I spent the entire morning asleep, and the entire afternoon drinking honeyed tea. For how much disgusted I was by it, it at least seemed to help a little, and it soothed Edmunds sour mood.

The possibility of my voice faltering seemed to weigh even heavier upon my manager than it did me. Though, to be fair, I was in no state to worry about such a thing. I had hardly slept, and hadn’t eaten in a day and a half. Maybe that was bothering Edmund as well: the possibility of his artist collapsing on stage. Now that would give rise to some very unfortunate rumours…

I tried to gain a little nourrishment, if only to placate Edmund. Chewing was tedious and bothersome. But I managed to get some bread into my system, and even keep it down long enough for my body to be able to extract some much-needed nutrients.

I slipped dutifully into my pre-show regime, and was perfectly charming and pleasant every single second I spent in the company of others. Showing the world all of the radiant Prince Vivace and none of the distraught mess that sat inside.

My voice regained its usual timbre later in the afternoon, possibly due to the copious amounts of sugary muck I’ve been pouring into my system. Therefore, Ed thought it wise to supply me with honeywine onstage.

It was certainly not unheard of for a minstrel to lavish himself on alcoholic beverages during a concert. Yet, I had always been disinclined to do so. For various reasons. The first and foremost being that I did not want my state to affect my performance. Not just because of the backlash to my reputation. But more so because I took pride in my calling, and I did not want to disgrace my craft by pretending I could still give my audience the show they deserved in an intoxicated state.

The second reason, and the ground on which I would not even overindulge after I was done performing, was simple: I could not risk the mask slipping. I was not sure what people would find underneath, and that terrified me enough to hit the breaks after a certain amount of alcohol.

Don’t mistake me for a lightweight though. Any person that spends over eighty percent of their nights in a tavern will develop quite the tolerance over time. Which meant that the bottle of honeywine onstage seemed totally inconsequential, right up until the moment I jumped from my stool to start strumming ‘The Maiden of Hellcliffe’, and almost fell over.

I saved face by adding an elaborate and well-timed twirl to my swerve, making it seem deliberate and even prompting some people to start dancing themselves.

I glimpsed at Edmund, whose facial expression signalled he was clearly reviewing his own choices on the beverage he had provided me with, yet there was no hint of alarm. Which probably meant no one in the audience should have noticed my slight mishap.

The next time I glanced over at the bar, I could swear I saw Elijah standing there in his nonchalant teasing way. But the moment I looked back, he was gone. It happened twice more during the show, where I could swear I saw him, only to have him disappear the second I focussed my gaze. 

Needless to say, I laid off the booze for the rest of the show, and focussed completely on my objective of bestowing upon the crowd a joyful night they would not lightly forget. 

The reactions of various fans afterwards assured me that I had certainly delivered in that aspect, which was a slight consolation over the fact that I felt completely dead inside.

I went about my rounds as usual: taking all compliments in grace, attentively answering the questions I had received a million times already, returning the flirtatious remarks of middle-aged women and exchanging in cheerful banter with their husbands.     

I politely refused an invitation to a card game some locals were starting up with the excuse I had to see my manager, who was in fact engrossed in a lively discussion with another man at the bar. When I reached their side, I immediately realised that I was not the only person that Edmund had supplied with copious amounts of alcohol. Therefore, after receiving a multitude of compliments about my performance from both gentlemen, I let their banter be as may and excused myself. 

As soon as I felt my duty was done, the ache in my chest returned tenfold. I pondered joining the cardgame for a second, for it would force me to stay in my persona and give me a chance to indulge in at least one of my vices. But I reconsidered, realising I was too inebriated to rely on my wits and my sleight of hand, when I had no idea who I was up against.

In the end, I decided on making myself scarce. Trading my empty bottle of honeywine for a filled bottle devoid of any wretched honey, and settling outside on a bench in the autumn air. It was quite refreshing in comparison to the damp heat inside of the inn. Better reeking too.

“I was wondering when the famed Prince Charming would finally descend from his throne and join the sorrow of the commoners.” A voice startled me.

I whipped my head around and stared straight into the eyes I had lost my heart to.

“Elijah…” I breathed, too amazed with his presence to add anything else.

I wondered if he was real, or if this was a hallucination brought on by lack of food, sleep and sense. If he was real though, that meant that the gods had heard my prayers. That they had granted me my greatest wish.

As if he read my mind, he knotted his brow slightly, and sat down next to me on the bench. “I don’t know why I’m here, really. I mean, you’re clearly a lecherous scoundrel, living up to every last bit of your reputation, and too ashamed to even consider letting a mere cadger share your bed. Yet, here I am again…”

“It’s fate.” I told him, offering him the bottle I had just taken a sip from. “The gods brought you to me once, and I failed to act. Then they brought you to me a second time, and I deserted them by insulting you. Today they bring you to me a third time. And I cannot fail, for if I let you leave this time, you will take my soul with you.”

“So, you propose to stop me from leaving by handing me a bottle of wine?” he asked, demonstratively taking a swig from the bottle. But not before I noticed his cheeky half-smile caused a slight dimple in his cheek that I would worship for eternity.

And then I did something I hadn’t done in years. Not since my mother died. Maybe not even in the years before that. I stood up, let go of any pretence, and honoured my promise to the gods.

“No.” I told him. “I intend to make you stay by giving you my all. First, my apologies. For I never intended to offend you. I do not think you unworthy of my attention, my love, or my bed. On the contrary, I hold you in such esteem I hardly know how to conduct myself. Secondly, I believe our fates to be aligned. From the moment our eyes first met, I have been overwhelmed by the feeling that you and I belong together. And I cannot help but wonder if you feel the same.”

“You’re quite the sweet-talker aren’t you?” he scoffed. “I see how that honeyed tongue of yours would convince a doe-eyed maiden, but I will not let it fool me into submitting myself as your conquest for the night.”

He crossed his arms and brought that defiant smirk back, but I could see the lie in his eyes clear as day. We were both stricken with the same arrow. Confident my passion was returned, I pressed on.

“As talented as I may be in conveying sentiment though words, I fear not even the god of literature would have the vocabulary to express the intensity of my heart's yearning. I must also confess that no one, man or woman, has ever even given me the slightest taste of this transcendent longing that sets my soul ablaze in this moment. So, fear not that I offer you a mere line. I surrender to you my love, my heart, and my everything. Forever.”

My words must have shook him. For he averted his eyes, but not before I saw them glaze over. He took a step away from me, before locking on my gaze once more.

“You feel it too, don’t you?” I asked him.

His abashed silence told me what I needed to know.

I leaned in, pausing as the tip of my nose brushed his. I trailed my hand through his thick unruly locks, and looked him in the eyes. The deep blue vortexes drew me in all the way to their dilated pupils, they were full of emotion, conveying to me a mixed message of hesitation, trepidation, lust, exhilaration and love, before lowering their gaze to my lips.

His lips parted as soon as they met mine, his hands shot up to my hair and grabbed it, as if to prevent me from ever moving away. I would not. I could feel my own passion returned in his kiss, which confirmed my conviction.

This is love.