"Live through our Architect's trial, and we'll talk about the last one."
Dorian lifted a brow but decided not to push it further. He rubbed his face again and allowed the shudder over his bruised muscles.
"I'll have my surgeon come check on you before you head up to your room. You'll be allowed out of that room now for dinners if you'd like to join the rest of society."
"One trial, and you're setting me free?"
"One trial and your victory brought my people speechless and some to their knees today," Hagen informed him. "I don't think you realize what you did."
Dorian felt like he'd battled the entire horde of Noctuans.
"What did I do?" Dorian asked.
"You proved to me and many others why our Venari King trusted you so much."
"And to the rest of them?"
"They'll wait to see how our Ghost likes you."
Hagen clapped his shoulder one last time before rising from the edge of the pool. Dorian watched him leave and replayed the last words Hagen had said over and over in his head. Surely, his near-death that day had not meant as much as the Elder said it did. Surely, Hagen would not have put him into such a trial that he knew he would not come out of it.
And what did it mean if he really had?
No wonder the bets on his head had been with those numbers.
The surgeon came to see him not long after. Dorian was inspected and a paste placed on the bruises. His body was wrapped in a soft linen to keep it in place. Corbin had come to retrieve him as Dorian could hardly walk. Dorian hated that he needed the help, but he took it nonetheless. The moment Corbin had put him on the bed, Dorian shook his head and pressed himself to the floor.
"Prince, you need the bed—“
"What and burn it too?" Dorian argued. "No. Everyone is suddenly nice to me because apparently, they think I had some triumph today. I hate to take that back by burning their Temple." He paused and gave Corbin a look over, noting the clench in his fist. "Did you bring it?" he asked.
"I don't think you need it tonight," Corbin argued.
"I think I need it tonight more than I have any other," Dorian affirmed. "I can see it in your pocket. Give it."
Corbin considered him a long moment before pulling out the flask. Dorian snatched and tipped it back, ignoring the pain shooting through his muscles when he moved so quickly. The fire whiskey rushed down his throat, and he leaned his head against the edge of the bed.
"What?" Dorian glared upon seeing Corbin's face.
"You cannot keep thinking that will take this all away."
"Why can't I?" Dorian breathed up at him. "Why can I not continue doing this if it helps me get a moment of rest? What is the difference between this and however anyone else thinks I should process what is happening around me? Do you have any suggestion otherwise?"
Corbin didn't speak, but he did sit on the floor beside him, knees pulling into his chest. Dorian couldn't stop staring at the flask. The crutch of its weight took him into a slow haze. His insides grew numb, and the only reason he felt a tear on his cheek was that it hit his lips.
"I nearly died today," Dorian whispered. "I walked onto that field as though I owned it, and I nearly died."
"You survived," Corbin countered. "Just like you will do every day, regardless of what is going on in your head."
"How would you know what is going on in my head?"
"I know you feel—“
"You have no idea how I feel," Dorian argued. "You didn't lose your entire world in a matter of days. I have always been nothing more than a duty to you. As a Prince no longer with a crown, I wonder why you are even still here. Especially after that display today."
"Because I am your friend," Corbin said. "And because I believe in what you can do."
"Why?" Dorian asked as he began to doubt everything he'd ever stood for.
