Their next mission would take a week or two to prepare, so they had time to at least distract themselves a little. There was still much in the present that he could show his companion, some of which were even good things.

She had also decided to do everything in her power to postpone the horrible mission the other idiot wanted to send them on, as the chances of someone like her prince surviving such a mission were almost nil. The poor man had never known the meaning of the word ‘competency.’

Sadly, she couldn't convince him to leave the apartment.

Ailill had been melancholic at his best and irate at his worst. Despite Harper's efforts to make him forget the incident with the thugs, it seemed to weigh on his conscience. Even worse, he seemed excited to travel to the future and prove how brave he was. Beginner's nonsense, of course.

The future in question didn't even have a breathable atmosphere. The technicians only gave you a stupid little suit, a helmet, and an oxygen tank. There were no bases or camps to go to, no people from that era to give you directions. Nothing but toxic air and the ugliest plants and animals I had ever seen.

The equipment was also cheap and had no safety measures: countless employees had met their end on missions to the future when they accidentally fell asleep and disconnected their oxygen tanks.

Obviously, no employee strayed far from the small cave where the intertemporal portal always took them; the risk wasn't worth it. Even the plants wanted to kill you there.

But the prince longed for the challenge.

It didn't help that the video report made by the drones had been leaked, thanks to a certain individual who shall remain nameless. Now everyone was giving him pitying looks, pats on the back and words of encouragement. It certainly wasn't what a medieval prince wanted.

At least the nights with him were entertaining. Ailill was one of those men who demand more sex when they're depressed. Harper didn't know if this was healthy or not, but at least it distracted him for a while. Sometimes he would fall asleep on top of her after screwing and crying. It was an interesting experience.

They had tried to socialise a little in the staff bar, but the aforementioned interactions with other employees quickly ruined everything.

In the end, Harper went to the bar alone, where the others constantly asked her why she put up with Ailill.

‘He's an idiot,’ ‘He won't last a year here,’ ‘You deserve someone better, you can still report him and get another partner...’

She always ignored all the comments; after all, none of them understood him the way she did. None of them had read his short biography—a footnote in a study about his brother Baird—nor had they interviewed the locals from his time.

He was a child in a man's body, a broken doll, a tragic historical figure that no one could understand the way she did.

She wasn't proud of this, but she loved that Ailill needed her, and it filled a void she didn't dare mention to anyone. He cried out her name sometimes at night and asked her in his sleep to come closer; in response, she felt a satisfaction greater than sex.

Lately, her prince spent his days watching television and romping around under a pile of blankets. This wasn't unusual after a traumatic event, but it was obvious that Ailill held himself to a higher standard, being a contender for the throne and all...

Harper wanted to help, but when she tried to approach him, she found herself unable to say anything.

That maternal side of her wanted to leave him there, fragile, sad...

She wanted to teach him to play video games more complicated than ladybird's, but anything in three dimensions made him throw up, and throwing up made him feel weak, which made him feel unmanly, and finally, made him throw things at the walls. Things that were difficult to clean up.

She gave up her attempts to cheer him up, largely because she had run out of ideas. She decided it was better to relax on her own, at the bar or watching videos.

Just three days before the next mission, she found the inspiration to talk about feelings and the importance of not letting depression take over, lest Mental Stability lock him away again. She sat down next to him and crawled under the blankets, into the strange fabric womb she had created.

‘I understand that it must be too much... too many things in too little time. In just two months, you've been through a lot.’

Ailill didn't respond, but he didn't move away from her or throw a tantrum. It was a start.

‘First you died, then you came back to life, then you went to Mental Stability...’

She stopped when he grimaced, and the pause allowed her to realise that she had nothing else to say. Life at AEONALIZE was always a never-ending parade of events that didn't let you breathe, and there was nothing she could say that would really help him.

Frankly, she herself would have ended it all—again—if it weren't illegal and if she didn't have the support of modern medicine; this thought then led her to accept that perhaps her prince needed more help than she could provide:

‘If you really feel bad, we have medicine to control that...’

Ailill took control and turned off the television.

‘Are my ears deceiving me, wench? You have medicine for melancholy?’

The sudden change took her by surprise.

‘It's not like it cures depression, it just puts you in a better mood than...’

‘You have POTIONS that make people happy?!’ Ailill raised his voice, more excited than angry. ‘And why, in the name of all the gods, haven't you given them to me?!’