D’Argen spent the next few weeks in Lilian’s rooms. He would either sit on Lilian’s bed or beside it with a pack of cards or a book. Abbot and Yaling came in every day, but only for a few hours. A few others visited as well, though Vain was the other most common face. Simeal dropped in to brew concoctions for Lilian to drink. When they were awake.

Lilian spent most of the time asleep. Sometimes it was due to the fatigue that took over their healing body, but more often it was due to the medicines Simeal was giving. A few times now, Lilian shot up from bed in anger, their mahee swirling, but the concoctions Simeal brewed made Lilian fall asleep quickly and silently.

Still, both of those were preferable to the rest of the time, when Lilian just lay still and stared at the wall opposite their bed. They barely moved, did not even acknowledge that D’Argen was in the room, and then their eyes slipped closed without any other movement.

When he was not in Lilian’s rooms, D’Argen was sleeping in his own chambers or with Vah’mor.

Lilian’s attack caused a stir in all Never Born. They all felt that pain in their mahee, so similar to the pain of one of their own dying, but Vah’mor must have felt something more. They never said what, exactly, but the first time they called D’Argen to their rooms just to keep them company, the two barely spoke. Vah’mor was the one to take out a board game with shiny metal pieces and without a word, prompted D’Argen into a few games.

It took almost three weeks for the finger-shaped bruises on D’Argen’s forearm to fade away completely. Much longer than the cuts on his body from Lilian’s mahee. He spent an entire night tracing Arehal’s slim fingers imprinted onto his skin and then the following day he spent it tugging his sleeve down continuously, trying to hide the darkened splotches on his skin.

When they were finally gone, D’Argen decided against calling for a bath to be drawn up in his rooms and instead went into the communal baths underground. They were fed by the same river that spilled out of the castle and into the city, but the water was so hot that he was sweating before he was even in it.

A few others were already there and D’Argen acknowledged them with a smile and a nod. He had taken to quickly ignoring the other Never Born in the castle, those that tried to ambush him with questions about Lilian and the situation. Sitting, completely naked, in the corner of one of the large stone pools with hot water, he felt vulnerable.

A group of three Never Born were in the same pool as him, another five in the one beside them. The eight were leaning across the narrow walkway between the two pools and talking quietly. Every now and then, one of them would throw a glance his way.

D’Argen closed his eyes and leaned his head back against the stone carving. He heard the water sloshing and peeked an eye open. The group had finally chosen their representative to come over and start accosting him with questions. He narrowed his eyes at the woman but she continued with a steady stride through the shallow pool. That was until she reached the middle where her entire body stiffened and she made an abrupt turn. She walked to the stairs and then out of the bath, collecting a robe and then leaving the baths completely without a backwards glance.

D’Argen was confused and glanced at the others. Two more were pulling out of the baths, ignoring the stairs completely, and collecting their robes. The rest split apart. D’Argen closed his eyes and tried to relax.

Slowly, the hot water he was resting in turned warm then cool, and D’Argen shivered. These pools used Yelem’s eternal flames to remain hot at all hours of the day. Unless someone specifically doused the flames, there would be no reason for the water to cool down. Only after that thought did he notice another presence in the pool, all the way to the side and out of his peripheral.

Thar had his head leaned back on the stone carving with his eyes closed and his long white hair pulled up in a messy knot on top of his head. The cool water around D’Argen suddenly made much more sense even if he did not like it. Eventually, that cold must have reached the other two that still remained in their shared pool because both of them shivered, threw glares at Thar, and then left. Their companions also left after a few more moments until it was only D’Argen and Thar alone in the baths.

“You can calm your mahee now,” D’Argen said quietly into the room. The water was not uncomfortably cold, he was used to bathing in streams and lakes in the middle of winter, but it was still not the pleasant heat he was hoping for when he came down here.

Thar only hummed in reply. D’Argen was not sure if that was a confirmation or just an acknowledgement. Eventually, the water started warming up again, much slower than the cold that invaded it earlier. By that point, D’Argen’s fingers were already pruning. He shifted and instead of walking to the stairs, he pulled himself out of the pool. His fingers fumbled to open up his bathing robe and slip it on, the material immediately sticking to his wet skin. He heard the splash of water and quickly tied the belt. When he turned to face Thar, the man had his head tilted slightly to the side looking at him through narrowed eyes and white lashes.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

“Thank you,” D’Argen said quietly.

Thar hummed again but this time he nodded slowly. He closed his eyes and tilted his head back to rest normally. D’Argen took it as a dismissal and ran out of the baths. Only once he was in the hall did he remember he had arrived in his dirty robes and they were in a pile near one of the stone benches. Instead of returning to get them, he stopped the first mortal worker he came across and gave them the task to send them to be washed.

The woman visibly hesitated but she nodded. Only once she scurried away towards the baths did D’Argen notice that there was a lot more staff than usual in the halls. They were all rushing in different directions, clearly with different goals.

When D’Argen arrived in his rooms, he realized why the staff were everywhere. Sitting right in the middle of the coffee table in his receiving rooms was a shining tray. He knew it was gold only due to habit. In the middle of the tray was a single card of dark paper. D’Argen knew it was red both because of that particular shade and because that was the most expensive paper in all of Trace.

D’Argen hated it. He picked up the card and walked to the windows. He flipped it open and, as suspected, the message inside was written in shining ink. Probably gold. He had to angle the card just so and wiggle it around for the light to hit the words so he could read them properly.

Official dinner. Tonight at eight.

D’Argen put the card back on the tray. He had some time to visit Lilian and could probably use them as an excuse to skip the dinner altogether. Acela knew that he did not eat, so sitting for one of Acela’s official dinners meant that he was there only to watch the others eat and try not to get sick. However, the official invitation could not be ignored.

When he entered his sleeping chambers it was to see his envoy uniform already laid out on the bed. The top cloak had a beautiful pattern on the collar that ran down to his hips and the skirt had metal wires in it to keep it flared out when he stood still. The shirt was of the softest material though the design had been changed since the last time he wore it. Instead of the strings that held it closed at his chest, it now had a high collar with metal buttons. Though the pants were of the same soft material, they were clearly ironed with a sharp edge down the front of each leg. Even the sash that would rest from his hips was already properly pleated.

Then there were the two slim sheaths. The daggers were resting above them on the bedspread, already shined and sharpened, but out for his inspection. He had not used them since they were presented to him as a gift centuries ago after successfully navigating a peace treaty between two of their mortal neighbouring kingdoms.

Instead of dressing for dinner, D’Argen threw on a pair of plain trousers and a loose shirt that reached his knees. His wet hair dampened the back of the shirt immediately and it clung to his skin, but he refused to tie it up, letting it dry naturally.

D’Argen collected the book he had taken to reading recently from his nightstand and made his way to Lilian’s rooms. Just as he turned the corner in the hall, he noticed Acela leaving Lilian’s rooms. She turned down the other way, probably not having even noticed him. D’Argen waited until she was around another corner before approaching. He had not been alone with Acela even once since the entire situation started and that was a good pattern to keep.

When he entered Lilian’s rooms, he froze. Lilian was standing in their receiving rooms with two mortal staff helping them get dressed.

“Why are you not dressed yet?” Lilian asked, a frown on their small face and eyebrows down.

“I… uh…”

“If you need help getting into that thing, just ask. I certainly had to,” Lilian spoke as if nothing at all happened. One of the mortal staff took their arm and slipped it into the sleeve of a light jacket that hung off only one shoulder and down their back, creating a long trail decorated with flowers of different shades. D’Argen only saw a very brief glimpse of Lilian’s bare arm before it disappeared. Too brief.

“We still have a bit of time,” D’Argen finally got the words out.

Lilian scoffed and a smile split their face.

“Please. We all know you will need some mead before this dinner. Abbot and Yaling are also getting dressed.”

“Abbot and Yaling?”

Lilian nodded quickly and looked down, helping one of the mortals as they adjusted the folds of their shirt so the opening that fell to their navel did not reveal too much. The skin under it was smooth. Unblemished.

“Same as usual? East cellars?” Lilian asked without looking up at him.

D’Argen could barely breathe, let alone answer.

“Lilian… are you alright?”

“What? Yes. Of course. Stupid question.”

“No, it’s not. Have you been—”

“You should get dressed,” Lilian interrupted and finally there was an edge to their voice. When they looked up though, they were smiling. One of the mortals blocked his view for a moment as they helped adjust something. “If we do not get you drunk for this, we will end up all getting scolded. Here. I am done. Take my aids with you.” Lilian finally dropped their arms and the two mortals raised their chins. “Go. Quick. I will meet you in the cellars.”

D’Argen walked on numb legs, the two mortals trailing after him, to his own rooms, where they quickly helped him get dressed and even brushed his long hair, tying it in an intricate braid.

Acela. D’Argen thought of his queen with a growl threatening to rumble out of his throat.

If she had persuaded Lilian to get better, they would have words.