“I have paperwork to finish,” Finneas corrected, retrieving a key from his pocket and fitting it inside a knob. “You have a hot bath and a bed waiting for you.” Maron finally let go of him as he entered the room, stretching his arms above his head and letting out a huff.

“I’m not fragile. It was just a bad day.” I can work.

“Fine. Work with me after you have a bath.” It was frustrating when Maron refused rest. Most days, he was fine. He could manage a day with minimal pain and high energy. But the bad days came, and Maron always seemed hellbent on pushing through them at the same frantic pace he could usually afford. With crutches or sitting at meetings, it wasn’t too bad, but on long days in the public eye, without the aid of his supports, it was a struggle.

At least the worst of it was over. If he just rested tonight, tomorrow would be easier. Finneas moved through the large double doors to Maron’s bedchamber, passing the ornate bed and armoire to reach the bathroom. Before his prince could argue that he could run his own bath, Finneas started the water and dug through the cabinets, finding a small jar containing a thick white salve.

Maron followed behind him, already half undressed. His ornately decorated jacket had been cast aside, his jewelry removed. Finneas turned to him, finding the strings of the emerald silk corset the man wore. His fingers made careful tugs, unraveling the garment until it was loose enough to fall to the floor. Maron, back still to him, pulled loose the buttons of his top, which joined the corset on the tiles below.

The large, dark scar that covered Maron’s back stood in stark contrast to his tan skin. In places, it was smooth, and in others the skin crinkled in odd ways, tapering into unmarred flesh. It spread from his waist up, covering the wide expanse of his shoulders, reaching the back of his neck and the tip of his left earlobe. The burn had long since healed, but still made its presence known.

Finneas dipped his hand into the jar as Maron removed his pants, and carefully pressed his fingers into the man’s back. Maron never jumped at the touch anymore, not like he used to, but there was still sudden tension in his muscles when Finneas made contact. Finneas didn’t speak to sooth him, but rather continued to work with gentle hands to smooth the salve over his skin.

“I hate him,” Maron said, voice breaking the silence so suddenly that Finneas nearly jolted. “Altrusia.” He stepped into the bath, reaching to shut off the water and sinking in to his chin. After a second, Finneas could see some of the stiffness in his jaw melt.

“I had a feeling you might,” Finneas said with a soft laugh.

“You know him.”

“A bit. When I was working as a guest attendant, he refused to have me in his rooms.” It had been years since he had been alone in the presence of Damon Altrusia, but the sick feeling in his gut still remained. “He despises magic, maybe even more than your father.”

Maron let out a sigh. It was all he needed to say.

“With any luck, it’ll just be a quick meeting, you can reject him, and he’ll be on his way.” A hush fell over the room as Finneas took a seat on the stool beside the tub, running soap between his hands. It wasn’t too often that Maron would allow himself to be so tended to, but the exhaustion must have been hitting. Finneas’s fingers moved through his prince’s hair, watching the lather build.

“I know people talk. They really don’t know what I think about him, do they?”

Finneas couldn’t help the laugh that passed through his lips. “You aren’t exactly forthcoming with your thoughts most of the time.”

For a moment, Maron was quiet, allowing Finneas to guide his head back into the water, rinsing the soap from his hair. With his eyes shut and his face finally relaxed, he seemed almost peaceful. It was easy to forget in moments like this the weight that rested on the prince’s shoulders and to see him as nothing more than beautiful and content.

“I won’t. You know that.”

“I know.”

For all the trouble magic may have caused Maron before, for all the scars that refused to heal, he had never held contempt like so many others had on his behalf. Sometimes he was difficult to read, but hatred had never been part of his story. Not for a group over the actions of one, at least.

“I’ll leave you be for a while and get started on that paperwork.” Finneas rose, drying his hands. “I’ll be just outside, so I’ll bother you if I need any help with it.”

At the first desk outside Maron’s bathroom door, a fresh pile of papers had been dropped off while they were out. There were always things being delivered by the castle staff for the pair of them, either directly to Maron’s room or to one of their offices. The pile never seemed to grow much smaller, no matter how well they tended to it.

At least this fresh stack was less horrendously thick than it could have been. A letter for Maron to respond to in the morning, and information on the next day’s meetings. Finneas glanced over each page, occasionally turning his attention toward the sound of bathwater gently sloshing. There was a piece of him that hoped Maron would be tired enough from the warm water and pain-easing salve that he would crawl directly into bed when he was out. Sleep would make all of this better. When footsteps came to a stop at his side and a hand gripped the edge of the desk, supporting the weight of the prince, Finneas rose, offering his seat.

“I’ve got your schedule arranged. If you hurry through getting dressed, you can sleep in a little before your first lesson. I’ll join you after, we’ll meet with Altrusia, and then we have a meeting with the dignitaries from Etaria in town. We’ll be accompanied by a handful of guards, and I can act as translation assistance.” The endless cycle of making and maintaining schedules had been Finneas’s primary task for the past few years. While remaining at Maron’s side as protection and assistance was what most would describe as his main responsibility, it had become apparent early on that keeping him on time and organized was the most vital aspect for maintaining order day to day.

“I’m sorry to have you stay in the same room as him.” Maron looked down, absently eyeing the papers before him.

Finneas shook his head. “And have you trapped in there alone with him? I’d rather not. We’ll face it together.” It may make his stomach churn to imagine being in close proximity to the man, but it was better than forcing Maron to deal with it on his own.

“He was terrible to you before. And what he did in the war…”

Finneas shuddered. Damon Altrusia was new to nobility, and everything about his rise to his position was unnerving. To earn a title for one’s family was a high honor, one that often took a lifetime to achieve. To fight for the kingdom would never be enough to earn rank in itself. It took extreme prowess or power, pushing through the most dire of circumstances and rising above the rest. Being a decently strong nineteen year old in the military wouldn’t garner any royal attention. There were hundreds just like him. But the particular blood he spilled in the name of his king was more than enough.

“It doesn’t matter. You need me, and I’ll be there.”

Maron frowned at that.

“Besides, I may be a magician, but I’m nothing special. I’m not an actual target.” Altrusia may have had contempt, but he only showed real violence toward those who stood against the crown. It wasn’t as though Finneas could be accused of opposing the royal family.

Maron rose, and Finneas offered an arm for balance. The prince moved forward without him, pulling himself into bed. He seemed to move a bit easier than he had earlier in the night. That was a good sign. Finneas followed, stopping at the edge of the bed.

“If you need a pill, there are some in the bedside table. And if you need anything else, I’m only a moment away.” As much as he hated to leave the man’s side on nights like this, he knew Maron would hate to be coddled.

Maron nodded, his eyes falling shut as he lay his head on his pillow. “Thank you, Finneas.”

At that, Finneas smiled, shaking his head. “Just doing my job, Your Highness.”

“Mm.”

It didn’t come as much of a surprise when Finneas heard the prince’s breathing shift only moments later. On nights like this, after far too long spent at events, he always fell asleep quickly, as long as the ache of his back subsided enough to rest. Finneas allowed himself a moment of quiet indulgence, his hand reaching forward and brushing the stray platinum hair from Maron’s forehead, away from his eyes. The man didn’t stir, far too used to his ministrations to be bothered. If it were anyone else, Finneas was sure he’d startle awake, but it had always been different when it was just the two of them.

It was odd sometimes, to realize both how much the man had grown since they’d met as little kids in the palace hallways. Fifteen years had passed, and the small child cowering behind a potted plant had turned into a fine prince.

Finneas moved through the sitting room, ensuring each door was locked and drawing the curtains shut, turning each light out. It was a routine he knew like the back of his hand. Ensure the room was secure, ensure that Maron would be comfortable. Those were the primary duties of his position: to protect and to comfort.

He didn’t need to move through the bedchamber with as much care as he did– Maron never woke when he carried out his nightly duties, even when he accidentally made more noise than he intended to. Still, Finneas’s hands were delicate as he drew the final set of doors shut, turning the lock into place. The more rest Maron got, the better, and the last thing he wanted was to take any of it from him.

Aside from the entrance, the bathroom, and the balcony, one final door was nestled in the corner of the room, diminutive and unassuming. If one wasn’t looking, it nearly blended into the wall with its placement beside a large bookshelf. Finneas made his way to it, entering.

The room before him was much smaller and incredibly plain in comparison to the lavish chambers of the crown prince. A small bed adorned with plush pillows and a small stuffed dog, a desk, and a wardrobe occupied the narrow space, well lit by a single overhead lamp. It wasn’t anything particularly nice, but it was warm and comfortable. He approached the door on the far end of the room, ensuring it was locked. It wasn’t often that he exited his chambers into the main hall, preferring to move through Maron’s rooms and ensure things were to the prince’s liking along his way, but it was always best to make sure it was secure. Maids flitted in and out of every room in the palace, and while it wasn’t likely one would forget to lock a door, it wasn’t impossible.

Finding everything in order, Finneas took a seat on the edge of the bed, letting out a sigh he hadn’t realized he’d been holding onto. It wasn’t as though it had been a terrible day, but it was difficult not to worry when he was separated from Maron for so much of it, especially during a large event and especially when it was clear that the man was in pain. To keep away from him when he was needed felt like a failure to his prince, to his friend. At least it was over. At least tomorrow could be easier. Even if Altrusia would be present, Finneas and Maron would be able to face the day together.

Author's Note

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