Summary: Kenna and Diavolos are attacked, and Kenna nearly dies. Set a little over a year after they’re married.
She can’t figure out why, or what it is, but something has Kenna on edge. It’s the feeling of being watched, one that makes her muscles tense and glance over her shoulder repeatedly, but when she looks, no one is there who shouldn’t be. Jackson suggests that perhaps it’s because things have been peaceful for months now, something none of them have experienced until recently.
There are unhappy rebels of course, furious at a Nevrakis being not only restored to power in Abanthus, but also made king of Stormholt. They’re mostly from Bellmere and Ebrimel, but so far they’ve been sloppy and unorganized, halted quickly before they could do any major damage. Kenna wonders if Jackson’s right, if it’s just a general uneasiness because things haven’t been this calm in a long time.
She tries to shake the uneasy feeling off as she and Diavolos head out to the stables before dusk, planning to check on the new foal. Just before they head back to the castle for the night, Kenna gets that uneasy feeling again, halting in her tracks.
“What is it?” Diavolos asks, hand resting automatically on the hilt of his sword, a frown crossing his face as he listens for anything unusual.
Kenna moves the lantern to her right side. She sees nothing but Diavolos’ silhouette and the faint outline of the trees beyond them. “I don’t know. It’s-“
She gasps as something suddenly pierces her chest just next to her left shoulder, the pain instant and excruciating. Her right hand flies up to cover the spot immediately, and she can feel warm liquid dripping steadily through her fingers. She thinks she calls Diavolos’ name before she drops to her knees, can feel how shallow her breathing is and tries to stay calm.
Through a haze and the shaking that starts wracking her body, she watches as Diavolos fends off their attackers with ease, his sword glinting in the moonlight as he blocks attempted blow after blow. Dimly, Kenna realizes that his sword blade looks dark because of the blood coating it. Their attackers are yelling things she doesn’t catch as Diavolos whirls around them effortlessly, shouting her name frantically as she falls back on the grass.
The shaking grows worse, her teeth chattering as she tries desperately to push herself upright. Her wound screams in protest and she groans as she drops back down. Her hand is drenched with blood when she pulls it away. She sucks in a few shallow breaths, her eyes closing briefly, then realizes with horror that someone is standing directly next to her when they open again. The insignia on his shoddy armor is one she’s seen before, that of rebels from Ebrimel.
He’s staring at her with a burning hatred that’s eerily reminiscent of Azura’s. “Are you still prepared to die for your people, Queen Kenna?” he sneers.
He jerks his head in Diavolos’ general direction. Kenna can see he’s fending off the last few of the rebels, and her stomach clenches as the man speaks again. “The Nevrakis family has slaughtered thousands. It’s time they feel their own suffering.”
“No,” she manages to gasp.
“Get away from my wife,” she suddenly hears Diavolos say coldly.
He’s somehow right next to her, the tip of his sword pressed against the flimsy armor over the man’s chest. The rebel just laughs, a disturbing, maniacal sound that echoes off the stables.
“Go ahead. Kill me. You think there aren’t more of us? Watching? Waiting? Your days of ruling will soon be over, King Diavolos.”
Before he can utter another word, Diavolos says, “Roll to the side, Kenna,” deftly jabbing his sword through a gap at the man’s side as Kenna forces herself to her left, almost screaming in agony as her wound gushes against her hand, the now dead rebel falling to her right.
Diavolos drops down next to her, shoving the man’s body away and rolling Kenna to her back. “You’re fine, my love,” he murmurs.
His voice is soothing, reassuring even, but his face tells a completely different story. She has never, in a year of knowing him, seen him look this desperate and panicked, and it scares her. “Diavolos,” she whispers.
“Let’s get you to the infirmary,” he says, smiling faintly.
He gently puts her good arm around his neck and lifts her, and she groans quietly as he hurries back to the castle, each jostle making her bleed a little more, the pain a little worse.
“I love you, Kenna. Just hold on,” she hears Diavolos say pleadingly.
She could swear he’s crying, but before she can get the words out to ask him why, they’re bursting through the castle doors, Diavolos shouting for help, and then everything goes black.
~~~~~~~~~~
She feels like she’s stuck in a never-ending nightmare, fighting to wake up, to break through the fog. Kenna is vaguely aware of voices telling her to relax, that she’s okay. Some she recognizes, and settles immediately. Others she doesn’t, and it makes her panic even more, until a reassuring familiar voice comes back. She knows that voice, is intimately familiar with it.
“You’re safe, my love,” it says. “Everything is fine.”
A hand squeezes hers every so often, larger than hers and slightly rough. It’s reassuring, that familiar touch, and it calms her, even as she wants nothing more than to see the face it belongs to. Gradually she starts to come to, her eyelids heavy as she blinks, staring up at an unfamiliar stone ceiling.
“Get Diavolos,” someone says, and her heart leaps.
She tries to say his name, but her throat and her mouth are dry. Someone offers her water, and she manages to say “Diavolos” in a faint, scratchy whisper.
“He’ll be right here, Kenna,” someone else says, but her eyelids droop closed against her will.
When she finally manages to stay awake for more than a few minutes, she realizes someone is holding her hand and forces herself to look to her right. Kenna smiles faintly as she sees whose hand it is. Diavolos is asleep in a chair next to her, his chin on his chest, his hand gripping hers tightly.
“Diavolos,” she whispers, and he jerks awake immediately.
“Kenna,” he breathes, his smile nearly blinding her as he scoots his chair closer.
He squeezes her hand. “Gods, it’s good to see you awake, my love.”
“Mmm,” she murmurs, sighing as he leans down, brushing his lips over her forehead.
“Do that again,” she says softly, smiling slowly as he indulges her.
He rests his free hand against her side, his thumb running gently over her hip.
“You scared me,” he admits, and she can hear the emotion in his voice, is surprised to see tears glistening in his eyes.
“What happened?” she asks, making a quiet noise in protest as he goes to lean back.
She tries to slip her left hand around his neck, wanting him to stay there, but pain shoots through her arm immediately and she hisses, dropping it back down to her side.
Diavolos presses his lips to her forehead again, and sit backs just slightly, moving his hand up to rest just below her shoulder. “We were attacked,” he explains.
His hand is warm and feels good against her aching arm as he fills her in. Kenna remembers it vaguely as he tells her what happened. She’s surprised to see a solitary tear drip down his cheek as he tells her how he carried her back to the castle. She’s never seen Diavolos cry. Kenna untangles her right hand from his, reaching up to brush it away.
“You’re crying,” she murmurs, her brow furrowing.
“You almost died, Kenna,” Diavolos says hoarsely. “Gods, the healer didn’t think you would make it through that first night.”
“Oh,” she breathes out, nearly crying herself at the look on his face.
“I love you,” he says, gently lifting his hand from her injured arm and cupping her face, tracing his thumb over her cheekbone.
He leans down again, his lips soft and reassuring against hers as she whispers, “I love you, too.”
His kisses are gentle and feather light, so achingly sweet and familiar that it almost does make her cry. She smiles against his lips as he kisses her a little harder, and Diavolos chuckles as he sits back and she protests, “No”.
“You’re still recovering,” he reminds her.
Kenna frowns. She reaches for him again with her good arm. “Please?”
Diavolos smiles. “How could I possibly say no to that?” he asks teasingly, leaning down again.
She kisses him a little more insistently, sighing into his mouth as he runs his tongue over her lips. She’s so focused on how good it is to be awake, to see him, to feel him, that she forgets for a moment why she’s here and lifts both hands around his neck and into his hair. It takes hardly a second for her left arm to start throbbing again, and Kenna yelps as she drops it down, cursing quietly.
The healer comes bustling over, scolding both of them and clicking her tongue irritably at the blood starting to seep through Kenna’s dressing. She sternly tells them not to do anything while she rushes off to gather supplies.
“You got us in trouble, Your Majesty,” Diavolos tells her.
“You kissed me first,” she says with a smile.
“You wouldn’t let me stop,” he counters.
The healer comes back over, warning Kenna that cleaning the wound and changing the dressing will hurt. She nearly shrieks at the first sting of antiseptic, but Diavolos takes her hand, instructing her to squeeze. She does, sucking in shaky breaths as the healer works.
Diavolos leans down again, resting his forehead against hers, murmuring soothing words. His lips nearly brush hers, and she tilts her chin up instinctively, can hear and feel his quiet chuckle as he lightly presses his mouth to hers once before sitting back.
When the healer is done, Kenna exhales, relaxing back into the bed.
“You need to rest,” the healer says, giving Diavolos a stern look, though Kenna spots a wry smile on her face as she walks away.
“Stay?” Kenna requests, tugging gently at his hand.
“Of course, my love. Always.”