You were in your room, curtains in front of the huge stained window fluttering, the breeze coming in through the opened glass blowing them around. You stared up at the ceiling, but a noise from outside the window caught your attention.
Slowly, you stood up. And then a figure darted in through the window. You grabbed your dagger, which your bodyguard, Calix, had gifted you, from its place in the strap on your belt. In a blink the figure was holding your wrists down. You struggled against their grip, managing to stab them in the stomach.
The intruder let out a low, loud cry, so you could determined he was male, before keeling over, then straightening up and stumbling towards you on shaky legs. You walked back but cornered yourself to a wall. You walked away, but a knife flew past your head, followed by more whistling against your ears and grazing your legs.
Where is this guy getting so many knives? And where the hell is Calix?
Suddenly, a knife hit its mark, right on the artery in your neck. Your vision clouded with black, everything going fuzzy. Your neck throbbed in the background as you crumpled over, a mess of limbs and blood. You vaguely felt yourself being gagged, and rope being tied roughly against your wrists and feet before being dragged out of the window.
You woke to the sound of screaming. You sat up straight, or tried to, but you couldn't since you found yourself tied down to a rock. Out of your peripheral, though, you saw a familiar flash of dark hair and glinting silver armor.
Calix.
In a whirlwind of fuzzy moments, screams stopped, and you felt your ropes being loosened before strong arms helped your up, then coming to support you as you were lifted onto the back of Calix's horse, Obsidian.
You were in a bed, with bandages wrapped around your wrists, collarbone, neck, and legs. You blinked open your eyes to see the familiar sight of your bedroom, neat and tidy, and Calix sitting beside you, looking like he hadn't slept in days, and...
Wait, what?
You turned to look at Calix, wincing at the movement. His eyes widened and his hand shot out to stop you.
"Don't, you'll open your wounds," He said, voice horse and raspy. His eyes were tired and faint shadows were underneath, giving him the look that he was running on caffeine and worry. When you laid back down, he breathed a sigh of relief.
"Thank the gods you're okay," He said, and you suddenly realized your other hand was in his, his thumb tracing a circle over the back of your hand gently.