. Not rushing. Not causing more pain than necessary.
“Shirt too,” he said quietly.
I unbuttoned it with clumsy fingers. My left hand wasn't working properly. Nerve damage, probably. Temporary. Had to be temporary.
Sebastian helped. Worked buttons I couldn't manage. Peeled fabric away from injuries Dr. Amir had already dressed. His breath hitched when he saw the full extent of it.
“Christ, Viktor.”
“Is not as bad as it looks.”
“It looks like you got shot three times and then decided to ignore medical advice.” He moved around to face me. Eyes tracking over bandages. Over blood seeping through. Over damage I'd collected protecting him. “Why did you leave before Dr. Amir finished?”
“Had things to do.”
“Like what? Bleeding in private?” He grabbed supplies from the kit. Started laying them out on the table beside me. “You're allowed to accept help, you know. Allowed to let someone take care of you.”
“Do not need taking care of.”
“Everyone needs taking care of sometimes.” He pulled up a stool. Sat close enough that I could feel his warmth. Close enough to smell cedar and gunpowder on him. “Even you.”
He reached for my shoulder bandage. Gentle fingers finding the edge. Peeling it back with care that hurt more than speed would have. The sting traveled down my spine. Settled in my teeth. I didn't move.
The wound underneath was angry. Red. Weeping. Dr. Amir's stitches held but barely. The surrounding tissue was inflamed. Infection setting in despite antibiotics.
Sebastian made a sound. Soft. Pained. Like my injury physically hurt him.
“This needs cleaning again,” he said. “Dr. Amir was thorough but you've been moving too much. Tearing at the stitches.”
“Had to get you to safety.”
“I was safe. You were the one bleeding.” He grabbed saline. Started irrigating the wound with steady hands. The cold liquid burned. I bit back a hiss. “Hold still.”
I did. Let him work. Watched his face as he concentrated. Brow furrowed. Jaw tight. Hands steady despite the tension radiating off him.
He'd done this before. Many times. The movements were too practiced. Too sure. Like he'd spent years patching wounds in secret.
“Where did you learn field medicine,” I asked.
“Necessity.” He didn't look up. Just kept working. Gentle but thorough. “When you spend nights bleeding in secret, you learn to fix yourself.”
The admission landed heavy. Confirmed what I'd suspected. What tonight had proven.
He worked in silence for several minutes. Cleaned the shoulder wound. Checked Dr. Amir's stitches. Added fresh gauze. Taped it down with care that felt personal. Intimate.
Then he moved to my ribs. The graze there was shallower but longer. A red line across my side where the bullet had kissed skin and kept going. Dr. Amir had cleaned it but not covered it. Deemed it minor compared to the other injuries.
Sebastian didn't deem it minor. He treated it with the same care. Same attention. Like every wound mattered equally.
His fingers traced the edge of the graze. Feather-light. Assessing. “Does this hurt?”
“Everything hurts.”
“Specific places hurt more than others. Does this hurt specifically?” He pressed gently. I winced. “That's what I thought.”
He cleaned it. Applied antibiotic ointment. Wrapped my ribs in clean bandages that supported without restricting. His hands moved with confidence. With knowledge earned through experience I wished he didn't have.
“Left arm,” he said. “Let me see.”
I gave it to him. Watched him examine where the third bullet had torn through muscle. Where Dr. Amir had dug metal out and sutured deep. Where my hand still wouldn't close properly.
Sebastian's jaw tightened. “Can you feel this?” He touched my palm.
“Barely.”
“And this?” My wrist.
“Yes.”
“Fingers?”
I tried to move them. Two responded. Three didn't. “Some.”
“Nerve damage.” Not a question. A diagnosis. “Might be temporary. Might not be. We won't know for a few days.”
“Will heal.”
“Maybe.” He started unwrapping Dr. Amir's work. Checking underneath. “Or maybe you'll have permanent damage because you're too stubborn to rest properly.”
“Cannot rest. Need to—“
“Need to what?” His eyes met mine. Green fire. “Need to keep protecting me while you fall apart? Need to bleed out because you won't admit you're hurt? Need to—“
He stopped. Breath catching. Hands trembling slightly where they held my arm.
“I almost lost you tonight,” he said quietly. “Do you understand that? When that grenade went off. When you threw yourself over me. When I felt you go limp.” His voice cracked. “I thought you were dead.”
“Was not dead. Was protecting you.”
“By almost dying yourself.” He resumed cleaning the wound. Hands steady again through will alone. “That's not protection, Viktor. That's sacrifice. And I can't...” He stopped. Started again. “I won't lose someone else. Not like that. Not for me.”
The words settled heavy in the space between us. Loaded with history I didn't fully know. With grief he carried like armor.
“Why are you doing this?” The question came out before I could stop it.
His hands stilled. “Doing what?”
“Being kind to me.” I gestured at the medical supplies, at his careful touch, at the way he'd come here instead of staying safe in his own chambers.
“We argued. Days ago. You were angry. You have every right to be angry still. But you are here. Touching me gently. Taking care of wounds I earned protecting you.”
He was quiet for a moment. His thumb traced the edge of clean gauze at my arm. Thoughtful. Deliberate.
“We may disagree on things,” he said finally. Voice low. Steady. “We may fight about security protocols and boundaries and what you can or cannot do. But you are still human, Viktor. You are hurt. And I would help you in any way I could, regardless of whether we are angry with each other or not.”
Something in my chest cracked. Split open. Let warmth seep in where I'd kept it frozen for years.
“You were shot because of me,” he continued. His eyes met mine. Clear. Honest. Devastating. “You put yourself between me and bullets. Multiple bullets. You bled because you chose to protect me. The least I can do is make sure those wounds are properly cared for.”
“Is what I'm here to do—“
“No.” He cut me off. Gentle but firm. “You're here to keep me safe. Not to die for me. There's a difference.”
“Sometimes those are same thing.”
“They shouldn't be.” He finished wrapping my arm. Created a support sling that held it immobile but comfortable. “You matter, Viktor. Not just as my bodyguard. As a person. And people who matter deserve to be cared for when they're hurt.”
The words settled into my bones. Made a home there. Made me want things I'd stopped letting myself want years ago.
“You are good at this,” I said. Voice rough. “Too good. How many times have you patched yourself?”
“More than I can count.” He stood. Started gathering supplies. Cleaning up. “Palace life isn't as safe as people think. Training accidents. Riding falls. The occasional run-in with sharp objects.” His mouth curved slightly. “I learned basic field medicine when I was sixteen. Seemed practical.”
“Practical.” I watched him move around the room. Confident. Comfortable in this space that was mine but felt like ours. “Most princes learn languages and diplomacy.”
“I learned those too.” He moved to the sink. Washed his hands. Methodical. Thorough. “Just added some useful skills to the repertoire. Never know when you'll need to patch someone up.”
“Or yourself.”