Alaris came to his rooms and treated him...sent her magic easing against him, pushing away the darkness that lingered over his soul. “Not yet, Dear Boy,” she told him, when she saw the question in his eyes, one that was unspoken between them, time and again:
Will I die today?
Servants came with steaming soup and hot tea and honey to ease the coughing in his lungs. It did nothing, but the thought was nice.
He couldn’t taste his meals.
He could hardly get out of his bed, alone, with his dignity intact. He needed help to use the restroom, needed help to change his damnedpants.He was carried to the royal bathing chambers, where they left him in the steam for hours, claiming it would open his lungs.
Help him breathe.
But all he wanted was to seeher.
It was an effort to keep himself from sending for Ezer, and having someone bring her to his chambers, where she could lay beside him, run her hand through his hair, place her head on his chest...
Because that version of them?
It did not yet exist.
This empty room, these four cold walls...this was all he had right now.
And he did not yet belong to her.
She doesn’t know you,Kinlear reminded himself.You’re a stranger, a prince she can hardly trust. She quite literally wants to feed you to the raphon.
Ezer did not share his Veilborne visions.
She did not yet know, how delicately she carried his heart.
Still...
If the future was to come true, and itmust,then he had to speak to her, had to stay connected to her, so he called her own servant to his quarters. Izill, who he’d stationed at Ezer’s side because he knew Ezer would love her for her strength...however chatty her words.
He didn’t realize how terrible he looked until Izill entered his room andpaledwhen she saw him.
“Is it that bad?” Kinlear blurted.
Izill wasn’t one to lie, the same as Arawn. So, she simply nodded, and said, “I’ve...certainly seen worse.”
“In the body collector carts?” Kinlear asked, as he took another sip from his vial with trembling hands.
She nodded, her eyes sad. “Unfortunately...yes.”
She knew the truth of his condition. She wasn’t one to be fed the silly lie that most others in the Citadel had believed for years: that Kinlear was born with a simple condition of the lungs, not fatal, of course, for the gods wouldneverdo that to one oftheir royal Sacred. They believed he had far too many scholarly duties to attend to, that he was either buried beneath his studies, preparing for life as Arawn’s own hand...or that he often left to visit Touvre...when he was here in his tower all along, lost in a runic sleep.
He trusted Izill, for she’d never given up his secret.
Others assumed, or speculated, or formulated outlandish rumors. Some even said he was a darksoul in hiding, sipping from his vial to keep the shadows at bay.
It added to his mystery, he knew. But if he were being honest?
He hated it.
“Well...” Kinlear wheezed. “At least I still look better than my father does.”
The servant pressed her lips together, as if shewantedto smile. But she was loyal enough to the crown that she didn’t give anything away.
“I need you to deliver something for me,” Kinlear said, as he groaned his way into sitting up. Izill moved to help adjust his pillows, to which he thanked her, and offered his bestalivesmile. “Some gifts I have, for Ezer.”
