Tonight's dinner party is what my father likes to call a 'ludicrous show of power and status', but I have to admit that it's a spectacle you don't get to see that often. There are diplomats who came from all over Perynthea seated at the large tables, chatting and lifting their glasses as they laugh together. It is rare to see people from the Kingdom of Clerygne right next to representatives of the Empire or the Folk of the Lost Isles of Windemere without any of them trying to start a new war. I'm glad for whatever spell work keeps them from pouring their drinks over each other's heads. Henry's proclamation is in a week and a day; I don't want him to spend the years before his coronation fighting for peace like our parents once did. I glance over at Henry, who sits to my left, and can't help but smirk. He's indulging in his third chocolate ice cream cup and already has slight difficulty to get the spoon safely to his mouth. I'm not sure how much Skallogg he drank tonight. Shaky hands usually are the first sign that he's not far from abandoning all etiquette and turning into the somewhat hostile and irresponsible drunk that he is. Maybe I should spare his poor father and take care of the situation before it actually gets out of hand. I clear my throat discreetly to get his attention.

"Don’t you think you've had enough ice cream for one night? You're going to give yourself a stomachache."

Henry frowns at me.

"You’re such a spoilsport, ginger! This is only my-", he hiccups, " 'scuse me, my second helping of dessert."

He enjoys teasing me with the nickname he gave me back when we were little kids. Mostly because he knows I’ve always hated my hair.

"Third", I correct him as I steal the cup out of his hands and eat the last spoonful of ice cream myself.

From the corner of my eye, I see his sister Eleanor grin into her napkin.

"You sneaky ass!"

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. Henry can be a real pain when he's drunk, but when I meet his hazy gaze again, I decide that it is high time to get him away from here, before he ends up starting a war after all. I nod towards the King, who is watching us, and stand.

"I'm not feeling well. Henry, would you please escort me to my rooms?"

It's a weak excuse and I’m a bad actor, but it's the best one I can think of right now. If I tried to excuse Henry and drag him out of the dining hall, he would surely resist and make a scene. This, however, will work just fine. I know that he cares enough about me to help when I ask him to. He looks up at me and his brow furrows in concern.

"You alright, Garrett?"

I try my best to stay in my role.

"I guess I feel a little sick.", I mutter under my breath so only he can hear me.

His lips curl into a mocking smile.

"Serves you right", he whispers, "For stealing my dessert."

He gets up and bows apologetically to his guests.

"I'll see Prince Garrett back to his rooms. Don't let my absence keep you from enjoying yourselves. The night is still young."

Henry exchanges a quick look with his father, who dismisses us with a shake of his hand, before he pushes me gently out the door. We walk in silence for a little while. The corridors are empty except for maids or servants occasionally rushing back and forth between the kitchens and guest rooms. Henry's hand slips from my shoulder down my back and he sways towards me. I catch him and wrap an arm around his frame to keep him from crashing into one of the Queen’s precious vases.

"Well, that's what I call a feast! Can't- can't believe my old man even let us drink from his per- personal stack of Skallogg.", he says, still hiccupping.

I sigh.

"I can't believe I had to lie again to get your drunk ass out of there!"

He gives me a confused look.

"Wait, you're not ill?"

Finally, I give up my charade and roll my eyes at him.

"Of course not. But I bet you'll be very soon, considering the amount of ice cream you downed during the last twenty minutes."

Henry shakes his head. His pitch-black hair flies wildly and his lips form a firm line.

"Nonsense! 'm fine. A li'l ice cream can' hurt me."

Slurred speech. He's only a heartbeat from assaulting furniture now. Or worse, whoever is unlucky enough to walk by. I tighten my grip around his shoulders and steer him to his room. He stumbles along and curses when he realizes what I'm doing.

"You can't send me t' bed like a kid! 'm too old for tha' !"

"Right now, you're literally too drunk to keep yourself upright. Come on, we're almost there."

His body weighs heavily against mine when I pause to open the door to his room. He yawns and leans his head on my shoulder as I drag him to his bed.

"You're uncomf'tbl.", he slurs.

"Sit down."

It's not the first time I have to deal with Henry while he is this drunk. I can't remember how many times I had to hide how drunk he truly was from our parents and everyone else. He's not exactly an alcoholic. His mother makes sure of that. But he likes the wooziness he gets from drinking more than he should. At least that's what he told me. I pull off his shoes first and then his pants, leaving him in his boxers and spotless black shirt. Henry growls and lies on his back.

"Stay put", I order him before I fetch a fresh T-Shirt from the drawer.

He sticks out his tongue at me.

"Yes, you' Highn'ss."

Ignoring his teasing, I bend down and start to unbutton his shirt. He grimaces. And I stop.

"What is it?", I ask.

His sneer is gone and he looks almost surprised.

"Oh", is all he says.

He brings a hand to his stomach and lets it rest there. It is tempting, but I know that rolling my eyes again won't help.

"I told you you'd get a stomachache from all that ice cream."

Henry pouts like a grumpy child.

" 't wasn' tha' much! Jus' a li'l…"

He trails off, clumsily rubbing his belly. An unholy sounding gurgle emerges from it, a promise of what's to come.

"Do you feel like you have to throw up?", I ask.

"No."

"Good."

I finish unbuttoning his shirt and quickly pull the grey T-Shirt over his head. He protests with a groan as I lift his hand from his stomach and stuff it through the sleeve, but he doesn't fight me.

"Ginge", he whines, interrupting me in the process of tugging him in, " 'm sick."

Somewhere deep down in my chest, a feeling of utter relief settles. It seems like he will skip behaving like a foul-mouthed beast this time and jump straight to the puking part instead. I'm not sure yet whether to be glad he ate that ice cream or not. Henry looks at me, his blue-green eyes big and innocent.

"Do you need to throw up now?"

"Dunno..."

He sits up abruptly and leans his forehead on my shoulder. His stomach protests noisily and he groans along with it. My eyes scan the room fast and I reach for the first thing in sight just when he starts retching. I empty the crumpled papers from the bin onto the floor and hold it under Henry's chin. What lands in there barely a second later has me fight my own urge to puke, but I manage to push it aside. When he is done, he shakes with exhaustion.

"Easy", I say, "Breathe."

He draws a few shaky breaths, then hands me the bin and curls up on the bed. I rub his back for a moment before I go and clean up the mess. This is probably the worst he's been in months. I can't remember him being sick like this ever since New Year's. When I come back into his room with a big glass of water, he hasn't moved much. I put the glass down and kneel on the mattress, leaning over him to get a glimpse at his face. He moans quietly while hugging a pillow.

"Henry?"

He doesn't answer, but when I'm about to get up, he grabs my arm and pulls. I lose my balance and topple over. For a few seconds, I can’t manage to move or speak. The pounding of my heart is so heavy and loud in my ears that I’m sure he can hear it, too.

"What’s this now?", I ask as soon as I find my voice.

His grip on my arm is tight, too tight for me to be able to free myself. Not while I'm still lying on top of him.

"Stay. I'm mis'rbl."

Despite my racing heart taking up most of my attention, I feel the corners of my mouth twitch.

"You don't need me to hold your hand until you fall asleep, you big baby."

In the dim light of the moon I can see that his pale face is lighting up in shameful red.

"Shuddup. Jus' don't go."

"You're impossible."

Even though I sigh as I kick off my shoes, I feel strangely at ease again when I pull the covers over the both of us and rub his back a bit to give him what he wants. He responds with what sounds almost like a purr and relaxes against my hand.

"Eleanor is right", I mumble into the sheets, "I'm way too soft on you. After all, this is entirely your own fault."

Henry's supposedly grumpy snort turns quickly into another groan and he curls up further around his middle.

"To t' gallows with you, ginge..."

I snicker.

"Yeah, yeah, you can curse me all you want tomorrow. Go to sleep, you fool."

Slowly but gradually, Henry's whines dissolve into soft snores. I draw my hand back and press it to my chest. I’m sure by now that my face is just as red as his has been, but what is much worse is that even though he probably won’t remember a thing come morning, I surely will. And it will only make things more complicated .