Letting go of his control was always easier than reestablishing it. Like a horse given its head, his gift slipped free and moved from his hand up the king’s wrist, his arm, and even further. His awareness swept along King Llyr’s body, and sank within.
Long years had left their mark; aching and inflamed joints, old broken bones, scarred tendons from tears and sprains, along with old lacerations that ached in the cold and wet, and eyes that didn’t see as clearly as they once had in years past. Despite the king’s extensive injuries from his youth, he was in fair health for a man his age…but it was his age that was slowly killing him. Humans, barring magic seen only in fantastical tales, had a limit on their lifespan, and the king was solidly ensconced at the end of his.
Jaime sighed, heart heavy, and withdrew just enough to open his own eyes and look up at the king. “Your organs are failing, Your Majesty.”
Eyes cloudy with age but still holding a sharp intelligence met his own, and Jaime quailed inside, but held firm.
“That is what Eames said, and the younger one with the odd name,” King Llyr grumbled, but with some humor. Jaime relaxed a fraction, hoping the bad news the healers bore would not be punished. It was doubtful, since logic told him that any man who could raise a man like Maxim surely could not be the type of monarch to punish so unfairly. “What else do you see, young Buchanan?”
“Injuries long healed, from battle and trauma. Sword wounds, and quite a few.” Jaime answered quickly enough, thinking that those present would already know of these, and he wasn’t revealing anything too private. “And joints that ache in the winter.”
The king harrumphed, trying to settle into his pillows. Jaime sat forward a bit and pushed a pillow into a better position. The king gave him a sharp glance, and Jaime realized he’d done so without thinking about anything except helping a patient. A blush burned on his cheeks, but he didn’t drop his gaze.
“You’ve a soft heart, don’t you lad?” The king asked, though the way he did told Jaime it was rhetorical. He gave the king a small smile and realized he was still holding the man’s hand. It was cold, and Jaime put his other hand atop it, trying to warm the thin fingers. “Give us a moment.”
Jaime jolted and lifted his head to see everyone preparing to leave. The king gripped his hand, holding him in place, and Jaime settled down. “Maxim, my son, I’ll not harm your dear love. Out.”
“Yes, Father.” Maxim held the door for his mother, the queen leaving quietly, and Master Eames and Greaves slipped out as well. Jaime soon found himself alone with the king, and he turned back to the monarch, curious and slightly terrified.
“I’ll not eat you,” King Llyr said with a small half-smile. “But I wanted to talk to you without all those worried glances.”
“Majesty?”
“Do you care for my son?” The king’s question caught him off guard, and Jaime’s eyes went wide. He nodded wordlessly before his tongue unlocked and he found his voice.
“Yes, Majesty. Maxim is a wonderful man.”
“Took you to the library?” The king asked as if he knew, which was very likely. Jaime nodded, blush intensifying. “And the field beyond the castle?”
Jaime nodded again. The king smiled, wider now, a glint of something like pride and amusement in the rheumy depths. Jaime relaxed a bit more. The king kept surprising him, though. “How did you meet my son?”
Jaime blinked, then tried to sort his thoughts. “I was working in the kitchens, and the kitchen was short-staffed when Prince Maxim called for breakfast. Cook asked me to take it to the prince.”
“Maxim said you all but ran from him?” The king’s tone was amused, and Jaime nodded.
“He was very handsome, and kind. He saw my…I wasn’t used to kindness, so I ran.”
“He saw your scars?” King Llyr looked pointedly down at Jaime’s wrists. Jaime lifted a hand and moved back his sleeve, revealing the scars from his captivity. They were thick and layered, and ran from the lower inch of his hand to the middle of his forearm. Sometimes they ached, but it was the sight of them that hurt the most. He was not surprised the king knew about them. Maxim had seen them, along with Cook, Greaves, and Master Eames. Someone told the king, but Jaime didn’t mind. He covered them mostly for himself.
“You spent weeks in the kitchen, youngling. A healer trained and with the gift. Why did you not say anything?”
Jaime let his sleeve fall back over the scars, hiding them from view. “I was afraid. I didn’t know where I was, and how the people here felt about magic. It wasn’t until very recently I even knew the name of the country we’re in or what your name was,” Jaime said, flushing hard. “Sometimes I’m still afraid. Afraid that this will get taken away, or I’ll be accused of something horrible, and back in chains I’ll go. I was afraid; so I never reached out.”
The king said nothing for the longest time, his face thoughtful. He nodded then, a short dip of his chin. “Fear is nothing to be ashamed of. It keeps us alive more often than not. Gives us caution, spares us pain. It can also hold us back. Wisdom comes from knowing the difference between listening to our fear, and when to be brave. And sometimes fear settles in us so deeply, the wounds so raw and horrible, that it never truly leaves. Did you know I cannot swim?”
“What?” Jaime asked, confused. The king couldn’t swim? He lived on the sea.
“There I was, a man grown and married to a buccaneer, and I couldn’t swim,” King Llyr smiled again, a raspy chuckle filling the room. “Afraid of deep water. Nightmares about it. My first wife teased me mercilessly, but she never pushed me when I was truly afraid. She in turn was afraid of dogs. My point, young man, is fear is senseless, cruel, and, sometimes, necessary.”
His fear lived like a feral creature in the shadows of his mind, hissing and jumpy. It left him paralyzed by loud, angry people, and he flinched when people moved too fast. He could recognize in himself the signs of past abuse, but doing anything about it was beyond him. He could heal the body, but the mind was something else. He was quiet, the king as well, but he could sense the king’s rising physical discomfort.
His joints ached from the cold, despite the warmth of the room from the tall fireplace on the other side of the bed. Jaime sent his awareness back out, and eased some of the inflammation in his hips and knees. The pain would always remain, but for a short while, the king could rest in comfort.
“Maxim will need you after I’m gone.” Jaime looked up at the softly spoken words. “He’s strong, and steady, and the most stable of my children. The mythos that the youngest is the most spoiled comes apart when confronted with Maxim’s selfless heart. But he also feels the deepest. He has never known grief like the loss of a parent, and I worry for him the most. Janis lost his mother when he was but a lad, and the twins lost their maternal grandparents before Maxim was born. Maxim does not know grief, not like he is about to experience.”
“I…I’m just me,” Jaime stammered. “He has his sister and brothers. What can I give him?”
“Is that fear talking?” King Llyr replied, shocking Jaime. “You just soothed my aches with naught but a thought, child. Just as selfless as my Maxim, but you’re warier, scarred by life. His love can give you a safe harbor to live again, and you can be someone he can love, wholeheartedly. When my son gives his heart, he gives without restraint. Maxim will have his siblings, that is true, but they will react differently, and they have responsibilities that won’t lend themselves to mourning for a good long while. Maxim will need the support of someone he loves. Will you do that for me?”
Jaime found himself nodding, tears escaping to run in scalding lines down his cheeks. His own heart ached for the royal family; far more than it had before he met the king. In this moment, King Llyr was just a father, worried for his children at his passing.
“Good. Thank you, Jaime. I need to rest now,” King Llyr said, and Jaime dashed the tears from his face and stood, helping the king lie down, pillows under his head. “Come see me again.”
“Yes, Your Majesty,” Jaime murmured and walked quietly for the door. He opened it and left as soundlessly as he could.
The room was empty but for the queen, Maxim, and Greaves. Maxim shot up from the low chaise he sat upon next to his mother and went to meet Jaime at the door. Jaime let Maxim tug him into a tight embrace, and tears leaked past his lashes to stain his prince’s shirt.
“He won’t last the week,” Master Eames confirmed, echoing Jaime’s own conclusions. “We can heal many things, but we cannot reverse old age. He’s had a full life, and Prince Janis is as wise as his father is at half his age. The kingdom has been expecting this for some time, so the transfer of power should be seamless.”
They were walking back to the healers’ wing, Jaime between Greaves and Master Eames. Master Eames had been waiting for them in the hallway, talking to the king’s personal valet and servants, discussing ways to make the king comfortable. Maxim had remained behind with his mother after thanking Jaime for coming. He promised to see Jaime for supper before they left the king’s chambers.
The mood in the palace was subdued, and Jaime imagined he could tell who was aware of the king’s condition by the expressions of the people they passed. As usual, the servants seemed to know before anyone else. Steps were quicker, shoulders tense, eyes downcast, red-rimmed, and watery.
“Will they tell the people?” Jaime asked, keeping his voice low as he could in the echoing halls.
“I’m sure most of the servants know already, and soon the nobles. Our passage through the palace has been noted, along with the absence of the king’s children. But nothing official will be said until after he passes. Less turmoil that way.” Greaves’ voice was heavy, but the words were concise. Jaime nodded his understanding and wrapped his arms around his torso, wishing he could go back and see Maxim.
The rest of the day passed in a blur. Thankfully they had no emergencies, as Jaime’s ability to focus was shot. He kept one eye on the main door and hoped he would see Maxim.
Night fell and Jaime was nervous, twisting his hands together so much Greaves threatened to tie him up if he kept at it. Maxim hadn’t sent a message yet, and he hadn’t appeared himself. Jaime didn’t want to think he was so selfish as to want Maxim’s company when the king was so ill, but he wanted to be there for Maxim. Make sure he wasn’t alone.
“Jaime, you’re not required to keep to the healers’ wing. You can go find him on your own. The guards will steer you right if you go somewhere off limits.” Greaves tried to look patient, but Jaime could sense he was working on his mentor’s last nerve.
“Alone?” Jaime tried to fathom wandering about in the main halls of the palace by himself. He squeaked, and Greaves surrendered his maturity and rolled his eyes.
“Jaime, go.” Greaves pointed at the door then gathered up his books. “I’m going to grab some food then head to bed. Don’t get in trouble or I’ll be explaining to Master Eames why I let you get in trouble alone. I’m not attending a lovers’ tryst unless I’m one of the participants.”
Jaime flushed hard, and Greaves cracked a smile. “Seriously. Get. Shoo.”
Slightly irked to be talked to like a dog or a child, Jaime gave Greaves a short glare before he twisted on his heels and walked to the doors. Greaves’ chuckle followed him out into the foyer as he left the healers’ wing.
The grand foyer was empty but for a pair of servants who were walking past. They nodded to him respectfully but kept going, obviously needed somewhere. Jaime walked out to the center of the huge room and looked up. The evening sky was visible through the glass, stars winking in a purplish horizon, the sun having set only an hour before. He felt cold, chilled, despite the warmth in the room, and a cold breeze cut through the large space from random directions.
He picked a hall that looked familiar, though he wasn’t certain of where he was going. Anywhere was better than losing his mind in the infirmary. The hall was wide and the ceiling high overhead, and the artwork in alcoves along the walls made for welcome distractions as he wandered. No one paid him any attention, his clothing marked him as a healer novice, and he figured everyone who lived or worked in the palace knew that healers lived there, too.
He paused beside an alcove that held a tall statue, blinking up at it in wonder. One of the fireless magic balls of light spun up near the ceiling, illuminating the odd creature carved from marble. Light danced across the gryphon as if it flew through the clouds, wings spread to catch the wind and send it higher. The artist had managed to carve the stone with such detail that Jaime’s breath caught in his chest, nerves tingling, as if the beast would spring from its plinth and tear into him with sharp beak and talons. He reached out and ran his fingertips over cool, hard stone, a shiver racing across his skin. Such power was in the work of art that it felt alive, even frozen forever. Jaime wished he could see the real thing, and he was certain that not even this beautiful sculpture could outshine a living, breathing gryphon.
“They’re a lot bigger in person.”
Jaime jumped, snatching his hand back. He whirled to see Maxim standing a few feet away, in a rumpled, open shirt that revealed his long throat, sharply defined collarbones, and the ridges of his muscular chest. A skintight pair of black breeches that disappeared into thin leather slippers explained how Maxim managed to get so close to Jaime without him hearing a thing. Maxim was dressed as if he were lounging in his private quarters, and Jaime looked around, wondering who might see the prince so disheveled.
“Maxim? Are you alright? How are you doing?” Jaime left the statue and went to Maxim, taking the prince’s outstretched hand in both of his. “You look tired.”
“I’m exhausted, but I can’t get my mind to settle,” Maxim revealed, and he leaned down to press a kiss to Jaime’s hair. “Thank you.”
“For what?”
“For many things,” Maxim said with smile. He tugged Jaime closer, near enough that their bodies were inches apart. “And I was serious—gryphons are a lot bigger in real life than that statue. It is one of my favorites though, as the artist had obviously seen a gryphon up close.”
“Truly? I heard you got close to a gryphon once,” Jaime asked, still horrified at Maxim’s recklessness and his courage, or perhaps his luck in not getting eaten.
“It was an old bird, sunning his lazy bones, and well accustomed to gawking princes. He let me get within a wing’s breadth before he grumbled at me, and I spent a few hours watching a gryphon nap in the sun.” Maxim smiled wide at the memory, his eyes holding some of the same wonder he must have felt during the event. “I haven’t seen the same beast again, and part of me fears that was his last winter.”
Maxim’s voice went soft, and he ducked his head. Maxim’s shoulders trembled and his hand tensed in Jaime’s. He leaned forward, and Jaime held his breath, heart breaking, when Maxim dropped his head to his shoulder, a long sigh escaping. Jaime lifted his free hand and ran his fingers through Maxim’s thick hair, cradling his head and pressing his cheek to the prince’s temple.
Maxim was so much taller, and Jaime feared the position they were in would put a crick in his neck, so after a few minutes he nudged Maxim upright. He wiped the dampness from Maxim’s long lashes, and Maxim sniffled, giving Jaime a soft, watery smile as he attempted to contain his emotions. “You don’t need to hide from me,” Jaime whispered. “I lost my father, too. He was all I had, and he died alone and without me. I could have saved him, but I was too late. I understand grief. It’s a terrible thing to hide inside. Let me carry it with you.”
Maxim shuddered. His expression broke, the prince falling away, leaving behind a young man scared for his father. Jaime tugged Maxim to the wall, and uncaring of the late hour and the public hallway they were in, slid down the wall with Maxim, sitting side by side. Maxim leaned on Jaime, who wrapped his arms around Maxim’s head and shoulders, holding him as tightly as he could. He crooned soft nothings, pressing light kisses to Maxim’s ear as the prince was racked by sobs, hot tears escaping to scald Jaime’s neck and shoulder.
Time meant nothing as Jaime held Maxim. His tears fell, soaking Jaime, who didn’t mind at all. Maxim sobbed as if he hadn’t cried in years, and Jaime had a suspicion he hadn’t. Kind, generous, and patient Maxim might be, always a smile on his expressive face, but he likely didn’t let go or show the world anything but confidence and a strong, reliable personality. A scared, grieving, heartbroken prince wasn’t likely to be seen favorably. Perhaps Jaime was underestimating the people around Maxim, but part of him wondered. The innate kindness of the people of this new land was evident, but how often had Maxim held in his own worries, fears, and tender emotions so he did not burden those who looked to him for strength?
The gryphon stood as a silent sentinel while the prince let go of his fears and grief, his widespread wings offering shelter in this lonesome, quiet hall of the palace. Evening fell into true night, small sconces of wondrous magical starfire bursting to life at long intervals in the hall.
Perhaps an hour or more passed; Maxim was now lying on the floor, and Jaime was thankful the rug running down the center of the hallway was thick, muffled sounds, and cushioned his rear. Maxim’s head rested in his lap, and Jaime played with the chin-length strands of his hair, brushing them back from Maxim’s face. Long lashes dusted across sharp cheekbones and tanned skin, and Jaime was charmed at the way Maxim looked when he was relaxed, his guard down. Innocent and yet mischievous.
A scuff of leather on the floor made Jaime look up. Captain Marcus and another guard stood at the end of the hall. Jaime stiffened, hands pausing. Maxim mumbled and blinked his eyes open, rubbing at them as he woke from his doze. Maxim was disheveled and his eyes were red from his tears. The captain said something to the guard behind him, who gave a short bow and backed away into the shadows. The captain eyed Jaime and Maxim with a concerned expression, his hand on his sword, and his red cape billowed behind him as he strode down the hall.
“Your Highness?” The captain spoke once he was close enough, pausing a few feet away, ice blue eyes darting between Jaime, who fidgeted with nerves, and Maxim, who slowly sat upright with a groan.
“Easy,” Jaime murmured, helping Maxim sit up. The prince was stiff from lying so long on the floor. No matter how thick the rug, the floor was far harder than a comfy bed fit for a royal. Maxim lifted his head and groaned again, eyeing the Captain with a wry grin before lurching to his feet.
Jaime hurriedly stood and slipped an arm around Maxim’s waist, rubbing his back. Maxim sighed gratefully and wrapped his arm around Jaime, hugging him. “Marcus. Did my mother send you after me?”
Captain Marcus relaxed with a swift grin, chuckling. “This time it was Prince Janis. Your mother had a fairly accurate idea of where you might be, or at least with who,” the captain answered, and Jaime blushed when the captain gave him a wink. “I wasn’t expecting to find the two of you huddled down for a nap in the halls, though.”
Maxim chuckled, a raspy mix of self-deprecating humor and heartbreak. Jaime ran a hand up and down his back and leaned in, trying to convey his support. “I’m fine, as you can see. How is my father? Any news?”
“Prince Janis said the king was sleeping,” Captain Marcus replied, and a shade of grief colored his eyes and voice. “Master Eames was watching over him when your brother sent me to find you.”
“I’ve been found,” Maxim said. “I’ll come see my father in the morning. Tell Janis mission complete.”
“Will you not be returning to your suite? It is rather late, or early, I suppose.” The captain eyed Jaime again, and Jaime squirmed. It felt like the captain was asking something entirely different.
“Are you tired?” Maxim asked Jaime.
Jaime shook his head, tightening his hand on Maxim’s lean waist. “No. Tomorrow is a rest day for Greaves and me. I don’t need to be anywhere unless something happens and they need more healers.”
“And I think something like that would be widespread news, yes?” Maxim spoke as if he knew the answer, and the captain gave a grudging nod. “Tell the crown prince that I will be back in the morning for breakfast. We’ll be in the armory unless…unless something happens.” Maxim faltered for a moment before strength returned to his voice.
The armory? Jaime looked up at Maxim, nonplussed, but his prince didn’t appear to be joking.
“Certainly, Your Highness. Will you need a partner for the circle?” Captain Marcus asked, politely, but he was growing tense. Hand tightening on the hilt of his sword, lips thinning.
“No, I’ll be just fine with Jaime,” Maxim answered. “Have a good morning, Marcus.”
Captain Marcus gave a nod and an abrupt bow at the waist, and then turned on his booted heel and walked back the way he came.
The armory wasn’t what Jaime was expecting. The wide room was cold and echoed with their presence, holding a hush that reminded Jaime of a place of worship. He stood in the center of a smooth stone space, the ground beneath his feet seemingly made from a single flat piece of stone, not a seam to be seen. A dark line, thick as his arm, circled a wide area in the middle of the room.
“What is this place?”
“Sparring circle. Where warriors train in edged weapons and hand to hand combat.” Maxim came from the side, and Jaime all but swallowed his tongue when he turned at Maxim’s voice. Maxim’s loose shirt was gone, tossed into the shadows. There was nothing but tanned, touchable skin and rippling muscles from the waist up. Jaime tried to casually categorize the few scars he could see, but his own body was far too appreciative of the view. A fierce blush rose from his toes to the tips of his ears, and his skin felt too tight. Sweat pooled at the base of his spine, and his breath quickened.
“Combat?” He knew he squeaked. It was hard to hide the flush on his cheeks as well. Maxim smiled wide, and Jaime saw the man beneath the prince. He dared to reach up and brush aside a lock of hair that fell over one dark eye, and Maxim let him. He dropped his hand and damned his blushes to perdition for giving away how he felt. “Who are you going to fight?”
“You?” Maxim said, and the prince laughed when Jaime flailed a bit, eyes wide. “I’m teasing.”
“Oh.” Jaime glared at Maxim, who gave him a pleading pout, eyes teasing. He relented, his heart helpless against this new layer of Maxim. “Then who?”
“The shadows.” Jaime was thoroughly confused by this point but willing to follow along. Maxim took Jaime’s hand, tugged him back from the circle, and pointed him toward one of the many columns about a dozen feet away. Jaime went, reluctant to let go of his prince’s hand, but he sensed Maxim needed an outlet for his emotions, and whatever he had planned would surely help.
Maxim crossed to the far side of the circle, and Jaime could barely see him in the shadows. Maxim moved about, then returned, a sword in hand. It was not the work of art that Maxim carried before—even to Jaime’s inexperienced eyes, this blade was purely functional, sharp edges and a simple leather and steel pommel. Maxim crossed the black line in the floor again but paused for a second, tapping his trailing foot on the line twice before finally stepping inside.
Jaime frowned, confused, but then a low, sonorous tone echoed through the room, and the ambient light increased. It tolled, a bell without body, intoning as deeply as one of the huge metal constructs that hung in temple towers, but it echoed softer. The black circle glowed, a soft white light that did just enough to mark its location on the floor.
“Maxim?” Jaime was slightly concerned, but Maxim stood loose-limbed and calm at one end of the circle, adjusting his grip on the sword. The ambient light may have increased, but shadows clung to the far corners, equipment visible in vague outlines and shapes. Doorways were dark holes into nothingness, and the skylights above were faint with gray light, the hours before dawn tipping past the darkest.
Movement near the opposite side of the circle drew his eye, and Jaime plastered his back to the column. Within the circle a shadow twirled, and Maxim settled into a stance, sideways, feet planted, knees slightly bent, his whole body relaxed, the sword point up.
The shadow became more cohesive as it flowed over the stone floor. It took a vague humanoid shape, and a sword glimmered in its otherworldly hands. Jaime slid down the column, his rear landing hard on the cold floor as he watched Maxim duel with a being made of shadow and light. Arms, legs, and sword were the most tangible with the being’s core naught more than a few wisps of darkness, and its head was but a suggestion of what could have been a helm.
Cold steel met shadow and light, and Jaime gasped when the ringing of blades sang in the armory. He clapped a hand over his mouth when the spectral blade moved for Maxim’s side. His prince met the blow and parried it back, slipping past the shadow duelist with an ethereal grace of his own.
Jaime wrapped his arms around his knees, biting his lip, heart pounding as he watched an otherworldly duel. At times Jaime could not see the shadow duelist, but Maxim could, because each blow that came for his mortal flesh was met by cold steel or dodged and parried away.
He worried, until he realized that the shadow being couldn’t truly harm Maxim. A slice made it through Maxim’s guard, one of the few to manage it, and the blow glanced off Maxim’s elbow. Maxim hissed in pain, but kept moving, and all Jaime could see was a red welt where the spectral blade made contact. The shadow duelist could hurt, but not harm. After that lucky blow, Maxim seemed to fall into a distant headspace, and his movements became even more fluid and graceful as he beat back his opponent. Finally, the being’s heel hit the dark line of the circle, and it evaporated faster than morning mist over the harbor.
Maxim breathed heavily, wiping sweat back from his brow. “Are you alright?” Jaime asked, and Maxim nodded, returning to his original spot in the circle.
“Do you mind if I go again?” Maxim asked, and Jaime saw past the question to Maxim’s need to exert himself. Sometimes physical exhaustion was the only way to push back against emotional distress. Jaime nodded and gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile. “Spar for as long as you need to,” Jaime said. “I’ll be right here.”
“Promise?” Maxim teased, though Jaime saw something vulnerable behind the smile.
“Always.” Jaime had no trouble giving that promise; his heart ached for Maxim, and he wanted nothing more than to always be by his prince’s side. The reality of keeping that promise was for a different time, when magic didn’t dance in the predawn hours and a heart wasn’t weighed down by encroaching grief.
Maxim brushed his sweat-dampened hair back from his brow and tapped his heel on the black line of the circle, three times instead of two. He settled into what Jaime assumed was his normal ready stance, and even faster than before, a shadow duelist appeared. This one was bigger, and the weapons it wielded were different. A spiked flail and shield formed from shadow and light, and Jaime covered his mouth to hide his gasp.
Jaime learned something new in that moment—Maxim might be a prince, but the man steadily overtaking his heart was also a warrior. Prince Maxim was a swordmaster, his peers only to be found in inhuman opponents. No wonder Captain Marcus appeared so unsettled at the thought of Maxim asking for a sparring partner.
Maxim grinned, teeth bared in a feral expression of challenge, and clashed with the creature of shadow and magic in the center of the dueling circle.