The tower of pastries and sandwiches in the library was set for two. Finneas tucked himself neatly away in the corner of the room, a cup of tea in his hands. He closed his eyes, laying his head in his hand for just a moment. There were far too many letters before him to rest for long, but after forcing his way through a large number of them in the morning while thoughts of Damon Altrusia lingered in his mind had left him exhausted. Between invitations, requests from party planners, and the various other correspondence for the ball, the piles of letters that needed responses had begun to amass in excessive quantities. If he just worked through a few lunches and ignored some of his training times, it would be fine.

The door to the library opened, and Finneas lazily drew his eyes upward, forcing himself to sit properly. Still, he didn’t stand and bow. He was not going to be addressed and was mostly out of sight. If he didn’t give Altrusia too much of his attention, that would be fine. The less he thought about the man, the better. Still, he kept his ears trained on the conversation nearby.

“Your Highness. Thank you again for agreeing to see me once more.”

It was strange. That cocky confidence was gone from his voice. How quickly he had completely changed his tone when it became apparent that loud boasting hadn’t been enough to win Maron over.

“Of course. I appreciate you apologizing to us both. Please, what is on your mind today?”

Finneas stared down at the papers, scribbling out a quick response to a foreign princess who had sent her well wishes for the ball and apologies for being unable to attend. It was a mostly mindless task and allowed him enough brainpower to focus on the others.

“I spoke with your father yesterday.” It seemed the man had summoned everyone in the castle to the throne room for a private audience yesterday, then. “He implored me to try again with you. I admit I was hesitant to bother you, but after speaking with him, I see where I went wrong, and I hope to remedy my transgressions.”

Finneas could have laughed aloud. Hesitant? Had he not been bragging to the Guard that he was certain to win Maron’s heart just days before? It seemed that the man was more than willing to bother Maron and to make himself present in their daily lives.

“I want to know more about you. Please, tell me everything. Of course I have heard the stories of our gracious prince, but unlike the other nobility, I didn’t grow up with family who knew you personally. I’d like to know you now.”

It was a different angle than the absolute launch into boasting that he had attempted last time. Still, it rubbed Finneas the wrong way. It was too different. As if he were trying something as far from his last attempt as possible. Was this his actual self and the previous had been a farce? Or the opposite? Finneas bit his lip as he scribbled through another letter. Most likely, it was neither. People like Altrusia became whoever they needed to be in order to get what they wanted. He’d guessed wrong before, and was now going for an exact opposite.

“There isn’t much to know,” Maron said. “I perform my duties, I read in my free time. That is all.” It wasn’t a very detailed answer, but it was honest enough. The exhaustion was clear in his voice.

“Are you alright, My Prince?”

“Mm. My apologies.”

Finneas placed his pen on the table, glancing toward the table. Maron sat with his cup cradled in his hands, staring at it, barely paying attention to Altrusia. Finneas stood, crossing the short distance between them. He placed a gentle hand on Maron’s shoulder. “Your Highness?”

Altrusia looked up. “What’s going on?”

Maron’s hands shook around his mug, the grip so tight that the porcelain threatened to shatter. Finneas reached down, taking the cup from his hands and setting it further away. “I don’t mean to cut this meeting short, Lord Altrusia, but please allow me to bring His Highness back to his room.” He kept his voice steady as he grabbed Maron’s crutches. “Your Highness, do you think you can walk?”

Maron nodded, but didn’t speak. He gripped one crutch, and then the other, dragging himself up. Finneas kept close to his side, holding the door open for him. Altrusia stood, watching with a curled lip and a furrowed brow as they left, following out the door but not moving beyond it.

At least this library was in Maron’s wing of the palace. The walk wasn’t too far, and Maron walked unsteadily but made it inside his room, finding his bed before he collapsed. He buried his face in his pillow and let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a scream.

Finneas swallowed, finding the salve in the bathroom and another painkiller beside it. There was little he could do of use when the pain struck this suddenly. He just gathered everything as quickly as he could. “Let me help you sit up. Take your pill and I’ll do what I can for your back.”

The process of pushing himself off the mattress was arduous, but Maron managed it. With trembling arms, he forced himself up, reaching for the pill in Finneas’s outstretched hand. He swallowed it dry as Finneas worked at the buttons of his shirt. As gently as he could, Finneas removed it, allowing Maron’s vice grip on his forearm without complaint.

“Alright. Lay down for me.” Finneas spoke softly, watching as Maron shook beneath him, his fingers gripping the pillow for stability. He didn’t answer, but followed the instructions without complaint. “I’m going to touch, tell me if it hurts too much.” Finneas spread the salve over his palms before lowering his hands, placing them against the scarred skin. Maron’s breath quivered, but he didn’t flinch. “It’s alright. I’m right here,” Finneas said. It wasn’t much. Being there didn’t solve anything, but Maron’s breath steadied when he spoke. “I’ve got you.” He spread the salve over his back, kneading his fingers into the muscle. Everything in the man’s back was tense and knotted.

“Thank you.” Maron’s voice wasn’t steady or regal, but he managed to get the words out and that was a good sign. “I need to finish–”

“You need to rest. I’ll finish your paperwork for the day. If you really want an Eterian lesson this evening, I’ll talk to you while you lay here.” He kept working his fingers against the man’s back, careful not to be too rough with it.

Maron sighed. “I can handle it.”

“I know you can,” Finneas said. He wiped his hands on the small towel he’d tossed over his shoulder before smoothing his hand over Maron’s hair. “But you don’t have to. I’m here for a reason. We should have just skipped that meeting entirely.”

“He was acting too weird.”

Finneas nodded, understanding. Even if Maron would have considered resting, taking that meeting was a way to get to the bottom of what was going on with Altrusia. “He was.”

“He wants the crown more than I expected.” Maron’s breathing was heavy and his voice muffled against the pillow. His eyes were closed, but not squeezed shut, and his fingers no longer clutched the bedding so desperately.

Finneas reached down, placing his hand over Maron’s for just a moment. “That’s alright. He won’t have it. We’ll make sure of that.”