A story about a prince and his pretty consort presumptive.
Crown Prince Raffe, as the only son of High King Alizade and sole heir to the High Throne of the Ruemri Empire, is bound to fulfill one important duty for the crown. Even if that duty involv...
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THE FAMILIAR movement of riding a horse woke Soren with a start, gasping, struggling to speak and think all at once, and not really succeeding at one of them. Then he suddenly felt nauseous and hastily held a hand to the side of his head to steady himself.
Bit by bit, Soren let the things around him filter through his groggy senses. Wood and horses. Heat and dust. Sweat. And something faintly sweet and male and musky.
Raffe, he realized. That was Raffe's scent.
He should not have known about that, but he apparently did.
Soren stifled a sigh and half wished he was still unconscious. That was until he realized that the scent was coming from behind him and he was leaning on someone. His own heavy, dark blue cloak covered half his face and when he tried to move, he gingerly noticed the soft cloth strapped around his waist. And then understanding dawned on him. Despite his heavy limbs, he struggled to move.
"Easy," came a gruff voice near his ear. "You're safe."
It was definitely Raffe.
"Please tell me I'm not riding a horse while tied to you," Soren mumbled and winced when he heard a chuckle.
"You're riding a horse while tied to me." Soren could practically hear the amusement in Raffe's voice. He groaned loudly. "It's better than lugging your unconscious body around like a sack of rice, wouldn't you say?"
"I don't want to think about it at all."
He squinted, the afternoon sun too bright for his own liking. When his eyes adjusted to the harsh light, he noticed that they were moving quite steadily in the middle of a golden clearing, a myriad of autumn leaves swirling beneath them. He could also faintly observe an outline of a palace in front of them.
"Where are we?"
"In Zuan. We're nearing the Verdant Palace," Raffe said and scrambled for something, Soren could feel his movement from behind.
"Already?"
"You slept for a day and a half."
He gratefully accepted the waterskin that Raffe offered, noting a bit too late how scratchy and hoarse his throat felt like. He pulled off his hood and drank his fill. The cool water quickly eased his aching throat and he murmured thanks to Raffe when he handed it back.
He started when Raffe's breath ghosted his ear and whispered, "Thank you. Back there, without you, we could have been all dead."
Soren blinked twice before answering. "I did what anyone of my kind would do. I was also saving myself, you know." He refrained from inquiring about the casualties, those who had been affected before he could intervene. He had been forewarned, the sole individual among them, yet he felt inexperienced, foolish, and sluggish in his response, resulting in the loss of lives that should never have been endangered. Soren bit his lip for the utter failure. How could he face the other soldiers now? Shame curled in the pit of his stomach.
His thoughts abruptly halted when he heard the faint chuckle from the prince. In that moment, Soren was immensely grateful that he wasn't having this conversation face-to-face with Raffe. He assured himself that the heat he felt rising in his cheeks was not a sign of blushing.
Blushing? Him? Nonsense.
When Raffe sobered, he said, "It had cost you, though."
"Just a damn headache," Soren downplayed, although he was also battling dizziness, prickling skin, and limbs that felt as if they'd been trampled by a herd of elephants.
He then noticed the bandage on Raffe's leg. He wondered if it felt as severely as it was bandaged. Surely it was not just a 'small wound' if the bandages looked like what it was now. Soren's brows dropped down with obvious fear and concern but he rapidly drowned it out by asking, "Does it hurt?" with a rather calm and steady voice that he could manage.
The prince obviously knew what he was talking about. He lightly touched his own leg. "It stings. But it heals. We have talented healers with us."
"Is it because of me?" Soren asked, rather hesitantly, fearing that he was becoming the burden that Raffe had accused him of before.
"No," Raffe answered. There was something in the tone of his voice that unsettled Soren, but he conceded that he was just too tired to figure it out. "It's my own stupid carelessness."
A long silence preceded them, and Soren felt his eyes growing heavy again. He didn't really have the strength to sit up straight, so he continued to lean heavily on the prince's chest, taking advantage of the hard flesh and the simple fact that Raffe wasn't complaining. Somewhat it was almost comfortable and warm and... and safe. Soren surprised himself by what he was thinking and noticed quite lately the fierce beat of his own heart.
He was seconds away from escaping this whole ridiculous situation when Raffe silently and casually inquired, "Are you hungry?"
Soren, yet again, surprised himself by how steady his voice sounded when he answered with, "Not quite." Contrary to the current mayhem of various emotions inside him.
"Well, you should be. Your friend here has been gathering all kinds of berries for you. Some I don't even recognize, so I'm not entirely sure if everything's edible." Raffe chuckled faintly, handing Soren a bundled cloth. As Soren slowly opened it, he smiled appreciatively, discovering an array of wild berries carefully wrapped inside. Looking down, he noticed Jiri walking beside Farlan, keeping up with the larger animal's wide strides.
Despite the sudden flare of a headache and dizziness, Soren reached out his hand, suppressing a wince. "Thank you, dear friend," he said warmly as the stag affectionately nudged his hand.
"What do they taste like?" Raffe asked suddenly. "I haven't seen some of it before."
Raffe snorted. "Give me one." Soren's eyebrow rose, but he chose not to comment on the demanding tone in Raffe's voice. He picked a ripe red berry and handed it over his shoulder.
Unexpectedly, a warm, slick tongue licked his finger.
He expected the prince to take it by hand because people would normally do that. He was not, however, prepared to feel the touch of soft lips closing on the tips of his own forefinger and thumb. Soren barely stifled a surprised gasp as his cheeks burned hot, realizing that no matter how he denied it, he was, indeed, definitely blushing.
