Jaime crossed his arms and let his anger show. He did not know who this man was and did not appreciate his tone or demanding ways. The way he spoke of the king and his ailing health angered Jaime, something he hadn’t felt for a long time, and his anger must have showed, since Maxim moved to his side in a show of support. “Forgive me, sir, I do not know who you are, nor do I care. Keep your voice down, or you will disturb my patient. And you won’t want to do that, at all.”
“This is the First Minister, His Grace Arron Winging, the Duke of Arianrhal, who heads the Council in the king or crown prince’s absence,” Queen Amal introduced, though that meant nothing to Jaime at all. The titles would have been terrifying if Jaime wasn’t so mad.
“And, as a healer, he should know the answer to my question!” The duke stated, petulant as a child refusing to go down for a nap. Jaime lifted his chin and held his tongue. He heard a rustle of bed linens and turned his back on the rude duke, heading for the king’s room.
He went through the partially open door and put a hand on the king’s shoulder, calming him as he struggled to sit up. “Easy, sire. Go slow. Nothing’s amiss.”
“I heard old Arron blustering. Too dreadful an occurrence to be a nightmare,” King Llyr grumbled, accepting Jaime’s help to sit upright. “That old blowhard is enough to rouse the dead.”
Jaime snorted out a laugh and settled the king on his pillows, taking his thin wrist and minding his pulse. Too fast for his liking, so he calmed the king’s heart with his gift, soothing, relieving some aches in old bones while he worked. The king soon relaxed, though he was unlikely to get back to sleep with the racket coming from the outer chamber. Prince Janis was arguing with the duke, Maxim’s voice nearly as angry. “Bring them in here, boy. I’m still king yet.”
Jaime opened his mouth to protest, but shut it at the commanding expression from the king. He went to the door and opened it wider. Inwardly, he quavered at the expectant stares from four exalted personages, but he pulled on his training and set his expression to stern disapproval. “His Majesty asks that you attend to him.” Jaime nailed the duke with a glare and was pleased to see his disapproval cut through the man’s arrogance. “You will mind yourself, Your Grace, or I will ask the princes to remove you immediately.”
“A healer with a spine, how wonderful,” Queen Amal murmured, pulling away from the three men and heading for her husband’s room. She swept past Jaime, who gave her a short bow. He didn’t wait for the others to follow, though Maxim was right behind his mother, Prince Janis and the duke trailing.
The queen sat on the chair nearest the king, and Prince Janis went to stand next to his stepmother. Jaime wormed his way back to the king’s side, and Prince Janis moved over for him without a qualm.
“Now, then.” King Llyr managed to encompass everyone with his displeasure, and Duke Arianrhal squirmed the tiniest amount. The king skewered the duke with a sharp glance and demanded, “Care to explain why you’re burying me before I’m even dead, Arron?”
The duke gulped audibly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty.” He gave a sketchy bow, eyeing the way Maxim hovered at his back, as if ready to grab him and drag him from the room at any moment. Which Jaime suspected he was, from the anger radiating off the youngest prince. “I was informed of your…of your….”
“You can say it, you fool. It’s not as if I’m unaware I’m dying.” The king snapped, and everyone flinched, save Jaime. “What has my impending death have to do with the argument the lot of you were having?”
“His Grace objects to continuing the Solstice Festivities, namely the Grand Ball, in light of your declining health, Father,” Prince Janis answered, earning him a glare from the duke. “I informed him, along with the rest of the Council, that you wished for the festivities to continue as normal.”
“This isn’t normal! Parties and fairs while the king lay dying? It’s obscene!” The duke exclaimed. Maxim drifted closer, ready to grab the duke, so he lowered his voice. “It isn’t proper!”
“I’m not dead yet, you fool. My affairs are entirely in order, and arrangements are in place. All that remains is for me to actually die—which, I will have you know on the most absolute of authority, is utterly normal. Kings die, each one of them, eventually. It just hasn’t happened in Pyrderi for seventy years.” King Llyr grumbled and pointed at the duke. “There are some things I cannot control. Death is one of them, but I can control the way I depart this world. I’ll not have the celebrations marred by grief and worry, the people waiting on tenterhooks for me to pass. There is no point in mourning while I still live. I want to see my people happy one last time. The festival and the Grand Ball will continue as planned.”
The king’s command was quite clear, and Jaime took a small measure of satisfaction from the way the duke swallowed back his objections. A long moment passed before the duke gave a short bow, and choked out, “Of course, Your Majesty. Forgive me.”
“I’ll forgive you only because I’m dying, and I don’t feel like dealing with you again. Excuse yourself and get yourself out of my bedroom,” King Llyr sniped, and the duke gasped out apologies and backed out of the room, still bowed over. Maxim sniffed with disdain and shut the door once the duke was gone.
“I’m sorry, my dear,” Queen Amal said, patting the king’s hand. He smiled back at his wife, obviously unconcerned about the whole ordeal.
“Nothing to be sorry for, My Queen,” the king murmured, and even at his advanced age, Jaime caught a hint of the charming rogue the man must have been in his youth. The king spoke louder, addressing his sons. “The Grand Ball is two days away, is it not? It shall proceed uninterrupted. Janis, of course, will be attending in my stead, escorting your stepmother. Not your first time doing so these last few years, I’m afraid; so it shouldn’t cause any undue alarm. Maxim.”
“Yes, Father?” Maxim answered, coming closer to the bed.
“Since you’re here this year and not chasing brigands in the southern lands, I expect you to attend as well,” the king told his son, whose eyes flitted to Jaime immediately, then back to his father. “You’ll settle the matter of who you’re escorting before bedtime. Understood?”
“Yes, Father,” Maxim replied, smiling, and his warm honey eyes fell to Jaime again, a longer, fonder expression within them. “I will do so immediately.”
“Good.” A knock sounded, and Maxim opened the door, admitting Master Eames. “Ah, Eames. My nightly bedsitter. Come in and kick these younglings out, will you?”
“Still in a good mood, I see,” Master Eames replied with a smile, chuckling. “As His Majesty commands, out with all of you. Except you, Your Majesty,” Master Eames said with a bow to Queen Amal, who gave him a gracious nod.
The princes said goodnight to their father, and Jaime relinquished his place near the king to the chief healer. “Any issues?”
“Nothing unexpected, sir. Raised heartbeat, but he calmed quickly. He slept for a couple of hours before…” Jaime trailed off, thinking of the very rude duke.
“Yes, I passed the duke on my way here. Thankfully, I too am old, and no longer care for appeasing stuck up nobles. Enjoy the rest of your free day while you can, Jaime. Greaves will be back from the city sometime tonight. Back to duties in the morning.”
“Yes, sir. Goodnight,” Jaime bowed before leaving the bedroom, exhaling roughly as he shut the door.
Maxim was waiting for him, and Jaime gladly accepted the outstretched hand from his prince.
Seeing the prince spread out on his bed was enough to shock his heart into a mad gallop, even after the past hour of the amazing experience. The remains of their supper were spread out between them, and Jaime giggled into his cup of mulled wine when Maxim finished telling him a rather absurd tale about Elric, a sea captain, and a goat.
“They did not!” Jaime gasped out, laughing.
“They most assuredly did! Elric and Captain Alaine walked all the way back to the main gates naked, the goat who ate their trews trotting ahead like it knew the way.” Maxim replied, sending Jaime into another peal of laughter. “Okay, perhaps not naked, but the very thin undergarments they were wearing were wet, and left nothing to the imagination.”
Jaime had to set his mug down and fell to the bed on his side, giggling even more. Maxim smiled down at him, his hair falling over his eyes, and Jaime reached up, pushing the hair back from Maxim’s handsome face. Maxim caught his hand and pressed a kiss to Jaime’s fingers. Maxim was a vision of masculine appeal, boots kicked off, bare feet lean and strong, his elaborate jacket tossed across Jaime’s desk, ties to his shirt undone around his neck, baring tanned skin that Jaime’s eyes hungrily devoured.
“Jaime?” Maxim asked, and Jaime tore his eyes away from staring in somewhat inebriated wonder at the prince in his bed to focus on his words.
“Hhmm?”
“Go with me to the Grand Ball.”
Jaime blinked. Then blinked again, wondering if he’d had too much wine after all. “The ball? The one the duke wanted to cancel?”
“Yes, that ball,” Maxim said, leaning down and kissing the tip of Jaime’s nose. “Would you do me the great honor of accepting?”
Jaime fumbled, flopping on his stomach and lifting his head up. “The ball, the one they call the Grand Ball. The important one the duke was arguing over.”
“Yes, that one. And how much wine did you drink?” Maxim laughed, looking down at Jaime’s cup.
“I don’t drink, so I think I may be a bit silly right now. The ball?” Jaime asked again, blinking his brain back into order.
“I’ll know that for the future. Watch Jaime’s alcohol.” Maxim scooted the tray down to the end of the bed and gathered Jaime in his arms, rolling to his back so Jaime sprawled over his chest. “So, will you go with me?”
Jaime gawked, at a loss for words, determined not to let the wine make him appear any sillier. “Me?” He groaned in failure, dropping his face to Maxim’s shoulder, his whole body bouncing as Maxim laughed in delight.
“Yes, you.” A warm hand encouraged him to lift his head, and the charming smile Maxim wore was enough to banish some of Jaime’s awkwardness. “I would have no one else accompany me. Please.”
“Yes,” Jaime breathed out before the more logical side of his brain could argue why that wasn’t the best of ideas.
Somehow, either Jaime was spinning or the room did, he found himself on his back being kissed to within an inch of his life. “Thank you,” Maxim whispered, before kissing him again. Jaime curled his arms around Maxim’s neck and held on tightly, refusing to let go.
“He’s taking you to the Grand Ball?” Greaves asked, stopping in the middle of the hall, making Jaime step around his mentor lest he run into his back.
“Um, yes?” Jaime replied, more nervous than he wanted to be. Maxim had cradled Jaime in his arms all night, nothing more happening between them, aside from a numerous number of kisses and blushes. Maxim had left once they heard Greaves leave his room, knocking on Jaime’s door as he usually did in passing each morning before they started their shift. Jaime took the coward’s way out, sneaking off to the washroom while Maxim chatted casually with a nonplussed Greaves, the healer obviously taken aback to find a prince in the hallway of the healer residence. Jaime mused it more likely had to do with the early hour more than judgment on Greaves’ part. Greaves hated mornings and grumbled about the unnatural state of rising before the sun often.
“Is taking me not allowed?” Jaime asked, as Greaves began walking again. It was hours since that rushed goodbye with Maxim, and they were halfway through their shift.
“What? Yes, it’s allowed! This isn’t some backwater city in Eistrea. If the prince wants to take a commoner to the Grand Ball, he can and will, and the only people complaining will be the debutants deprived the chance of snagging one of the royals. Do you have an outfit?” Greaves rambled on, leading Jaime into the small kitchen off the infirmary. “No, what am I thinking? Of course, you don’t. Master Eames says you’ve got more than enough money held in trust by the crown, so we can order you something suitable.”
Jaime gawked, trailing after Greaves, grabbing some hothouse fruit from a bowl and nibbling, eyes wide, as Greaves described a wide variety of clothing options and fabrics. “How do you know all of this?”
Greaves stopped mid breath and blinked down at Jaime, as if just noticing he was there. “Oh, my family are textile merchants. My mother even has her own couture shop out of the Merchant District down in the city. I’ll send her a message with your measurements, and she’ll charge it to your account with the crown. She can probably have something here by nightfall.”
“That fast?” Jaime asked, eyes wide.
“Well, if we had the time, I could take you to her shop in the city, and you could likely walk out of there with something immediately. But we’ve still got the rest of our shift, and the infirmary is almost full.”
“I…should I go? Will I be missed during the Ball? What if something happens?”
Greaves rolled his eyes so hard Jaime marveled that they didn’t get stuck in the back of his head. “The ball is late in the afternoon. We have the morning shift. You’ll have a few hours after our shift ends before the prince will collect you for the festivities. And if something major happens, I’ll be here. I don’t like dancing, so I won’t be attending any of the balls that night.”
“Dancing?” Jaime gulped, and trailed disconsolately after Greaves, his mentor still chattering away about silk versus velvet.
The next morning, Jaime dressed in his robes, staring at the boxes from the couture shop Greaves’ mother owned. He was afraid to open them, but each one was labeled clearly with what was inside. The ball was that evening, and Jaime was equally terrified and excited. Yesterday it was easy to push aside the fact that Maxim was taking him to the Solstice Ball, an event that was the culmination of the country-wide Solstice Festival, but today, with the boxes staring him in the face, the nerves hit him hard.
Knowing he lacked any knowledge of his new home, Jaime pestered Greaves all day yesterday in between patients about traditions and history of Pyrderi. “So, the Ball is open to everyone?”
“Depends on which ball,” Greaves had replied, handing Jaime a stack of bandages as they went about restocking the bedside supplies. “There’s dozens of them, thrown across the whole city. Rich merchants, traders, city officials, nobles, all of them throwing their own parties, and the biggest and most opulent, is the Grand Ball, held here at the palace. It’s also the hardest to get into. It’s not restricted by rank or station in life, but is it restricted to invitation only. Anyone could attend at one point, but now invitations are sent out, and those who receive one are vetted for security reasons. Back when Janis was a lad, maybe thirteen or so, before King Llyr remarried, there was a kidnapping attempt during the Grand Ball. The ruffians were stopped, mainly thanks to the fact that Prince Janis was already a fair hand with a weapon at thirteen. The Council insisted on restricting access to the royal family, and now the guest list is fully vetted and new guests can take over a year to get approved.”
“Prince Janis was kidnapped?” Jaime gasped out, eyes wide.
“For less than hour,” Greaves told him with a smile, Jaime trailing after him as they deposited their burdens in the infirmary. “The guards caught up to the kidnappers before they even managed to sneak him out of the palace, and half the kidnappers were dead. Prince Janis disarmed one of them and took out three men. The guards said he was still fighting, and the kidnappers were ready to run when they found the prince. It was actually that incident that convinced King Llyr to remarry, and sire more heirs.”
“And now the Grand Ball is restricted to those on a preapproved list? What about me?”
“You’ve been vetted and cleared already. The magi and Master Eames attested to your identity while you were still recovering from shock that first night here in the infirmary. Plus, the Healer’s Academy in Corinthia was able to collaborate.” Greaves stopped and turned, Jaime’s wide eyes and hurried breath conveying just how nervous he was. “Jaime, it is just a ball. Pretty clothes, pretty people, fun, drinking, and some food that may or may not be horrible. All will be well. Maxim won’t let you out of his sight. If you can’t believe me, then believe in Maxim.”
“I can do that,” Jaime murmured, thinking about how easy it was to believe in his prince. Maxim had quickly become his everything.
Now, the next morning, nerves still tingling, Jaime left his rooms and went for his last shift in the infirmary before the ball that afternoon. Greaves was sitting at a table, stacks of paperwork around him, and he crooked a smile at Jaime when he saw him emerge from the residence hall. “Come, young novice, and gird thy loins—for today is the day of organizing files. A perilous day indeed, for paper cuts abound.”
Jaime rolled his eyes at his mentor, who snorted out a laugh and pushed a stack in his direction. “I’ll heal your papercuts if you heal mine,” Jaime retorted. He pulled the stack closer as he took a seat at the table.
“Deal,” Greaves agreed. His mentor stared at him for a short time, Jaime quirking a brow back. “You ready for this evening?”
“No,” Jaime replied and laughed, a touch hysterically. “I know logically that a ball won’t hurt me, but I’m still nervous. A prince is taking me to a ball at a palace. This is very…surreal.”
Greaves nodded. “I can see how you’d feel that way. Worried about Maxim treating you badly?”
“What? No!”
“Worried he’s going to abandon you and some lecherous old dukes will want to drag you into a corner to look at etchings?”
Jaime grimaced. “No, and now I really don’t plan on leaving Maxim’s side.”
“Don’t worry about the ball. Maxim will be there. And if there is one thing I know about princes, and this certain prince, it’s that they are predisposed to being heroes. Prince Maxim is a hero already. So, have fun and dance until the sun comes up.”
“I’ll try my best,” Jaime promised, and Greaves gave him a wink, one that made his eyes look especially owlish. Cheered, Jaime got to work organizing patient files.