by SJ Himes
He thought he was safe the last few weeks, but surely that flimsy peace was gone now. Who was the voice to promise such a thing?
Groaning in agony, Jaime cracked open his eyes, only to shut them swiftly at the painful glare from the lamp beside his bed.
He didn’t have a bed—he slept on a pallet in a small room that doubled as overflow storage.
Jaime risked opening his eyes one more time, and he adjusted to the light with far less pain. He blinked and managed to free his hands from the heavy blankets covering him up to his chest. He rubbed his eyes, his vision clearing enough to take in the room.
He startled, and the old man sitting in the chair at the bedside gave him a gentle smile.
“You’re awake at last, young sir. How are you feeling?” The old man’s voice was soft, soothing, and kinder than Jaime was expecting from anyone.
“Sore,” Jaime said, coughing, his whole chest shaking before he could settle. “Am I sick?”
“You were sick, but you’re recovering nicely.” The old man leaned forward, revealing silver and white robes in the glow from the lamp. A healer’s patch sat proudly upon his left shoulder, and Jaime gasped in recognition. This man was a healer, and he was one of the gifted! The healer tracked Jaime’s gaze to the mark of his office, and he chuckled.
“I see you recognize the Healer’s Mark, my dear boy. The prince tells me that your name is Jaime. Is that perhaps short for James Buchanan, a young man gifted with the healer’s touch who went missing from the Healer’s Academy in Corinthia six months ago?”
Jaime gaped, then shut his mouth with a snap. He found himself nodding, eyes wide, confused.
“Ahhhh, that explains so many things. Especially these,” the old man leaned forward and ran a finger down Jaime’s wrist, the sensitive skin of the scars reacting to the light touch. “The tales I’ve heard from Cook, Captain Marcus, and His Highness have been sorrowful indeed. That explains as well why you ran from the poor captain.” The healer sat back in his chair, and Jaime clutched the blankets. “You’re safe. I give you my word as Master Healer. I do not give my word lightly, as I am sure you know.”
“Yes, Master,” Jaime whispered, remembering his training. “Thank you.”
“I am Master Eames. I am chief among the healers here in the palace. Several months ago, we received word from Corinthia that their most promising student disappeared, asking if we had news of the missing lad. He was rumored to be dead, but I can see now that something far worse happened. But that is of no mind now, my young man. Sit up, we have food coming then you have a guest.”
Jaime sat up carefully, finding that his strength was returning with every moment. He felt rested, the aches in his bones and body melting away the longer he was awake. He must have been healed, perhaps by the Master Healer himself, and Jaime flushed at the honor. He frowned, mind catching up at last. “A guest, Master Eames?”
“Yes, of course.” Master Eames fluffed the pillows behind Jaime as a servant brought in a tray, and a steaming bowl of Cook’s familiar stew filled the room with its savory aroma. “Eat now, then your guest.”
Jaime gratefully took the tray, balancing it in his knees as the servant left with a short bow and quiet tread. “Who is it?”
“His Highness, Prince Maxim,” Master Eames replied, and Jaime almost choked on his first bite of stew.
Stew finished and tray whisked away, Jaime sat nervously while Master Eames examined him one more time, the old healer’s hands resting on his bare chest. The familiar warmth spreading across his torso told him Master Eames was using his gift. After a moment, he pulled away, a smile on his lips. “You’ll be back to normal in a day or so. No running about, else you’ll relapse and I’ll be right back here, healing you again. Bed rest tonight, then take it easy tomorrow. I’ll come see you again for dinner, then we can talk.”
“Talk?” Jaime asked, curious.
“You’re a healer, boy, not a kitchen helper. You’re schooling was nearly done from what I’ve learned. I’ve sent word to the academy that you’ve been found. They should be sending along your school records in the next day or so. No sense in sending you back to Corinthia when we can train you here far easier.”
“Train me, sir?” Jaime was confused and nervous, and while he was feeling better every second, he wanted to sleep and forget the whole horrible day. “But I can’t afford the schooling, not anymore.”
“That’s what we’ll discuss tomorrow. Don’t worry about it now. I’m off to find my own bed. Don’t be up too late talking, understood?”
Jaime nodded, and Master Eames rested a hand on his head, giving him some comfort before quietly leaving the room. Jaime eyed the doorway, wondering if the prince was still out there. It had been at least an hour since Jaime woke—surely the prince would have more important things to do than wait on him.
Jaime picked at the blanket, casting his gaze about taking in the room. There was a desk, surface bare but for an unlit lamp and an inkwell, complete with an expensive fountain pen. There were two chairs, one at the bedside, along with a wardrobe and nightstand, which held the only lit lamp in the room, but it was far better than the overstock room next to the kitchen. The shadows were deep, and he couldn’t see much beyond the partially open door. Maybe a hall? He could hear some soft murmurs, people talking, but no defined words.
He was so busy pretending not to be waiting anxiously that, when the prince appeared in the doorway, he was unprepared and flushed. Prince Maxim gave him a kind smile, entering the room and shutting the door gently behind him.
“Hello again, Jaime. You look far better than you did in the aerie overlook.” Prince Maxim sat in the vacant chair beside the bed, and Jaime could smell the hint of pine and something else, something that was surely all Maxim. Jaime tugged the blankets higher, mindful of his semi-naked state. He had only a thin pair of undergarments on, his clothing missing. His skin tingled when the prince gave him a cursory glance, as if to make sure himself that Jaime was well.
“The aerie overlook?” Jaime asked, at a loss for anything else to say.
“That tower used to be an aerie for gryphons, about five hundred years ago. Since the gryphons fled east into the mountains, it was turned into an overlook, but one long out of fashion considering the drafts.” Prince Maxim was still smiling, and every time Jaime looked at him directly, their eyes met, and he blushed harder.
“I didn’t know there were gryphons here,” Jaime picked at the blanket again, deeply nervous, and yet he couldn’t keep himself from asking questions. The prince seemed to be kind and was not at all acting like he thought a royal would.
“They no longer live in the castle, but we can see them flying in the mountains just to the east. They are shy creatures, who rightly fear mankind’s tendency to be cruel. They’re safer in the wilds.” Prince Maxim sounded sad, as if he wished the magical creatures still lived among men, but Jaime would agree on the cruel nature of mankind as a whole. He bore scars as proof.
Jaime nodded and fell silent. He couldn’t resist glancing beneath his lashes; the smile on the prince’s lush lips was beguiling as if he knew a secret. The prince was far handsomer than he remembered from their brief meeting with hair that glinted with red highlights in the lamplight and rich dark brown eyes, almost exactly the shade of dark honey. His appearance was not as perfect as Captain Marcus’—Prince Maxim had a mouth a shade too wide for his face, and while his eyes were pretty, they weren’t as striking as the captain’s sky blue. Yet the prince, in his imperfections, brought out a reaction in Jaime that the captain never did. Jaime was hot, yet chilled, and his entire body was tingling. The prince had yet to look away from him, but there was nothing predatory in the way the prince regarded him. Captain Marcus was a kind man but a flirt, aware of his appearance and the reactions his beauty garnered from people.
A large hand gently covered one of his own, ceasing his picking, and Jaime blinked in surprise. Tanned, lean, yet so very strong, the prince’s hand was callused and had slim scars on his fi
ngers and along the back. Knife and sword wounds, small enough not to bother with a healer. This was no hand belonging to that of a spoiled and sheltered noble—these hands had seen hard work, and Jaime knew from his years of training that this was the hand of a swordsman.
The prince tugged, and Jaime looked up and met his eyes. No longer smiling, the prince gave him a pained expression, as if worried. “I must beg your forgiveness.”
“Mine? Whatever for?” Jaime was shocked, and he found himself clutching to the prince’s hand.
“I scared you when you brought me breakfast. I did not mean to, and I am deeply sorry. You ran from me, when all I meant to do was beg a moment of your time. And then, when Captain Marcus came to me, telling me of the young man they rescued from the slavers who just happened to be able to heal with a single touch—I became overly excited when I realized you were the one he was speaking of and sent him to fetch you straightaway. I was not thinking that my actions would further frighten you. If I had been thinking more clearly, things would have been far less frightening for you. I am sorry.”
“I…it’s alright, Your Highness. I wasn’t thinking, either. I thought…I thought such wretched things, of people who have been nothing but kind to me since I was rescued.”
“Considering the trials you’ve faced in the last few months, no one is angry at you. We have erred. I have erred. Can I beg your forgiveness and do my utmost best not to wrong you again?” Prince Maxim was so earnest that Jaime nodded and murmured yes, all in somewhat of a daze. The smile he got back was dazzling, and Jaime’s eyes burned, afraid to blink lest the vision before him disappear like a dream.
Warm, strong fingers massaged his, and Jaime bit his lip, trying not to groan at how very good it felt. His cheeks were hot and the skin felt tight, so he must be blushing something fierce.
“It’s late, I should let you sleep.” Prince Maxim said after a long, comfortable silence, and Jaime, wanting him to stay, tightened his grip. Fingers squeezed his own in return, making him blush even more. “Do I have your leave to come back in the morning?”
“Come back?” Jaime asked, still amazed to be holding hands with the prince. “Oh! Yes, please.”
He groaned, embarrassed at his response, but Prince Maxim chuckled and shocked Jaime again when he lifted Jaime’s hand to his lips, gently kissing the back of it. Jaime held his breath, wide-eyed, and couldn’t find his voice at all when the prince rose to his feet, gave him a deep bow, then quietly left the room. The door shut softly behind the prince, leaving Jaime alone with his hammering heart, the back of his hand tingling from the memory of the prince’s lips.
A healer novice in pale green robes brought him a fresh set of clothing, and Jaime was touched and left teary-eyed at the senior novice’s robes he was provided. They were green and lined with silver ribbons, denoting his level of education. Jaime had been in his last year of training, trusted with patients of his own under the watchful eye of his mentors back at the academy, and to not be regulated back to the beginner’s ranks was a compliment and honor he was not expecting.
Jaime dressed, washing quickly in the basin provided, happy to find a small mirror and comb at the washstand in the corner he did not see the night before. Dressed, clean, and anxious to know his fate, Jaime opened his door, peering cautiously out into the hall.
It was a simple hallway, well-lit by windows at even intervals in the ceiling. There was a small sitting area directly in front of him with a small hearth and some chairs. Several doors were along the hall, all of them shut and presumably occupied. To his left was the end of the hall, graced with a tall, stain-glassed window that depicted a healer in blood-stained robes attending to the wounded on a battlefield. He recognized the scene as a famous healer from nearly a thousand years prior who became the patron saint of the order Jaime once belonged to. Or still belonged to, he thought, rubbing a hand down the front of his robes.
He went down the hall and into a large room full of tables, alchemy stations, and to the far side, what looked to be operating stations under the tall windows where the most light fell. Across the wide space was an archway, and he could see beds, some of them occupied.
Jaime paused at the edge of the room, breathing in air scented with medicinal ointments and tonics and the smell of clean linens and herbs that hung along the walls on drying racks. He was strongly reminded of the Healer’s Academy in Corinthia, and he rubbed at his chest, as if to soothe the ache. Healers and novices spoke in low tones or worked quietly, the atmosphere one of peace.
His eyes were drawn to the wide shoulders of Prince Maxim, the royal speaking quietly to a pair of full healers in their silver and white robes, the edges trimmed in varying hues of green that denoted their ranks and specialties. One of them saw Jaime hovering and pointed towards him with a smile. Prince Maxim turned and grinned wide when he saw Jaime. Jaime smiled back, flushing. The prince said his goodbyes and strode across the room to him. Long legs, a trim waist, a broad chest, and strong shoulders clothed in black leather pants and a brilliant white shirt, topped with a long jacket in rich sky blue left Jaime at a loss for words. The prince looked every inch the royal.
Prince Maxim was at his side before he was ready, and Jaime shivered, skin tingling from head to toe when the prince gave him a wide smile and offered his hand. Jaime found his much smaller hand engulfed in the prince’s with his long fingers curling over, holding him firmly. His face burned, and he ducked his head, hair falling over his eyes.
“Good morning, Jaime.”
“Good—good morning, Your Highness,” he stammered back, and he gripped the hand holding his in an unconscious plea for support.
He was holding hands with a prince. His life had taken an unexpected twist.
“Please, call me Maxim,” the prince offered, and Jaime gasped, shaking his head frantically. The prince was smiling at him, somehow beyond patient.
“I wouldn’t dare! I couldn’t, Your Highness,” Jaime burst out, heart racing again. “It’s not allowed.”
Prince Maxim drew closer, their joined hands between them, and he gave Jaime a slow perusal, taking in his wide eyes, flushed cheeks, and no doubt able to see the galloping pulse in his neck. “There is no one to gainsay you for the privilege. I do not mind. Please, it would be an honor for you to use my name.”
“Can I—can I think about it?” He couldn’t believe he just said that, and he nearly bit the tip of his tongue off snapping his mouth shut.
Prince Maxim chuckled and turned them both, tucking Jaime’s hand in the crook of his elbow. “While you’re thinking about it, how about I give you a tour of the castle? Something besides the kitchens and servants’ halls? Would you like to see the library? Do you like to read?”
“Master Eames wanted to talk to me…”
“I’ve been ordered to return you promptly after midday by Master Eames, along with strict instructions not to overdo it.” The prince’s charming grin never fell away, and he seemingly saw nothing amiss in a healer ordering about a royal. Master Eames was a distinguished healer, surely used to getting his own way, and Jaime had no desire to run afoul of the healer’s orders either. Prince Maxim continued, “Now what about some breakfast and then on to the library?”
“I love to read. I would love to see the library.” The idea of the prince taking him to personally see anything was spinning about in his mind, making him feel dizzy, and leaving him glad for the strong hand holding onto his.
Jaime let himself be led from the infirmary, walking down a short, wide hallway that emptied into a well-lit and opulent foyer that had many halls and doors heading off in all directions. The foyer was tall, at least three stories, and the roof was circular. The floor was white stone, the polished blocks cut into pieces bigger than his whole body. Columns lined the walls, soaring high overhead, and the domed roof was broken up by painted reliefs and skylights. Hints of a sharp blue sky came through the windows above, and Jaime craned his neck, trying to take it all in at once.
People
were everywhere. Accustomed to seeing only servants and guards, the clothing worn by the people bustling about was eye-opening for Jaime. Cloth and leather dyed every hue of the rainbow, fashioned into gowns, robes, and smartly-cut jackets and coats as far as he could see.
Nobles and courtiers.
There were some servants, though the ones he could pick out of the crowd passing through were dressed far finer than any servant he had ever seen. These must be the personal staff of the individual nobles and courtiers in attendance for the solstice festival and the culminating ball. Those before them seemed to have some ability to sense exactly where Prince Maxim was, as any collisions were avoided, the nobles adroitly getting out of the way, pausing to offer a short bow or curtsy, the prince gracing them with a short nod without stopping. The prince escorted Jaime in a straight line, and those in the way moved. It was a subtle thing, yet Jaime understood that, even among the gilded set, the prince was a step above.
There was a king too, obviously, though Jaime didn’t know much about him aside from the fact that Prince Maxim was his youngest child, one of four, and that the king was old. Old enough to be Prince Maxim’s grandfather, if the whispers among the servants about the king’s health suffering during the winter months were enough to judge by. Jaime merely dismissed it as rumor mill gossip.
There was a lot Jaime didn’t know. Like the name of the city that stretched between the palace and seashore, or if the castle had a name, or even the name of the country he was in. Jaime clung to the prince’s arm, realizing he had been hiding in more than the obvious ways—he’d shut himself down mentally, and walking in this colorful world made his mind wake up, his thoughts moving past merely staying alive.
“Highness?” Jaime asked, soft so those nearby could not hear.
“Yes, Jaime?” The prince peered down at him, fond expression unwavering.
“Where are we going?”
“I figured we could eat brunch, then maybe the library after? If that’s amenable to you.”
