“That dirty bitch!”

Quent was grabbed violently by the arm. Around the corner, the prince had been waiting for him. Right now the man was dragging him through the halls of the palace.

“She did it. Of course she did. Think I wouldn’t notice. Oh I notice. Get out of the fucking way!” Furiously prince Oweahen tried to sweep servants out of his way with his free arm. They quickly scattered, not daring to look up. Quent knew there was pity on their faces. They pitied him.

The tearing at his arm hurt and he tried his best to keep up with the prince, afraid the joint in his shoulder would dislocate. Quent was still very light in his head and with glee he thought back to the promise of the Archsorceress. That she would protect him. Surely she’d stop Oweahen in whatever his terrible plan for him might be. She would show up in all her splendour and command the prince to stop, like she had commanded him to leave before. It didn’t matter if his arm became dislocated, she would fix it for him with her great magical powers and he would feel it again, that unearthly sensation that came with her touch. How he longed for it already…

During his daydreaming Quent hadn’t noticed where the prince had been dragging him. It was an awfully silent place, except for the tranquil sound of running water. The air too was moist, filled with the fragrance of herbs, spices and flowers.

The next thing he knew, Quent was in the water. The ice cold water of one of the bathhouse’s largest and deepest baths. With his eyes wide open he tried to surface for air but his robes were in the way of his arms, getting all tangled up.

In blind panic he surfaced for a couple of moments, gasping for precious oxygen. The prince was standing at the edge of the pool, looking at him and saying things, his arms crossed, as if he was giving a lecture.

“… helps… just stay in the … won’t work when you …”

“I ca-!” water filled Quents lungs and he started coughing violently. If only he could get to the edge of the pool… Yet there he went, underwater again, where all sound was dimmed. He barely noticed the cold anymore. All that was on his mind now was the struggle for air. Was there a water spell he knew that could help him now? Surely there was, but the panic was making it impossible for him to come up with one. For a moment his head bobbed up again and he managed to catch a few words from the prince’s tirade.

“… are you resisting…”

“I can’t swi-!”

His robes were writhed around his limbs and his hood was over his head now, covering his mouth and eyes. This time he couldn’t get up, no matter how hard he tried. He was shaking his arms and legs frantically, holding his hands up hoping to grasp something he could hold on to. There was of course nothing. Fear pervaded his thoughts. What if he would die right here? He had to surface. He needed air. He would lose consciousness if he didn’t get up again soon.

Suddenly Quent felt a pair of strong arms wrapping around his chest, pressing against his armpits, pulling him up. He stopped resisting as the force lifted him to the surface, where he gasped for breath and nearly choked on it. His throat was burning as if on fire.

He was being pulled backwards, a pair of legs touching his as they made determined movements, pushing against the water, creating the motion.

“You can stand here! Mage! Hey! Let your feet touch the bottom of the pool!”

Quent was turned around at the moment he was just coughing up some water, which landed right in the prince’s face. The man closed his eyes but didn’t let go of him. Instead, he was holding him tightly, making sure he wouldn’t go under again.

It was true, Quent’s toes touched the bottom of the pool and he planted his feet down, letting them connect with the sweet earth once again. Slowly he regained his balance and got a grip over his body. His fingers were digging into the skin of the prince’s bare shoulders with a force he didn’t know he possessed. Blushing heavily, he let go.

The prince too removed his arms, but not before making sure Quent wouldn’t go under again. The monarch had pulled off his expensive shirt before jumping into the water and Quent was faced right with his impressive chest, well-shaped from all the sword practice. He swallowed and immediately started choking again.

“I- I ca- I can’t swim!” he managed to spit out.

“I didn’t know!” the prince replied in frustration. “How should I have known you would drown?!”

“They don’t- don’t teach you swimming at the c-citadel!”

“Well they should! She had her magic all over you!”

Only now did Quent notice the clarity in his head. It felt as if his eyes had finally adjusted to the dark and he could actually make out the shape of objects that formed reality. “Water doesn’t work against magic!” He protested.

“It does! You’re here again!”

“Water doesn’t work that way! And bloody magic doesn’t either!” Quent had to admit that he was feeling much better however.

“Well try to lift that enchantment on your own next time if you know better! You’re the mage! Not me!” Angrily the prince went underwater, only to dive up again immediately, causing a shower of water to wash over Quent. With the same automatic grace he had shown that morning, the prince brushed his hand through his hair.

Quent felt his heart skip a beat when he thought back to that morning. “I’m.. I’m sorry. Just… please don’t throw me in the water next time… your majesty.”

Oweahen sighed. “I’m sorry. This is just the only thing I know that works when she does that…”

“The enchantment…?

“Yes. I’ve been doing it for years, ever since I started noticing something was off. I’ve been refining the technique, I just need to think of the cold water from this pool to make sure she doesn’t get to my mind.”

“That’s impossible… Something simple as that wouldn’t work against higher magic like the Archsorceress possesses.”

Oweahen shook his head again, huffing. “Well sometimes you just need a cold bath.”

A shiver went through Quent’s body.

“Let’s get out of this pool. Do you know how to get out off the water?”

“Yes, I’m not- I mean yes. Yes my prince.”

The prince grabbed a couple of towels from a pile, totally disregarding the hard work someone had put into folding them so neatly as they fell to the ground. A pang of annoyance went through Quent, but he kept still as he caught the towel thrown at him and gladly wrapped it around himself. The prince didn’t look at him as he started striding away.

“Grab my shirt. I want to dry off in the evening sun.”