Silas winced, instinctively trying to back away before Lucian pulled him back.

Riven had just left the cloth bandages and a small tin of salves in front of the Prince’s bedroom door, and then disappeared once again into the hallways, shooting them one last apprehensive glance — which did not help ease Silas’ nerves in the slightest.

Surely, a Royal would have no need to learn how to apply ointment or provide care for injuries. After all, they most likely had the best doctors in all of Paican ready to serve them for the smallest of paper cuts.

The boy sat as still as possible, his eyes never leaving Lucian’s fingers, afraid of any mistake that could worsen his condition — he had seen how easily infection could spread in the Slums, when wounds were not treated correctly. He knew one man who had to have his arm cut off, at the risk of his own life, all because he did not have bandages to cover raw flesh. And with him, there were many more: countless, nameless faces, gone too soon.

It did not take long, however, for his concern to slightly soften, and for his shoulders to relax.

The Prince’s touch felt cold against his burning skin, and so did the ointment, which he was applying with gentle strokes — careful not to press too hard into the open wounds.

After each application, he would wipe his hand on a damp towel and dry it shortly after, before scooping more of the ointment — preventing the possibility of contaminating the tin. Every movement was precise, practiced even, as if Lucian had done this many times before. 

Slowly, he moved from Silas’ collarbones to his chest, removing his shirt completely and exposing his bruised and bloodied torso. The boy watched as Lucian dipped a new, fresh towel into a basin of water and cleaned him thoroughly with it, the pain easing for a brief moment. He let out a soft breath — the first not laced with tension in hours.

His gaze shifted, from the Prince’s long fingers to his visibly muscular forearms, now exposed after rolling up his sleeves. Then, it traveled to his chest, and to his neck, where a golden pendant was hanging — a turquoise stone encapsulated in it. Lastly, it landed on his face.

He noticed his brows were slightly furrowed, his eyes focused. A few droplets of sweat were rolling down his forehead and falling onto his cheekbones. His mouth, ever so slightly open. The Royal family was known for the beauty the Gods had entrusted them with, and despite his reservations, Silas found himself unable to deny it. There was something unsettling about how Lucian looked in that moment. Something too perfect to be human, but too human to be Godly. 

“Enjoy what you’re seeing?”

Silas snapped out of his trance, his cheeks flushing just enough for Lucian to notice. The boy cleared his throat, looking away, and his shoulders tensed once more.

“Who was that woman?”

Lucian hummed, a grin still on his lips from Silas’ reaction. “Why are you asking? Jealousy, perhaps?”

He scoffed, the sudden movement causing his chest to ache. “I heard you call her sister.”

“Indeed.” Lucian straightened back up, applying the last few touches to Silas’ bandages. “That was Mira. She’s my older sister.”

“You seem to respect her.”

The Prince cocked his head to the side, finally meeting the boy’s eyes, a quiet confusion dancing in his — as if asking him to explain.

“You were at a loss for words when she asked about your secret. You are never at a loss for words.” Silas paused for a moment. “You also let her mock you, but it doesn’t seem to anger you. I could almost swear you talk to each other just like normal siblings.”

Lucian let out a small laugh, while placing all the items he had just used to treat Silas back in a wooden box. “I’m sure that’s appalling to you. Two Royals acting like humans? Oh, the horror.”

His laugh died down gradually, as he reached for Silas’ shirt and began putting it back on, fixing its buttons carefully.

Silas was about to protest, when something in his expression stopped him.

“I suppose you’re right. It is unusual.” The Prince stood, pulling his sleeves back down. “Mira is unlike the rest of them. With her, it is possible to be just siblings.”
There was a flicker of something in his voice, but it did not linger enough for him to grasp it.

The boy swallowed, unsure what to say. He looked down at his chest, and it hit him how well it had been treated: the bandages were clean and sturdy, clearly applied with precision. And his pain was much less sharp than just a few moments prior.

“You shall sleep on the bed tonight.” Lucian turned away from him, now facing the mirror and adjusting his hair. “It should help you heal faster. Then, tomorrow, we will begin your training.”

“Where will you sleep?” Silas looked back at the silk sheets, a sense of worry slowly rising. “Surely not—”

“There.” Without looking at him, Lucian pointed at one of the couches. “I’m not that brazen to ask to share a bed on the first night. Tomorrow, however, that is a different story.” He smiled, searching for Silas’ eyes in the reflection, the usual mocking tone coating his words once again.

“Not a chance. I’ll take the couch.” Silas tried to stand up, but the air was robbed from his lungs — just like on the carriage. He knew he needed to rest, but he was not willing to show it. Not yet. He hoped the Prince had not noticed his failed attempt, and quickly started talking again. “What... What sort of training are you referring to?”

Lucian grabbed the wooden box and walked back in his direction, resting his hand on his shoulder. “You shall find out tomorrow. Now, stop pretending you have any strength left and lie down. I’ll return this to Riven and come back.” He pushed him gently, and Silas’ head hit the soft pillows — a feeling so luxurious he had never experienced before in his life.
The silk was cool beneath his cheek, the scent of lavender coming from the fabric faint but present.

His eyes closed, almost unwillingly, surrendering to the comfort. But as he forced himself to open them, he saw Lucian walking toward the door. And before he knew it, his hand flew forward, reching for his arm.

There was still something he needed to know. Something that had been pressing in the back of his mind ever since seeing the tears on his mother's face.

“Wait. You said you’d tell me the truth. Why did you ask to marry me?”

Lucian tensed. “I said, perhaps.”

“How do you suppose I should help you if I don’t even know what I’m becoming a part of?”

The Prince looked at Silas from over his shoulder, contemplating for a brief moment. Studying him. Then, he returned his gaze to the door, yanking his arm away.

“I want this Kingdom to end with me. That should be enough to make you want to help me.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and none of them spoke.

With that last sentence, he was gone, slamming the door behind him.